Bound by the Mark of Lies (BL)-Chapter 355 - 349: A Kicker.

The lunch salon was quiet as usual, thanks to Edward’s advance preparation and light wards that muffled outside noise. The windows were open just enough to let in the early summer breeze, stirring the sheer curtains and brushing against the polished table where a modest spread had already been arranged.

Gabriel took the first step inside, one hand briefly pressed to the side of his abdomen as if adjusting his coat. The movement was subtle, almost dismissible. Damian’s eyes, however, were drawn to it right away.

"You’re late," Damian said mildly, though he hadn’t touched his food.

"I’m not late," Gabriel said, unbuttoning the top of his coat and allowing it to hang loosely around his frame. "You’re just early. And fussy."

Damian arched his brow as he stood, moving forward without the usual imperial stiffness. "I had Edward reschedule the council briefing so that you wouldn’t miss it."

"How noble," Gabriel drawled, brushing past him toward the table. "Should I curtsy?"

He sank into the chair with a quiet exhale, his spine straight but moving slower than usual. His coat shifted open as he reached for his glass of water, and Damian’s sharp and discerning gaze lingered on the gentle curve now clearly visible beneath the dark fabric of his waistcoat.

"You’re showing," Damian murmured, taking the seat across from him.

Gabriel cocked his head slightly. "Thank you, Your Majesty; I didn’t notice."

Damian fought the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You’ve been pretending otherwise for two weeks."

"Your spawn has decided to show without permission. Four months I barely knew it was there and now I’m almost waddling." Gabriel took his fork and stabbed a grilled green bean with vindictive precision. "If I sneeze too hard, I’ll tip forward."

"That’s because you refuse to slow down," Damian said, pouring water into Gabriel’s glass before he could pour his own. "Or rest. Or breathe."

Gabriel sniffed. "Breathing is a luxury I can no longer afford. Every time I take a breath, there’s a meeting, a letter, or a noble who thinks they can imply I was born an alpha without my knowledge."

Damian’s hand froze briefly over his own plate. "I’ll handle the nobles."

Gabriel didn’t bother looking up. "You’ll start another war if they so much as blink incorrectly."

Before Damian could respond, the sharp clink of metal against the floor cut through the air. Gabriel’s fork had slipped from his grasp, and his expression tightened as he leaned slightly to the side. His eyebrows furrowed, and his palm instinctively pressed against his lower ribs.

"Hard kicker, aren’t you?" He muttered, more irritated than in pain, his voice tinged with disbelief.

Damian had already gotten out of his chair before the words had completely settled. He didn’t make a sound, just pushed the plate aside, moved around the table, and crouched down beside Gabriel’s chair with all the precision of a man trained to detect explosions in silence.

"Where?" he asked, low, sharp, and urgent.

Gabriel rolled his eyes, but his fingers remained pressed under the hem of his coat, palm curled against his side as if cradling something unseen. "Lower right. Sudden. Felt like—" He paused, lips twitching, "—treason."

Damian’s hand hovered for a moment, with a faint flicker of hesitation in his golden eyes. Then, slowly and carefully, he placed his palm beside Gabriel’s. His fingers splayed against the fine fabric, heat meeting heat between the tailored coat’s barrier and the softness beneath it.

And then—

A second kick.

It was firmer this time. Not just a flutter, not the subtle ripple Gabriel had tried to ignore for days. It struck the inside of Damian’s hand with the defiance and strength of a legacy that had yet to be born but was already claiming its place.

Gabriel inhaled sharply involuntarily. Damian didn’t breathe at all.

His eyes flicked up, met Gabriel’s, and for a heartbeat, the entire world narrowed to a point.

"You felt that?" Gabriel asked, his voice quieter now, roughened by something he didn’t want to name.

Damian nodded once. "Yes." frёeweɓηovel_coɱ

They didn’t say anything else for a moment.

Damian’s hand didn’t move from Gabriel’s side. He stayed there, grounded, his other hand now resting gently on Gabriel’s knee like he could hold the moment still.

Gabriel exhaled first, muttering, "Of course it’d pick now, of all times, to start performance drills."

Damian’s lips curved slightly. "My child has excellent timing."

"My child is going to be a tyrant."

There was no bite to it. No sharpness. Just something gentle and strange, tinged with disbelief and wonder.

And beneath it all is something resembling pride.

—

Edward knocked once and entered without waiting for an answer. He had long since earned the right, but he paused just a little too long as he took in the sight before him.

The Emperor was crouched beside Gabriel’s chair, one hand resting firmly on Gabriel’s side, the other still settled on his knee. Gabriel didn’t look up. Damian did.

Edward saw the silver fork on the ground and his stance stilled.

"Nothing happened, Edward," said Gabriel while trying to make Damian raise. "The child kicked."

Edward’s shoulders relaxed slightly, but his eyes narrowed the way they always did when something threatened the order he maintained around them.

"The child kicked," he repeated, as if logging the information. His tone remained crisp, but his gaze flicked briefly to Gabriel’s hand still resting over his lower ribs. "I’ll inform the physician. They’ll want to confirm fetal movement and timing."

Gabriel exhaled through his nose, not quite a sigh. "I’d prefer they wait until after lunch. Unless you want them to find an irritable omega with low blood sugar and a bruised side."

"Noted," Edward said. He stepped forward, setting the tray down on the sideboard with measured grace. "I brought correspondence. There are some urgent logs. King Edmund of Pais is raging that the Empire sided with his brother in his rebellion. He won’t take long until he loses his life and throne."

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