Bound by the Mark of Lies (BL)-Chapter 333 - 328: Rehearsal (1)

The next morning arrived not with gentle sunlight or the luxury of time, but with Edward’s voice—firm, precise, and too loud for the hour.

"Your Grace," he announced, standing at the foot of the bed like a judgment, "you are scheduled to be dressed, polished, and mentally prepared in under forty minutes."

Gabriel groaned from under the blankets, one arm flung across his face. "For what crime?"

Edward did not blink. "The engagement ceremony rehearsal."

There was a pause. Then a muffled, incredulous noise from Gabriel’s side of the bed that sounded very much like, "Today?"

Edward simply pulled back the thick blackout curtains in one dramatic sweep. Morning light flooded the room like divine retribution. "Yes. Today. As it has always been. As it has been written. As it was personally confirmed by you last week while you were eating sugared plums and pretending not to listen."

"I was listening," Gabriel croaked, eyes squeezed shut. "I just thought it was a hypothetical future problem. Like aging. Or tax fraud."

Damian stirred beside him, not quite awake but certainly amused. His hand, warm and slow, slid up Gabriel’s spine. "Go," he murmured into the pillow. "Before Edward gets the Shadows."

"I am the Shadows," Edward said icily. "Now get up."

Gabriel groaned again, a sound of betrayal and physical suffering, before finally dragging himself out from under the covers with all the elegance of a sea creature forcibly pulled ashore.

Damian watched, golden eyes half-lidded and indulgent, as Gabriel stomped toward the wardrobe like a man walking to his own execution. "You’re beautiful when you’re disgruntled," he offered lazily.

"I’m going to wear black to the rehearsal."

"You’re supposed to wear white."

"I’ll wear mourning white," Gabriel muttered. "Out of protest."

Edward didn’t comment. He was already arranging cufflinks.

—

Half an hour later, Gabriel was dressed in a pale ensemble embroidered in silver so finely it could double as a diplomatic weapon. His collar was high, his sleeves fitted, and the entire thing whispered political compliance the way a dagger might whisper cooperation.

Alexandra met him at the palace entrance, looking entirely too smug in her role as stylist, political advisor, and older sister. "You look almost innocent."

"Don’t start," Gabriel said, dragging his fingers through his hair as if that could undo the polish. "I was yanked from my bed."

"Yes, I heard." She tapped her comm device. "Edward’s morning tantrums are better than the news."

Rafael, already waiting by the car, gave him a sympathetic wince. "I brought mints."

"I’m not nervous."

"They’re not for you. They’re for everyone else."

The rehearsal would take place at the Cathedral Hall, the grand structure now draped in seasonal white and violet banners, ethereal lighting threads casting faint halos across the vaulted ceilings. Dozens of staff were already inside, moving like stagehands setting up for the most important political theater in years.

Gabriel exhaled slowly as they reached the grand aisle.

Then he saw Damian already at the other end, dressed in ceremonial charcoal gray edged with gold, his cuffs gleaming, his posture straight, and his expression calm in a way that belied the absolute command simmering underneath.

Gabriel narrowed his eyes slightly.

"Of course he’s early," he muttered.

Edward, behind him, said crisply, "He was here before the lighting team."

Gabriel began walking forward, slow, poised, and perfectly timed.

"How did he arrive earlier than me without cheating?" he muttered under his breath, each step echoing softly along the polished stone floor of the grand cathedral.

Alexandra, walking just behind him with all the grace of someone who had made this aisle her personal runway during diplomatic galas, snorted. "He didn’t. He cheated. He just did it in a way you can’t prove."

"I can prove it," Gabriel said, tone low, dangerously composed. "Edward probably gave him the schedule five minutes before waking me."

From behind them, Edward cleared his throat. Loudly. "I am insulted, Your Grace. I gave him the schedule last night."

Gabriel didn’t miss a step, but the muscle in his jaw flexed.

"Traitor," he said flatly.

Damian stood at the end of the aisle like he owned the marble it was carved from.

Because, technically, he did.

He was dressed in full ceremonial attire, flawless and intimidating, every detail in place. The imperial robe fell over his shoulders with quiet power, golden cuffs glinting like a warning. His hair was swept back, his posture perfect. He looked every bit the Emperor... and slightly offended.

His eyes scanned the space once, then landed on Gabriel as he entered.

Not in the engagement robe.

Damian’s expression didn’t change, but the disappointment was tangible, so refined it could have been weaponized.

Gabriel, walking forward with the kind of grace that made people forget he had almost strangled Edward earlier that morning, caught it immediately.

He didn’t stop. But his jaw flexed, just once.

"I see," Damian said mildly. "You’re not wearing it."

Gabriel didn’t break stride. "It takes time to put on properly."

Damian’s brow arched. "And?"

"I was yanked out of bed fifteen minutes after sunrise by a man with no sense of personal safety," Gabriel said flatly.

From behind them, Edward cleared his throat. Loudly. "I am insulted, Your Grace. I gave him the schedule last night."

"You gave me a book," Gabriel muttered.

Edward sniffed. "With annotations. And reminders."

"None of which said your fiancé will attempt to murder you with brocade at six in the morning."

Damian didn’t look away. "So you’re punishing me."

"I’m letting the embroidery live another day."

Behind them, Alexandra was already fanning herself with a folded script. "I warned you he wouldn’t wear it without three hours and a mirror."

"I suggested an armed escort," Julian added. "Edward refused."

"I had ethics once," Edward murmured.

Rafael leaned toward Irina, voice pitched low, the way one might ask about an incoming storm. "Wait, why is everyone so worked up over one robe?"

Irina sighed, long-suffering. "Because the robe shows the mark," she muttered, "and everyone is curious about Gloria’s embroidery, especially the Emperor."

She didn’t even bother whispering that part.

Rafael blinked. "He’s seen the mark before, hasn’t he?"

"Yes," Irina said, deadpan. "But not with embroidery."

"...Oh."

A pause. Then—

"That’s worse somehow."

Irina nodded. "Yes. It is."

From the front of the ceremonial hall, Damian turned slightly, as if on cue. His eyes flicked toward them, unreadable but not unaware.

Rafael immediately straightened his spine. "He heard that."

"Of course he did," Irina said. "He’s an apex predator with wedding fever."

Gabriel, overhearing just enough to catch the edge of it, didn’t slow his steps. But his mouth twitched, just once, like someone silently regretting all of his life choices.

Damian didn’t move. He just stood there, still and infuriatingly beautiful, as the sun from the high windows lit up the burnished edges of his cuffs and the gold threads of his collar. He didn’t say anything, not yet.

But he would.

He always did.

And judging by the way his gaze dipped, just barely, to Gabriel’s throat... that moment was coming fast.

New novel chapt𝒆rs are published on free(w)ebnovel(.)com