Bound by the Mark of Lies (BL)-Chapter 344 - 338: We Found One

Alexander’s office was colder than most places in the palace, not in temperature, but in design. All clean lines, dark stone, and towering shelves filled with war records, Shadow files, and documents marked with more ink seals than any civilian clearance would ever see.

Irina sat cross-legged on the edge of the secondary desk, her slippers kicked off unceremoniously under the table, a tablet in her lap, and a frown between her brows. She tapped a stylus against her chin, then made a note in the margin of a shift list.

"This one doesn’t match," she said, flicking her screen toward him. "Delivery from the East Gate was marked at 14:10. But the gate logs show it came through at 14:52. Unless the crate was delivered by flying horse—"

"Or someone backdated the record," Alexander replied, not looking up from his own file. "Cross-check the runner ID. If it matches one of the missing kitchen aids, we’ve got our first clear falsification."

Irina made a face. "That’s the fifth one today."

"That’s the fifth one you caught today," Alexander said, glancing at her now, expression dry. "And the only reason you’re doing it is because you got bored of your ceremonial duties."

She gave him a perfectly innocent smile. "I like to be useful."

"You like to snoop."

"That too," she said cheerfully, dragging another list onto the screen. "Besides, you know no one else here bothers to look at shift overlaps unless someone bleeds on a rug."

Alexander let out a low breath that might have been a laugh if it had come from anyone else. "I should’ve made you a junior lieutenant the day you arrived."

"I’m Gabriel’s lady-in-waiting," she offered sweetly. "Plus, I think father would lose his mind when he finds out where I am."

"Paul could accept the fact that his entire family is loyal to Damian."

Irina grinned, the kind of grin that was all teeth and trouble, and kicked her bare foot lightly against the edge of the desk.

"He thinks I’m still reviewing event protocols and writing thank-you letters for tea," she said, eyes gleaming. "And I am... technically. Just also helping with internal surveillance and treason investigations on the side."

Alexander gave her a look, unimpressed but not unamused. "You’re enjoying this far too much."

She tapped her stylus against her cheek. "You say that like you’re not."

"I’m paid to enjoy it."

"And I’m unpaid labor." She paused, then added smugly, "But more efficient."

Alexander arched an eyebrow. "Say that again when you’ve done three nights without sleep, bled on your own uniform, and still had to sign twenty-six pages of false testimony."

"I’ll say it while doing it in heels," Irina replied. "With better posture."

He looked at her for a long beat. "You’re impossible."

"I’m adaptable."

Alexander shook his head, but the corner of his mouth twitched before he could stop it. Then, quieter, more seriously: "If this goes deeper than the kitchen runners, if they used the ceremony to cover something more, are you ready for what comes next?"

Irina’s smile faded, not from fear, but from something steadier.

"I saw what happened to Gabriel," she said softly. "I saw the poison, the blood on His Majesty’s lips. I’m not playing at court games, Alexander. Not anymore."

He nodded once, satisfied. Then passed her a new folder, this one marked in red.

Irina took the folder with both hands, but her gaze lingered on the sharp, pale scars cutting across Alexander’s knuckles and wrists. Raised lines like lightning trapped beneath skin, veined with the faint shimmer of old ether burns.

She didn’t speak immediately. Just studied them with the same quiet precision she’d used to pick apart the guest list at the Winter Ball or the rotation discrepancies in the palace logs. And then, finally:

"Does it hurt?" she asked, not pitying, just curious.

Alexander followed her eyes, then flexed his fingers slowly. The scars shifted with the motion, catching a flicker of candlelight like old glass beneath water.

"Only when I’m tired," he said after a pause. "Or when I remember why I have them."

Irina ran her thumb along the edge of the red folder, thoughtful. "The Emperor has a matching set."

"I know."

"How did you get them?"

"It’s a boring story that I don’t want to repeat."

Irina arched a brow but didn’t push further. "Fine. Keep your tragic backstory. I’ll make one up myself and spread it at court."

Alexander gave her a long, unimpressed look, one brow lifting with the kind of patience only a man constantly surrounded by emotionally volatile nobility could possess.

"You do that," he said flatly. "And I’ll tell everyone you used to faint when you first met Damian."

"God, damn it. Forget about it."

Alexander looked far too pleased with himself for someone known to terrify junior officers with a glance. He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed loosely, the scarred lines on his fingers catching the low desk light like pale reminders of battles won, and endured.

"I won’t," he said, his tone dry and entirely devoid of mercy. "You went stiff as a statue, then bowed so fast I thought you dislocated something."

"Try meeting the man who’s been a myth in your household since birth without flinching," Irina hissed, scandalized, her cheeks pinking in spite of herself.

"You had a crush on him."

"Oh, please," she scoffed. "Every woman or omega has. And if we’re being honest, I’m fairly certain even half the alpha and beta men weren’t immune."

Alexander snorted, unbothered. "So you admit it."

"I was fifteen," Irina said, as if that explained everything, which, frankly, it almost did. "He was terrifying and beautiful and smelled like war and winter, and have you met His Majesty? He weaponizes pheromones."

"You sound like Gregoris after his second drink."

Irina shot him a scowl and smacked the folder down onto the desk, not hard enough to damage anything, but just loud enough to make a point. "You know I’m right."

Alexander tilted his head, one brow lifting as amusement curled faintly at the corner of his mouth. "Damian keeps his pheromones locked down tighter than the treasury vaults. So, how long did the crush last?"

"Until I met Gabriel five months ago and became his lady-in-waiting," she said primly, crossing her arms. "I upgraded."

Alexander leaned back slightly in his chair, clearly savoring her answer like it was a fine vintage. "Upgraded, she says. You do realize you just confessed to abandoning the Empire’s golden alpha for the sharp-tongued omega with a fanbase and a death glare."

Irina didn’t flinch. "Exactly. Taste."

"Remind me to never let you near court matchmaking boards," he muttered, though the smirk hadn’t left his face. "You’d set the palace on fire just for fun."

"Only if they deserve it," she said sweetly, picking up another folder.

Before he could retort, the door swung open without preamble.

Leslie stood there, still dressed in Shadow black, hair damp from the rain and jaw set like he’d just walked through war and won.

"We found one," he said, his eyes locked on Alexander. "He didn’t get far." freёweɓnovel_com

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