Bound by the Mark of Lies (BL)-Chapter 389 - 383: Temptation

Damian chuckled, the sound low and far too pleased. "Peace, he says, while eyeing me like that."

"I’m eyeing you like a man who values spinal integrity," Gabriel replied dryly, though his hand had drifted, betrayingly, to rest against Damian’s thigh, right where the towel dipped too low for diplomatic approval.

"Mm." Damian shifted just enough for the movement to be suggestive, not scandalous. Arik let out a soft coo in protest, and Damian instinctively adjusted him, pressing a soothing kiss to his tiny forehead.

"You were saying?" he murmured against the child’s hair.

Gabriel didn’t answer right away. His gaze had softened the way it always did when he looked at their son.

"I was saying," he murmured at last, "that you’re dangerous. And if I weren’t still healing, I’d drag you into that bed and remind you why you married a strategist."

Damian hummed, unrepentant and content, like a man who knew exactly how dangerous he was and had every intention of weaponizing it.

He adjusted Arik’s weight in his arms with ease, the movement smooth, almost elegant, as if warlords had always doubled as fathers. "Then I’ll count the days. Two weeks, wasn’t it?"

"Fourteen days," Gabriel confirmed, eyes narrowing with mock warning. "And if you so much as breathe suggestively before then, I’m sending you back to your war councils."

Damian laughed softly, that low, wicked sound that always started in his chest and echoed like a promise. "But I’m here now. Freshly bathed. Holding our child. And you..." He leaned in again, his voice a whisper against Gabriel’s cheek. "You’re the one who can’t stop looking."

Gabriel’s fingers twitched against the linen of the settee. "You’re infuriating."

"I’m yours," Damian corrected, voice velvet and absolute.

And Gabriel, for all his composure, for all his sharp wit and imperial presence, let his expression soften completely, because yes, he was watching. And yes, this was peace, however temporary. Arik snuggled closer into Damian’s bare chest, small hand curled near his father’s collarbone like a claim.

Gabriel exhaled. "Go put a shirt on before Edward sees you like this."

Damian’s grin turned sharper. "You say that like it’s a threat."

"It could be," said Edward, entering the room. "You have visitors wanting to see the child. Lady Crista and princess Sofia, followed by Prince Christian.

Gabriel didn’t even flinch.

He just leaned back against the cushions, one hand rising to pinch the bridge of his nose like a man too regal, too exhausted, and far too used to this level of intrusion to care.

"Of course," he muttered. "Bring the entire Empire. Should we summon a bard as well?"

Edward, unamused and immaculate as ever, adjusted his gloves with the elegance of someone who had been managing imperial disasters since before sunrise. "I already turned away three nobles, one foreign envoy, and a priest who claimed the baby might be the second coming of ether itself. I assumed family took precedence."

He paused. "Prince Arik is the first grandson of Crista and the first nephew for the other two; of course they want to see him."

Gabriel raised a brow, lips twitching with something between fatigue and mischief. "Wonderful. Remind them he’s also seven days old and currently asleep."

Damian looked down at the bundled child in his arms. Arik had one tiny fist curled at his cheek, his breath even, his black lashes unmoved by the tension already surrounding his legacy. "He’s used to noise," Damian said with a smirk. "He takes after you."

"I don’t scream at diplomats," Gabriel muttered.

"No, you just skin them with your words," Edward added dryly. "Much quieter. Much more efficient."

Gabriel gestured toward the side room. "Fine. Escort them in, but I want no perfumes, no powdered gloves, no idiotic blessings, and absolutely no unsolicited advice."

Edward inclined his head. "Noted. I’ve already confiscated two lace bonnets, a charm bracelet, and a parenting book written by a monk who never met a child."

Damian chuckled as he moved to place Arik back into the softly lined bassinet. "Remind me why we allow visitors again?"

"Because," Gabriel said, adjusting the folds of his robe with imperious grace, "if we didn’t, they’d try to see him anyway. This way, we control the scene."

"And if they overstep?" Damian asked.

Gabriel didn’t miss a beat. "Then I’ll let Sofia hold him first and let her glare do the rest."

Damian gave a satisfied nod. "Delegation. That’s my strategist."

—

Crista entered first, her gown a soft cascade of twilight blue and silver accents that shimmered under the afternoon light. But more than the elegance, it was the sigh she let out, long, genuine, and quietly theatrical, that made Gabriel’s lips twitch.

"Finally," she said. "A room without court noise or your father."

Damian, still holding Arik, raised a brow. "He’s no longer your husband."

"And yet the damage echoes," Crista replied sweetly. "I came for my grandson. Not ghosts."

Gabriel stifled a grin as she crossed the room, not to kiss his cheek, but to inspect him, eyes sharp, fingers adjusting the edge of his robe with more familiarity than any nurse dared.

"You look better than I expected," she murmured. "Which means you’re lying to everyone."

"I’m recovering," Gabriel replied with a shrug, the movement lazy but not false.

Crista arched a brow. "Mm. And I suppose the Empire is recovering too, somehow. How inconvenient."

Behind her, Princess Sofia followed, a step behind her mother. She hesitated in the doorway for a beat before smoothing her skirt and offering a perfect bow. Her eyes darted from Gabriel to Damian, then settled on the small bundle in Damian’s arms.

"He’s real," Sofia said softly, then blinked as if she hadn’t meant to speak aloud.

Gabriel smiled faintly. "Terrifying, isn’t it?"

Christian arrived last, his dark coat open, silver eyes sweeping the room like a man checking for hidden chaos. No bow, no ceremonial greeting, just a nod toward his brother and a glance at the baby that stretched into an appraising stare.

"Well," he drawled. "He has your face, Damian. Poor thing."

"And Gabriel’s teeth," Damian replied smoothly.

Crista let out a warm, low laugh as she claimed the armchair beside Gabriel’s with the ease of someone who had already dismissed the notion of asking permission. Her gaze slid to the baby, now dozing against Damian’s shoulder, and her expression softened in a way few people ever saw.

"Arik Rigel Lyon," she murmured. "Born to bring chaos and charm in equal measure. The gods better show him mercy, because I doubt the court will."

Sofia stepped closer. "May I...?"

Gabriel nodded once, and Damian gently offered Arik into her arms. She held him with more steadiness than expected, though her fingers trembled slightly as the infant stirred and resettled against her. Sofia looked down, lips parted in awe.

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