Bound by the Mark of Lies (BL)-Chapter 376 - 370: Noose

The imperial office smelled faintly of bergamot and ink, the kind of scent that clung to power and didn’t apologize for it.

Damian stood by the window, sleeves rolled back to his forearms, golden eyes scanning the report one last time. The light caught against the edge of his jaw, cutting sharp shadows down his face, but he didn’t seem to notice. He was too still. The paper in his hand didn’t rustle, but the tension in the room was real enough to measure.

Three names. One report.

George Claymore, officially deceased. Life support was terminated by his heir.

Anya Rhine, dead alongside Elliot Claymore in what the courts would later call a "joint act of madness." The palace staff had already stopped trying to find prettier phrasing.

Gabriel was sprawled like a bored cat on the black velvet settee near the hearth, one arm tossed over the back, the other resting lightly across his stomach, fingers idly toying with the open edge of his robe. He wore house clothes, technically. Loose, exquisite things in pale green and gold, too luxurious to call casual, and just scandalous enough that Damian had started locking the doors whenever Gabriel visited the office now.

He wasn’t doing anything useful. For the last two weeks, Gabriel had been listening to Marin’s instructions, but he was there, radiating imperial detachment and the kind of arrogant serenity only a man six months pregnant and thoroughly unbothered could pull off.

"You’re glaring again," Gabriel murmured, eyes closed.

"I’m reading," Damian replied.

"Same thing, in your case."

Damian didn’t respond immediately. He folded the report with careful precision and set it aside, fingers resting on the polished sill of the window. "Elliot killed her," he said after a pause, voice low. "Or took her with him. Doesn’t matter."

"No," Gabriel agreed softly. "But it will matter to Daniel."

"It already does," Damian said. "He wrote me three pages in ink that appears to have been scraped from a grieving priest."

Gabriel huffed a laugh and opened one eye. "And George?"

"Max cut the cord. Quietly. No press release. No funeral." A beat. "I think he’s free now."

Gabriel tilted his head, watching Damian like one might study a painting that had changed slightly every time they looked. "And what does that make us?"

Damian turned, finally, golden eyes heavy but no less sharp. "Not free," he said. "But undefeated."

Gabriel smiled without showing teeth. "Same thing, really."

Then he stretched, a luxurious arch that made his robe slip off one shoulder, revealing the curve of his neck and the faintest hint of the bond mark, just enough to remind the room, and Damian, exactly who he belonged to.

"Don’t even think about it," he added lazily, catching Damian’s stare. "I’m still avoiding council meetings, and if you distract me too well, they’ll send Astana in to fetch me."

"They wouldn’t dare," Damian murmured, already walking toward him.

But Gabriel just sighed, eyes sliding shut again, smug and sovereign in the same breath.

"You say that now," he said. "Wait until Alexandra starts organizing."

Damian didn’t stop until he was standing in front of the settee, the firelight casting a soft gold glow over the folds of Gabriel’s robe. The bond mark peeked out from beneath the collar again, stark against pale skin. But Damian’s gaze didn’t linger there this time.

He lowered himself to a crouch without a word, one hand splaying gently over Gabriel’s stomach.

Their child, his child, was already responding to ether shifts, to voice, and to touch. And today, as if sensing the heat of his father’s presence, there was the faintest nudge beneath his palm.

Damian leaned forward and pressed a kiss just above the curve, reverent, grounding. His lips lingered for a moment. Then he pulled back slightly, brushing his thumb across the fabric.

"You’re getting smug," he murmured.

Gabriel opened one eye again. "You’ve just now noticed?"

Damian huffed softly and reached up to run his fingers through Gabriel’s hair, smoothing a strand behind his ear before ruffling it deliberately.

Gabriel swatted at his hand, halfheartedly. "Do that again and I’ll make Astana ban you from your own office."

"You’d miss me in five minutes."

"Maybe six."

Damian smiled faintly but sobered a beat later. "Hadeon’s taken the border city in Donin."

Gabriel didn’t blink. "Let him."

"He’s pushing fast. Four victories in ten days. He’s using mercenary ethercasters. Ones that shouldn’t be able to pass the Republica’s internal permits, but apparently Aslan opened the doors wide when the embargo hit."

Gabriel’s lashes lowered. "Of course he did. Cowards like him always throw the gates to the nearest beast, hoping it won’t bite them first."

Damian sat beside him, careful not to jostle. "We’ll let him take the capital."

Gabriel turned his head then, eyes narrowed, sharp.

"That’s dangerous."

"That’s bait," Damian corrected, voice calm. "Let him feel like he’s won something real. Let him think Donin is his now, while I gather the signatures that make the Republica a hostile power harboring a traitor and a war criminal. Then we march in, take it back, and reabsorb the territory under full imperial sanction."

Gabriel was silent, the kind of silence that meant he was running calculations three steps ahead.

"And Aslan?"

"Will either flee, die, or surrender fast enough to buy himself a title somewhere irrelevant. I’ve already told Christian to ready the second fleet. If Hadeon takes Donin, he’s only taking debt."

Gabriel leaned his head back against the cushions, closing his eyes again.

"You make it sound so clean."

"It will be clean," Damian replied, threading their fingers together. "This time, we don’t just win. We rewrite the map."

"And after that?" Gabriel asked, voice soft.

Damian leaned in and pressed a kiss to the inside of his wrist.

"After that, I bring you the Republica," he murmured, "and our son inherits a world that no longer knows Hadeon’s name."

"Smug."

"Generous."

Gabriel cracked an eye open, the corner of his mouth curling just slightly, lazy, dangerous, and amused. "If this is you being generous, I’d hate to see your mercy."

Damian didn’t deny it. He only shifted closer, bracing an arm on the cushion behind Gabriel’s back, his other hand still resting on the curve of his stomach. Their child shifted again, a soft flutter beneath his palm. fгeewebnovёl.com

"I won’t let him near either of you," Damian said quietly, the kind of quiet that carried weight instead of softness.

Gabriel tilted his head, lashes brushing high cheeks as he studied him. "That’s a very long list of people you’ve promised to erase."

"And yet you still chose me," Damian said, golden eyes gleaming.

Gabriel exhaled, a sound somewhere between a sigh and a laugh. "No, Damian. I recognized you."

Damian stilled.

"That’s worse," Gabriel added and leaned into him anyway, like the war outside the palace walls hadn’t already begun, like the Empire hadn’t shifted on its axis the moment their bond was forged.

"You’re impossible," Damian muttered into his hair.

Gabriel smirked. "And you’re the one letting Hadeon build his own noose."

"Exactly," Damian said. "I’m letting him think he’s winning. The moment he finishes, I’ll pull the ground from under him and every ally too foolish to know they’ve been walking into a grave."

"You really know how to talk dirty to an omega."

"I’m talking to you," Damian said, brushing his lips over Gabriel’s temple. "There’s a difference."

And Gabriel, six months pregnant, still lounging like a spoiled cat in his mate’s study, just hummed. Because he knew.

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