Bound by the Mark of Lies (BL)-Chapter 354 - 348: Family announcement

A month later, the Empire had resumed its usual ceremonial, calculated, and rumor-filled rhythm.

The whispers were like moths in silk: soft, persistent, eating through the truth one thread at a time.

They claimed the Empress-in-waiting was never an omega. That he was born an alpha and had used rebellion-era falsifications to pass as something else. That his bond with the Emperor was forged with illusion and chemical control, not soul and ether. That the mark on his nape was painted onto him, an artificial stamp to hide the truth.

No one dared to say it publicly. Not in front of Gabriel. Not within range of the Emperor. But behind closed doors, under marble archways, and among trusted ears, they talked. And they felt safe doing so.

He didn’t address it.

Not yet.

Instead, Gabriel stood in his office, across from a father who now addressed him like a colleague, one stripped of familial indulgence and affections neither of them believed in anymore.

Lucius von Jaunez, head of one of the oldest noble lines in the Empire, leaned back in his chair, expression unreadable as ever. Between them on the desk rested a sealed folder, thin, official, and damning.

"The rumor has traction," he said at last, fingers laced. "It came from one of Rosaline’s remaining aides. A falsified secondary gender test dated back to the rebellion. The archives were already unstable then. If we release a statement blaming the corruption on tainted records, it would be... believable."

Gabriel stood across from him, hands clasped neatly behind his back. His coat was pressed, his collar straight. Not a single thread out of place. But his eyes, Lucius had seen them cold before. This was colder.

"I understand your suggestion," Gabriel said, his voice even. "But it won’t be necessary."

Lucius raised a brow, just slightly. "If you intend to ignore it—"

"I’m over five months pregnant. The announcement will be held in two weeks."

Lucius didn’t react at first.

He didn’t shift in his seat or reach for the cup beside him. He simply stared at Gabriel like he had misheard or like his son had just recited a war strategy with a piece missing. But then, slowly, his brow furrowed, and he leaned back, folding his hands on the desk in front of him with deliberate calm.

"Five months?" he asked, voice low.

"Yes."

Something shifted behind the older man’s gaze: shock. At the fact that his son, the brilliant, sharp, unattainable child who had never allowed himself to be touched by anything he did not control, had let this happen. Chosen it.

Lucius looked at Gabriel for a long moment. His voice, when it came, was measured. "You didn’t think to inform me sooner."

"I expected it," Lucius said eventually. "Just not from you."

Gabriel said nothing. He watched his father closely, shoulders drawn back, jaw set. Ready for a bargain, a proposal, or an insult wrapped in logic.

But none came.

Lucius’ gaze shifted to the papers on the desk: briefings, troop schedules, and an old intelligence report on Donin, before returning to Gabriel. His expression wasn’t soft, but it wasn’t sharp either. Just... weathered.

"No warning or pressuring?" Gabriel asked.

"No. It took Charles breaking protocol and Theodore nearly breaking my jaw for me to stop thinking like a strategist," he admitted quietly. "And start thinking like a father."

Gabriel blinked, the confession so unexpected that for a moment he wasn’t sure he’d heard right.

"And here I thought Charles would be the one punching you."

Lucius huffed—dry, brief, almost a laugh. "He tried. Theodore got there first."

Gabriel’s lips twitched. It wasn’t a smile, not really, but it softened the tension at the edge of his mouth and the exhaustion behind his eyes. He shifted his weight slightly, fingers loosening where they were clasped behind him.

Silence settled again, but it was different now. Not sharp or brittle. Just... tentative. Like a truce left unsigned on the edge of a desk.

"You said the announcement will be in two weeks?" Lucius asked, his voice steadier this time.

Gabriel nodded once. "After the sixth month begins. It’s safer."

Lucius didn’t question the logic. Of course he didn’t. Instead, he tilted his head just slightly, studying Gabriel again, not as a chess piece or a legacy, but as something else. Someone else.

"Your mother is still stationed in the south," he said finally, reaching for a different piece of the map between them. "She’ll hear it through command channels before the court does if you don’t tell her."

Gabriel hesitated for the first time since he’d walked in.

"I don’t blame her," he said slowly. "But I don’t trust her, either."

Lucius nodded, unsurprised. "Still, she should hear it from you."

A beat.

"She’ll understand," he added, almost like an afterthought.

Gabriel glanced away, toward the tall windows filtering warm light over the imperial seal pressed into the floor. "Maybe."

He didn’t promise. But he didn’t refuse either.

And that, Lucius thought, watching his son’s profile cut clean against the light, was more than he’d expected.

—

The wind in the southern outpost was dry, laced with fine sand and the faint scent of engine oil from the reconstruction teams working along the ridge. Tents snapped in the midday heat, white fabric blinding under the sun, and at the center of it all stood the command post—steel, portable, and mercilessly organized.

Colonel Elowen von Jaunez was hunched over a logistics board, one hand resting near a mug of cooling tea, the other gesturing toward a revised transport schedule. Her voice was low but decisive, her tone sharper than most dared mimic.

"Reroute through the old iron pass. If we delay another convoy because of mudslides, I’m replacing the engineer team myself."

The young officer beside her barely had time to nod before the door creaked open and a runner stepped in, saluting briskly.

"Ma’am. Private dispatch from the Capital. Hand-delivered by Shadow courier."

That earned her full attention.

She took the letter with clean, gloved fingers and dismissed the officer with a curt nod. Only once the door sealed again did she peel back the violet wax.

Her name wasn’t on the envelope.

Only her rank and unit. freёwebnoѵel.com

Inside, the parchment bore Gabriel’s handwriting—clean, calculated, measured down to the pressure of the pen. Elowen had seen those strokes before, in academy reports, in project outlines, and in birthday cards written more out of duty than affection.

Mother,

This is not a letter asking for reconciliation. It is not a plea, nor an accusation. You did not harm me—but you did not protect me either. That space between those truths is where we now live.

By the time you receive this, the court will already be murmuring. The truth is simple: I am five months pregnant. The child is the Emperor’s. We are bonded.

This will be made public when the Empire is ready. Until then, I trust you will act with discretion.

I am not asking you to be proud or ashamed. I am only offering clarity.

—Gabriel

She didn’t sit down immediately.

Instead, she stood there in the quiet, the soft hum of generators outside like a distant reminder that life moved forward without pause, without sentiment.

Her grip on the letter never tightened, never shook. But her breath did catch—once, sharp and short—as her eyes lingered on that final signature.

She had known. Somewhere beneath the orders and silence, she had known.

But knowing and seeing were different things.

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