Bound by the Mark of Lies (BL)-Chapter 316 - 311: The Edge of Beginning

Damian exhaled as the doors to the council chamber finally closed behind him with a satisfying thud. The silence that followed was not true silence; he could still hear the rustle of guards shifting along the corridor and the distant echo of announcements filtering in from the lower halls, but compared to the last two hours of posturing and simpering from nobles desperate to declare their loyalty, it was a godsend.

They had lined up like penitents, every lord, baron, and would-be savior of the Empire, falling over themselves to swear that of course they’d never supported Patricia, that they’d always believed in Gabriel’s suitability, and that they’d personally sent letters denouncing the image before it was even released. That it was a blessing, truly, that such a scandal had rooted out the traitors.

Liars, every last one of them.

He had kept his face still through it all, barely a tilt of the head, just enough acknowledgement to keep them sweating but not enough to give them certainty. That was the point. Fear worked better than gratitude. Fear didn’t fade.

Damian rolled his shoulders once, the weight of the crown finally gone. He had handed it back to Edward the moment the last noble left, a faint line still carved into his forehead where the jagged gold had rested. He didn’t need it now. They had seen it. That was enough.

He walked, fast now, not waiting for the page trailing behind him or the ministers trying to catch up with one last declaration of loyalty. He didn’t stop until he reached the marble corridor leading toward the Empress’s wing.

His wing.

Their wing.

The guards stepped aside without a word. Edward was already waiting by the door, of course—ever efficient, ever patient. He offered a bow that somehow still carried judgment.

"We prepared a change of clothes, and the attendants are ready to remove the imperial robe."

"Where’s Gabriel?"

"In the Empress Office, he reviews the events of the past two weeks with his department."

Damian nodded once, already moving past him. He didn’t care about the attendants or the robe or the fact that he was still dressed like the execution blade of the Empire. The weight of the crown might have been lifted, but the weight of Gabriel not being next to him was heavier than anything he wore.

The halls beyond were quieter now—emptied of nobles, stripped of ceremony. Just polished floors, high windows, and the long echo of his own footsteps.

He didn’t knock.

The doors to the Empress’s Office opened at his hand, and the room stilled the way only a room does when it knows who entered. Gabriel didn’t turn right away. He was still seated at the large center desk, surrounded by Rafael, Alexandra, and Irina, the tablet in his hand mid-scroll, the pin on the map still between his fingers.

Damian’s gaze flicked once over the scene—calculations on the wallboard, red-lined reports stacked beside untouched tea, Irina halfway through taking notes, and Alexandra rolling her eyes at something Rafael must’ve said.

Gabriel looked up at last. Calm. Precise. Slightly annoyed.

"You’re still wearing it," he said.

Damian raised a brow, stepping fully into the room. "It was hard to change while being force-fed declarations of support from half the cowards who wanted you gone two weeks ago."

Rafael coughed lightly and stepped back without being told, as did Alexandra—who only narrowed her eyes at Damian as she passed.

"Don’t glare at me," Damian said as she brushed past. "You voted for blood."

"I voted for efficiency," she replied sweetly. "The blood was a bonus."

Damian waited until the door clicked closed behind them before turning back to Gabriel.

"You didn’t wait for me."

Gabriel rose from his seat and approached the man before him with a faint smile. "I will have to wait after I am your Empress. Until then, I can wait for you to return."

Damian’s jaw twitched, just once. That damn smile—too composed, too knowing, too Gabriel—dug under his skin in ways no threat or nobleman ever had.

He reached up, slow and deliberate, and tugged at the clasp of the imperial robe. It fell from his shoulders with a heavy sweep, the rich and heavy material heating the floor. Damian didn’t care. His eyes hadn’t left Gabriel.

He was still in pain and tired, and the only thing he wanted was to feel Gabriel’s scent and their child’s waves of ether.

Gabriel reached for Damian and embraced him. There were too many things happening in his mind—fragments of memory, the weight of the execution, the distant echo of Patricia’s shattered face—but he was sure of one thing.

Damian would never leave him.

He exhaled slowly, eyes closing as Damian’s gloved hands found his back, tracing slow, steady circles.

Damian didn’t speak, didn’t need to. The scent between them shifted, deeper, warmer, threaded with something that made Gabriel’s throat tighten. Not just the bond. Not just the child.

Safety.

It was absurd, really. To feel safe in the arms of a man who could unmake empires. Who gutted a noble house before sunset. Who still had blood under his nails, metaphorical or not.

But here, pressed against him, scent tangled between layers of exhaustion and want, Gabriel found silence. A rare, perfect kind. The kind that asked nothing and gave everything.

"You’re trembling," Damian murmured, his voice at his ear now.

"I’m not."

"Liar."

Gabriel huffed, but it came out too soft to be sharp. "Fine, I do. Can you warm me up?"

Damian didn’t answer with words. He shifted, one arm wrapping fully around Gabriel’s waist, the other sliding up between his shoulder blades as he pulled him in until there was no space left, until even air seemed like an intrusion. His scent deepened, rich and unfiltered now, like firelight through aged wine.

Gabriel felt how the tension he had for days was melting away in Damian’s arms; he leaned in and kissed his jaw lightly.

Damian turned his head just slightly, just enough that Gabriel’s lips brushed the edge of his cheekbone instead of his jaw. It wasn’t a rejection—it was instinct, gravitational pull, the kind of movement that happened when two people no longer needed to speak to understand each other.

Gabriel didn’t fight it. He let the kiss land where it did and stayed there a moment longer, breathing him in.

"I thought I’d feel relief," he said finally, voice quiet, almost lost in the folds of Damian’s coat. "After Patricia. After the announcement. After that damn crown."

Damian didn’t let go. "But instead?"

"I feel like I’m standing at the edge of something. And I can’t tell if it’s the end or the beginning."

"You’ve always been at the edge, Gabriel," Damian murmured. "The difference now is that no one can push you off."

Gabriel’s hands fisted lightly in the front of his uniform, eyes fluttering closed. "And if I fall anyway?"

"Then I fall with you," Damian said simply. "But I’ll carry you first."