Bound by the Mark of Lies (BL)-Chapter 245 - 240: Assembly.

Gabriel stared for a long moment. Then stepped inside.

The room was already awake—barely.

Papers rustled, styluses tapped, a half-drunk mug of tea steamed near the edge of the central table. The staff looked halfway between war-ready and sleep-deprived.

Alexandra was pacing near the map board, muttering to herself about bribery brackets.

Irina sat curled in an armchair by the window, hair still damp from the morning wash, stylus tapping against her lip as she flipped through a rubric draft.

Julian had just arrived, barely settled into a chair, sleeves still rolled up and a notebook open but untouched. The only sign he was even awake was the mug in his hand, which read, DON’T SPEAK UNTIL PAGE THREE.

And Rafael stood off to the side—perfectly dressed, eyes wide, and absolutely not sure what he’d walked into.

Everyone looked up when Gabriel entered.

"You’re late," Alexandra said, without looking up from her clipboard.

"I gave no set time," Gabriel replied.

"You implied structure by naming the department," she shot back.

"I didn’t name it. That was a joke."

"It was ratified," Irina added cheerfully. "We held a vote. Rafael abstained. It passed three to zero."

Rafael cleared his throat. "I... still don’t really know why I’m here."

"You’re attractive and qualified," Alexandra said. "That’s rare enough. Welcome."

Gabriel made his way to the center table and glanced over the spread of documents. Nothing too chaotic yet—some rubric drafts, a few case-study folders, and one spilled ink blot that looked vaguely like a threatening sigil.

Gabriel sighed and turned his gaze on Rafael, who stood with the haunted eyes of a man still hoping this was all an elaborate prank.

"Because," Gabriel said calmly, "you have some interesting achievements at the academy, you flirted with my mate, and you spilled wine on Irina’s dress. I paid for the dress. You pay me by being useful."

Rafael swallowed again, visibly weighing his pride against the increasing odds of public shaming.

"I didn’t mean to flirt," he said finally, eyes on Gabriel. "Not really."

Alexandra snorted. "Translation: Delphine stood behind him with a fan and a threat."

Rafael winced. "It was a very expensive fan. I really didn’t want to spill wine on Lady Irina, I was preparing to leave."

"Irina, you are in purgatory with us; better use our names," Irina said, shrugging as she pulled a stack of attendance ledgers closer. "You already ruined one of my favorite dresses. At this point, we’re practically trauma-bonded."

Rafael looked appropriately mortified. "I’ll pay for a new one."

Gabriel didn’t look up. "You’re paying in labor, not reparations. If I wanted court-approved apologies, I’d attend a dinner."

Alexandra, leaning back in her chair with her boots propped on a low cabinet, grinned. "Delphine must be furious. She had you polished like an ornament. Now you’re stuck in a room full of civil servants who think ’noble lineage’ is a disqualifier."

Rafael, to his credit, nodded slowly. "Honestly? I’d rather be useful."

There was a pause.

Irina looked up from her page. "You might survive after all."

Rafael gave him a faint smile, then opened the folder.

The smile died almost instantly.

"Someone submitted a reference letter written in third person," he said slowly, scanning the first page. "By themselves."

Julian didn’t even look up. "Mark it."

Rafael flipped to the next one. "This one includes a family crest watermark and a paragraph about ’natural superiority of noble memory retention.’"

"Burn it," Alexandra muttered, scribbling something furiously on her own sheet.

Irina tapped a stylus against her lip. "If the next one mentions divine right or blessed handwriting, just hand it to me. I’m collecting them for a display I’m calling What Not to Be."

Rafael blinked down at the third page. "This applicant listed ’inheritance of wisdom’ as a skill."

Julian reached over and handed him a black stamp without looking.

DENIED FOR REASONS OF DIGNITY

Rafael took it in silence, then pressed it down with a little more satisfaction than he expected.

For the first time all morning, he felt something unfamiliar: purpose.

He turned to Gabriel—who hadn’t said a word in the last two minutes but was now flipping through evaluation drafts with cool precision, a pencil tapping against his lower lip.

"Should I start categorizing by severity?" Rafael asked carefully. "Color tags?"

Gabriel looked up, something flickering behind his eyes. Approval. Quiet, but real.

"Good idea," he said. "Create a new tag while you’re at it. For people whose applications are so offensive, we’ll need alcohol to read them."

Rafael uncapped the crimson marker with more confidence this time. "What do we call it?"

Irina leaned over with a gleam in her eye. "Crimson-grade Delusion."

Approved.

Time passed—too much, not enough—measured only in the number of times Alexandra cursed, Julian sighed, and Gabriel rubbed his temples like the act alone might will intelligence into the ruling class.

They found bribes hidden in recommendation letters, signatures written with a flourish and no actual literacy behind them, and one application submitted entirely in verse.

"Who writes poetry on a government form?" Alexandra snapped, holding the paper aloft like a war crime.

"The desperate," Julian murmured. "Or the drunk."

Gabriel was about to respond when the door opened with the soft, distinct authority of a man who controlled schedules like other people breathed.

Edward entered.

He took one look around the room—the scattered papers, the full teacups, the faint echo of someone’s soul dying over a misspelled definition of ’sovereignty’—and sighed through his nose.

"Your Grace," he said, "it’s time."

Gabriel didn’t look up. "Time for what?"

"For the Winter Ball," Edward said with the quiet calm of someone who had accepted the futility of resistance. "You need to begin preparations."

Gabriel glanced at the clock, then back at the room. "We just started."

"You’ll continue tomorrow." Edward’s gaze swept the rest of the department, unimpressed but unsurprised. "And you’re bringing them with you."

Irina froze mid-note. "To the ball?"

Alexandra sat back slowly, eyes narrowing. "Please tell me this is a security escort situation."

"No," Edward replied. "It’s a public appearance situation. Lady Serathine has already announced your team will be in attendance. You’ve been named as the ’new reform vanguard.’ The guest list has adapted."

Julian groaned. "We haven’t even finalized the rubrics. I don’t have shoes for that."

Rafael blinked. "I have... only the suit on me."

Edward, unbothered, stepped further into the room with the weight of inevitability behind every word.

"As with the rest of this room," he said, "I’ve taken the liberty of preparing outfits for each of you according to the importance of the event."

He paused—just long enough for dread to settle properly.

"I remind you that this is the first official public appearance of the Emperor and his Consort outside the court. You are not staff tonight. You are representation."