Bound by the Mark of Lies (BL)-Chapter 342 - 336: Thirty Minutes

Damian lay reclined in the armchair, shirt still half-unbuttoned, pale skin streaked with the fading glow of the antidote, the sharp lines of his chest rising and falling with a rhythm that had, finally, evened out. His posture was relaxed in that infuriating way that made it easy to forget how close he had come to collapse, but Gabriel hadn’t forgotten, not for a second.

He hadn’t moved far.

One hand still rested on the armrest near Damian’s fingers; the other held an untouched glass of water. Not because he thought Damian would drink it now, but because he might, and Gabriel didn’t want to reach again.

Dr. Marin stood at a slight distance now, not hovering but observing, his arms folded, one brow furrowed as he watched the readings from the compact ether monitor hooked lightly to Damian’s wrist. The readout glowed pale green now, stabilized, but not cleared.

"Liver function is steady," Marin said aloud, not for Damian’s benefit, but for Gabriel’s. "No internal bleed expansion. Ether channels still inflamed but responsive."

Gabriel didn’t answer. He just nodded once.

Damian’s eyes were half-lidded, the gold dimmed but still present, watching Gabriel the way he always did, like he wanted to say something and was debating whether it would make things better or worse.

"I feel like I’ve been hit by a wall," he murmured finally, his voice rough around the edges, like something cracked and left to heal unevenly. "Is this what it’s like when you get sick?"

Gabriel didn’t even twitch. "You’re not funny."

"And you," Damian continued, eyes still closed, "are gloating like I would die any second now."

Gabriel turned his head slightly, just enough to give him a look he likely wouldn’t see, half disbelieving, half insulted. "I’m not gloating," he said, coolly. "I’m monitoring."

"You’re watching me breathe."

"Yes. Because you stopped doing it properly ten minutes ago."

Damian cracked one eye open and gave a slow, deeply unimpressed blink. "So dramatic."

Gabriel leaned back slightly, folding his arms with the sort of poise that looked casual only to the untrained eye. "You coughed blood on palace linen. You don’t get to lecture me on drama."

"It wasn’t that much blood."

"It was enough for Edward to trigger four lockdown protocols and for Gregoris to clear half the guard," Gabriel said, calm but cutting. "So unless you’ve suddenly decided you want to ruin the engagement by dying, I suggest you shut up and let the antidote do its work."

Damian hummed, the sound low and rough, curling at the edges with pain he didn’t bother hiding. The antidote coursed through his veins like fire, gnawing at the remnants of the poison as if it meant to punish his body for daring to survive. It burned deeper than the flare that had seared his ether channels weeks ago; this pain was duller but cruel, laced with exhaustion that felt carved into bone.

He exhaled, long and measured, jaw clenched through the sting blooming in his chest.

Gabriel hadn’t moved, and that in itself was a miracle. Or a sign that the world was still spinning in the right direction, barely.

Damian let his head fall back against the chair and closed his eyes. He couldn’t ask Gabriel to calm down. Couldn’t ask him to sit or breathe or relax. That would’ve been cruel.

Because he understood.

He would’ve razed the palace to the ground if the roles had been reversed. Would’ve turned the Shadow compound inside out and shattered the spine of anyone who dared to touch Gabriel without permission. He understood, deeply, instinctively, what it meant to be this afraid for someone you loved.

So he didn’t argue.

Didn’t tease.

Didn’t even try to make light of it.

Instead, he let his hand rest in Gabriel’s, not squeezing, not demanding anything back, just... there.

Warm.

Present.

Grateful.

"Thank you," he said, so quietly it might have been missed if Gabriel hadn’t been listening with every breath in his body. "For not leaving."

Gabriel’s jaw tightened, but his thumb brushed the side of Damian’s hand once, a gesture so restrained it almost didn’t count, except it did. It meant everything. Then he exhaled, slow and heavy, the kind of breath that came with the patience of saints and emperors’ spouses who were done suffering in silence.

"You’ll come after me if I so much as move from this chair," he said flatly, not even trying to soften the accusation.

Damian, eyelids half-lowered, didn’t deny it.

"I would," he murmured, his voice frayed at the edges but honest. "With the full weight of the Empire. And Edward’s umbrella, if necessary."

Gabriel shot him a look—half exhausted, half scandalized. "You’re still bleeding."

"And I’m still here," Dr. Marin said, deadpan, without looking up from the monitor in his hands. "In case anyone forgot, we’re still in a medical crisis. One you’re both treating like a romantic farce."

Gabriel didn’t even flinch.

Damian, of course, grinned wider. freeweɓnovel~cѳm

Marin sighed, the kind of long-suffering, professionally resigned exhale that belonged to a man who’d seen enough royal nonsense for one lifetime, and tapped the side of the screen.

"The antidote is doing its job. His ether channels are stabilizing. The bleeding has stopped, and his system’s flushing faster than expected." He paused, then added dryly, "Probably out of sheer spite."

Gabriel didn’t smile.

But the tension in his shoulders dropped just slightly, the line of his spine no longer a blade.

"Thirty minutes," Marin continued, his voice steady, measured, and clinical in the way that only came from too many hours spent stitching up disasters no one else could touch. "And he’ll be past the danger window. No ether strain, no exertion. Light activity only. But knowing His Majesty," he added, glancing up with the dry wit of a man who’d clearly given up expecting obedience, "he can read reports from bed and bark orders at Astana and Gregoris. Nothing more."

Damian made a soft, indignant sound, one that might have passed for a dignified objection if he weren’t currently bundled in a blanket with blood still drying on his collar. "You wound me, doctor."

"Not as much as that poison nearly did," Marin said coolly.

Gabriel didn’t laugh, but he looked dangerously close to it.

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