The sun hadn't even thought about rising when Edward's knock came. It was not polite. It was not hesitant. He kept his word on being brutal about it and Gabriel could feel how much amusement the old man had.
Gabriel, wrapped in a blanket and in denial, groaned into his pillow, his mind still foggy with dreams. "It's still night."
"Technically," came Edward's voice from beyond the door, "it's tomorrow."
Damian stirred beside him, golden eyes slitted open in the half-dark. "Kill him."
Gabriel sat up with a tragic expression. "I'm not dressed."
"I'll be merciful," Edward called. "I've brought clean clothes and a mildly enchanted comb."
"You're enjoying this," Gabriel muttered.
"Immensely."
Ten minutes later, Gabriel stood in the Emperor's dressing room, hair tamed, shirt freshly pressed, and soul already withering. He hadn't had coffee. The butler did not even try to calm the enraged man.