Bound by the Mark of Lies (BL)-Chapter 239 - 234: Storm’s Eye

The next few days blurred into a slow grind of meetings, reports, and endless diplomacy.

The palace, though glittering as ever from the outside, simmered quietly beneath its polished surface—rumors coiling through the halls about the poisoned honey, about who would be next, and about how long it would take for the Emperor’s wrath to fall. Nobles whispered behind silk fans and carved doors, and no one dared breathe too loudly when Gabriel passed.

He had become the storm’s eye—silent, still, and impossible to ignore.

Gabriel, meanwhile, buried himself in work.

Or tried to.

He sat behind the wide desk in his new office—a chamber off the Imperial Wing, paneled in soft ash wood and heavy with the scent of clean parchment and faint Ether—staring down a man who looked two wrong words away from wetting himself.

The young official fidgeted, sweating lightly in his fine jacket despite the pleasant chill of the room. His hands twisted a folder Gabriel hadn’t given him permission to open.

Gabriel didn’t speak.

He didn’t need to.

His cool, unwavering gaze, haloed by the subtle glimmer of ether just beneath his skin, was enough to make the man clear his throat and finally stammer, "I—I was not aware this proposal had already passed committee review, my lord—Your Grace—I mean—"

"You weren’t aware," Gabriel repeated, his voice like velvet dragged over steel. "So your department submitted a proposal to the Empress’s Office without reading the last six pages."

"I—well—yes?"

Gabriel arched a brow. "That wasn’t a question."

The man flushed crimson.

Across the room, Irina, sitting primly on the edge of a window seat with a clipboard in her lap, bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. She didn’t dare interrupt.

Gabriel tapped one gloved finger against the desk, slow and precise. "This proposal involved transferring ether supply lines through a region known for instability and black-market siphoning. If I’d signed off, that corridor would’ve collapsed within weeks. Would you like to explain to His Majesty why you didn’t read?"

"N-no, Your Grace."

"Excellent. Then get out."

The man didn’t wait for a second dismissal. He scrambled up, bowed too low, and half-tripped over the edge of the carpet on his way out. The door closed with a sharp click.

Gabriel sat back slowly. He pinched the bridge of his nose and muttered, "I miss the field."

Irina finally let the laughter slip. "You say that, but you also like terrifying idiots."

"I didn’t say I hated it," Gabriel murmured.

There was a knock at the inner door—two short taps, then one longer.

Only a few people used that pattern.

Gabriel leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking faintly beneath him. "Come in."

The door opened, and Edward stepped in with a thin black folder in one hand and a perfectly neutral expression.

There was a quiet shift in the room as he entered—like the wards themselves recognized him. Calmer. Sharper.

Edward had become his shadow since Gabriel’s recovery. Even more than before. The moment it became clear the poisoning was no accident, he had started delegating. Tasks were reassigned, routines altered, and servants replaced or removed. He no longer left Gabriel’s side unless Damian himself pulled rank—and even then, reluctantly.

He crossed the office in four silent steps and placed the folder down in front of Gabriel.

"From the Emperor. It’s about Callahan."

Gabriel took it without a word. The air shifted slightly as he opened the file, the room falling into silence.

Inside, printed in clean script and sealed with the royal mark, were the final reports from the Imperial Hospital. Callahan was stable. Awake. Speaking.

And requesting a private audience.

Gabriel leaned back in his chair, his gaze drifting toward the frozen windows. A faint haze of frost clung to the corners of the glass, delicate and sharp—like the tension that hadn’t left his chest in days.

He no longer trusted Callahan or George; he had previously trusted them, but that trust had vanished. He considered refusing to see Callahan.

"Should I program it for tomorrow morning?" Edward said, calm.

"Let him wait," Gabriel said. He wasn’t prepared to hear apologies or, worse, excuses disguised as loyalty.

"Do I have anything else on the schedule today?"

Edward, ever efficient, checked the slim black journal tucked beneath his arm. "Yes. An official meeting with His Majesty about you taking over the Civil Examination."

Gabriel’s head thudded softly against the high back of the chair. He let out a slow groan.

"For fuck’s sake," he muttered. "This man gives me no time to breathe."

Edward’s mouth twitched. "He gives you responsibility. That’s nearly the same thing."

"Mmhmm... if you say so." Gabriel leaned an elbow on the armrest, his hand propping up his cheek. "Lucky I’m pregnant; otherwise even my evenings would be full."

That earned a quiet chuckle from Irina, who had been pretending to take notes from the couch but was clearly eavesdropping with enthusiasm.

"Do you mean emotionally full, or—?"

"Don’t," Edward said without looking at her, adjusting the angle of the calendar page with a single gloved finger. "Don’t encourage him. He’s already intolerable before coffee."

"I was tolerable once," Gabriel said, his tone airy. "Then I was bonded, poisoned, and assigned to two government committees. Now I’m simply surviving."

Irina, seated with one leg tucked beneath her and a stylus in hand, scribbled something in the corner of her tablet with a barely suppressed grin. "Should I remind you that tomorrow evening is the Winter Ball hosted by Lady Serathine? The one you accepted publicly at the tea party?"

Gabriel froze.

Edward looked up with a pointedly blank expression that radiated I told you so.

Gabriel slowly turned his head toward Irina. "Was I drugged when I did that?"

Edward let out a quiet, almost imperceptible sigh as he set a stack of sealed envelopes on the desk. "No, unless you consider the citrus tea. Her household released the guest list yesterday. Your name is listed at the top."

Gabriel stared at him as if betrayed. "I must’ve been out of my mind."

He pinched the bridge of his nose, his voice flat. "Sure. Let’s go first to the Imperial Office; might as well get my condemnation for organizing the first Civil Examination of Damian’s regime out of the way before nightfall. No pressure."

Edward nodded as if Gabriel had just listed a grocery item. "The ministers have been briefed. The professors will attend in silence. The Emperor will pretend to be impressed."

"Comforting," Gabriel muttered.

Irina rose, smoothing down the pale green skirt Damian’s tailor had insisted she wear for court appearances. "Shall I prepare a statement in case you get publicly burned alive for threatening to reform the academic elite?"

Gabriel stood, buttoning the front of his deep blue coat. "No need. I already wrote it. It’s three words: I warned you."

Edward offered the folder back, now with updated annotations. "You’ll be fine. You survived poisoning, nobles, family dinners, and one imperial mating bond. Civil servants are predictable. They’ll either bow or faint."

Gabriel arched a brow. "Great. Do we have a secretary board to help?"

"No."