Bound by the Mark of Lies (BL)-Chapter 350 - 344: Fallback

The air in Donin was different, thinner, wetter, like the sky never quite cleared. The streets outside the villa were stone-laid and slick with humidity, but the building itself was a fortress disguised as a manor, all dark glass and dense walls etched with old protection spells that didn’t rely on ether. It was the kind of place people vanished into.

Hadeon stood in front of the tall windows, the horizon broken by the jagged edge of the lowland hills, his hands clasped behind his back. The suit he wore was perfectly tailored, sharp enough to cut, though the silver in his hair caught in the dim light like polished steel. Around him, the room pulsed with quiet activity, low conversations in accented Imperial, movement of weapons, and the unmistakable sound of sealed crates being locked into place.

Everything had gone to plan.

Almost.

Damian and his hunting dogs, no, hounds, were almost unnaturally strong. Efficient. Precise. The kind of loyalty that wasn’t bought but forged in blood and something worse than war. Hadeon had never underestimated them, not really. But he hadn’t expected them to be this fast.

Fortunately, he’d planned for fast.

The important people had been moved months ago, along with every critical resource and artifact they couldn’t afford to lose. Ether conduits, secure vault schematics, contracts signed in shadow. Donin wasn’t an escape. It was a calculated fallback.

And Gregoris, Gregoris had sniffed around for long enough that Hadeon had started to wonder whether the dog would finally bite. That man was too silent, too focused. Mad enough to dig up the roots of a tree just to count how deep they went. He’d nearly gotten in the way. Nearly. But Patricia and her son had been more useful than anyone gave them credit for.

A scandal and a false narrative? Perfect. The court always ate itself when it smelled blood.

Hadeon turned toward the far wall, where a screen displayed an encrypted feed from one of the border channels, one of the few left unsecured. They wouldn’t see anything useful, of course. He had made sure of that. Cloaking sigils, interference markers, and the old Donin trick of rotating ether channels through dead frequencies.

They wouldn’t find him until he wanted to be found.

And by then...

By then, the game would be something else entirely.

He picked up the glass on the nearby table—dark liquor, sharp on the tongue—and downed it in one smooth pull.

"Dispose of Rosaline," he said, his voice even, untouched by hesitation. "Use her as bait for Damian’s dogs. And prepare to take over this pitiful idea of a country."

The men around him didn’t flinch. The ones who had made it this far knew better than to question tone or timing. They dispersed with the silent efficiency of mercenaries who’d already been paid. frёewebnoѵēl.com

Hadeon leaned back in the leather chair, the creak beneath him the only sign that the room still breathed. He stared out the tall window toward the mist-wrapped spires of Donin Republica’s capital: cold stone, sharp angles, a city built on illusion and power plays. It would do. For now.

"Contact Elliot," he said, swirling the remaining liquor in his glass before setting it down with a soft click. "Remind him that his mother’s mistakes are inheritable and that he is still bound to me, whether he likes it or not."

One of his men gave a tight nod and disappeared through the side door, silent as smoke.

Hadeon’s fingers tapped once against the armrest. "Damian won’t act fast. Not with that many fires burning across the continent. If he wants Donin, he’ll have to risk the alliance in Pais. And Grand Duke David?" He let out a low, humorless laugh. "He’s not as patient as Damian is. Push him the right way, and he’ll declare war just to get attention."

He stood, slow and deliberate, as if the very air bent to accommodate him. The map on the far wall waited, color-coded with pins and lines, ether traces layered beneath traditional terrain.

Let them think he’d fled.

—

"Hadeon is planning something." Damian said, rising from the bed fast, too fast, pain forgotten for a moment under the weight of instinct and fury.

"I wasn’t joking," Gabriel replied flatly, not even looking up as he inserted the vial into the autoinjector with practiced precision. The click was louder than it should’ve been.

Damian eyed the device with suspicion, like it might betray him. "Ruthless," he muttered. "Fine." He raised his hands in mock surrender, golden eyes narrowing with begrudging amusement. "But next time, at least pretend I have a say."

Gabriel pressed the injector against Damian’s arm with clinical ease. "You don’t."

Damian winced, but just barely. "Marriage is humbling."

Gabriel’s lips twitched. "You’re lucky I like you conscious."

—

Damian was asleep again, his breathing deep and uneven, the kind that only came after pain had been dulled by something stronger than rest. One arm remained stretched loosely across the sheets, the faint imprint of the injector still visible along the inside of his elbow. His face was pale, lips parted slightly as if he were still mid-sentence in a dream.

Dr. Marin stood beside the bed, checking the slow IV drip threaded into Damian’s other arm, his gloved fingers adjusting the flow without haste. The vial at the base shimmered faintly with pale green ether suspension, hydration, and cellular repair combined in one.

"He’s stable," Marin said, quietly, as though the room could crack if he raised his voice.

Edward stood near the foot of the bed, hands behind his back, every line of his posture tight with concern. "That was unnecessary."

Marin didn’t look away from the monitor. "It worked."

"He still didn’t deserve to be shot like a wild animal."

Gregoris leaned against the wall by the door, arms crossed, his shadow stretching long behind him in the low light. "It’s not the sedative we’re objecting to," he muttered. "It’s the fact that Gabriel’s the one who actually did it. Thought he’d bluff."

"He usually does," Edward said. "It’s part of his charm."

Marin glanced at both of them, brow raised. "You don’t really think he enjoyed it, do you? He waited until Damian tried to stand. And then warned him. Twice."

Gregoris let out a low sound, something between a scoff and a grunt. "Still didn’t think he’d go through with it. He’s gone soft."

"He’s gone quiet," Edward corrected, eyes settling on Gabriel’s empty chair near the desk. "And Gabriel being quiet is never a good sign."

The source of this c𝐨ntent is freewe(b)nov𝒆l