Bound by the Mark of Lies (BL)-Chapter 247 - 242: Arrival Like a Threat

The air outside the palace was crisp, the sky steel-blue and glowing faintly with the shimmer of ether flowing through the high-channel spires.

Along the curved drive, a sleek line of midnight-blue imperial sedans waited in perfect formation—dark glass, silent engines, and subtle ward-runes glowing beneath the hoods. No emblems. No house sigils.

Gabriel stood at the top of the marble steps, dressed head-to-toe in midnight blue, the deep shade absorbing light like secrets. Silver thread glinted through the long folds of his formal coat, traced in delicate, almost-invisible ward sigils—heat absorption, static deflection, and a mild stabilizing weave to combat the light-headed nausea already clawing at the edges of his balance.

His fingers brushed his stomach once—subtle. Too brief to notice, he hoped.

He was three months in. The nausea came in waves, sharp but manageable if he avoided anything too sweet, too citrus, or too noble. Unfortunately, the Winter Ball promised an overabundance of all three.

Edward was a few steps behind, already checking the final security sweep.

"You’ll have three points of retreat," he murmured. "If you feel unwell—"

"I know," Gabriel said softly, eyes on the glowing path ahead. "I’ll manage."

The team gathered behind him in slow waves.

Irina emerged first, a vision in rich forest green layered with a fitted midnight jacket, sharp at the waist and dignified at the shoulders. Her hair was pinned back with delicate, ether combs that flickered softly against the light.

Julian followed, silver cuffs gleaming against obsidian velvet. He looked like he was ready to cross-examine the Empire with nothing but his gaze.

Alexandra strode out next, high-heeled and lethal, dressed in structured midnight-blue satin that somehow managed to weaponize elegance. Her hair was swept back into a crown braid, and her expression promised ruin for anyone who made eye contact uninvited.

Rafael came last. His tailored midnight-blue suit fit like armor, lined in matte silver trim, slightly too crisp—as if he didn’t believe yet that he was allowed to wear it. He looked around, overwhelmed and slightly out of breath.

His eyes landed on Gabriel.

And for the first time, he truly looked.

Gabriel’s skin was paler than usual under the ether lights. There was a tension around his mouth, a stillness to his posture that wasn’t just for show. His hand rested—momentarily—against his coat, just beneath the ribcage. Protective. Unthinking.

Rafael’s breath caught.

He didn’t say a word.

But his gaze snapped to Alexandra, sharp and uncertain.

She saw it instantly.

One step forward. Heels precise. Smile too sweet.

She leaned in just enough for the words to land without echo.

"If you say anything—to anyone—about what you just noticed," she said softly, "I will skin you alive. Elegantly. With color-matched gloves."

Rafael nodded once. Very quickly.

Alexandra patted his shoulder. "Good boy."

Gabriel turned his head slightly toward them. "Something wrong?"

"No," Rafael said. "Just... overwhelmed by the coordination."

"Get used to it," Gabriel murmured, eyes flicking to the line of waiting cars. "We make a habit of arriving like a threat."

Edward stepped forward. "Your Grace. The Emperor is waiting in the primary car. You’ll enter together."

Gabriel gave a brief nod, letting the others move ahead toward their assigned vehicles. Alexandra led with regal confidence. Irina followed, still glowing from the subtle thrill of outdressing three duchesses before arrival. Julian barely paused to speak with the head of security. Rafael lingered, walking carefully—as if each step brought him closer to something he wasn’t sure he’d survive.

Gabriel descended the palace steps last, the cool air slicing through the ether-warded silence around him. The nausea pulsed dully in his stomach—manageable, but warning him with every breath that tonight would be long.

The door of the primary car opened before he reached it.

Damian sat inside, already waiting.

He didn’t wear the full ceremonial regalia—just a midnight-blue tailored jacket with silver-traced crests at the collar and cuffs, sharp and severe, with no house insignias beyond the Imperial seal on his left ring. His hair was neatly combed back, a faint glow of ether lining the edges of the ward sewn into the lapel.

He looked like the embodiment of rule: quiet, lethal, and unbothered by the nerves of lesser men.

Then he looked up.

And for a moment, the weight dropped.

His expression didn’t change—not fully. But the gaze sharpened. Focused. Anchored.

"You’re pale," Damian said softly, extending a hand.

Gabriel took it as he stepped in. "I’m pregnant, worked to the bone, and dressed in three layers of silk. All three by the same man. What do you expect?"

The door shut behind him with a quiet click, sealing them into a world of soft etherlight and tension-lined stillness.

Damian’s mouth twitched faintly. "I expect you to dazzle anyway."

Gabriel settled into the seat beside him, gloved fingers resting momentarily over the center of his chest, where the nausea still burned with mild rebellion. "If I manage to stand upright and not stab someone with a dessert fork, I want it written into the reform log."

"I’ll give you a commendation in front of the Council."

Gabriel huffed, tired but amused. "Make it gilded."

Outside, the car eased into motion, joining the small convoy that rolled toward Serathine’s estate. The ether engines purred beneath them, nearly silent. But what followed behind—and above—was not.

In the shadows beyond the light of the palace gates, dark figures moved.

They didn’t ride with sirens or banners. They didn’t draw attention. But they were there.

One on the rooftop of the lead escort car. Two near the rear perimeter. At least three more positioned along the side corridors—barely visible even to trained eyes.

The Shadows didn’t wear uniform colors. They didn’t speak. But every rune stitched into the lining of their armor shimmered faintly under the ether streams above the avenue.

Gabriel glanced toward the window, catching the flicker of a figure atop the far carriage—just a silhouette against the sky.

"Gregoris has two at the gates already," Damian murmured. "One’s tracking the crowd routes from the roof. The others are on the ballroom perimeter. We’ll be covered before we step out."

"You think Serathine’s estate is a risk?"

"I think any public appearance is a risk. Especially tonight." Damian’s voice was calm, but Gabriel heard the weight under it. "You’re visible. And powerful. That combination makes people stupid."

"I’ve noticed."

"They won’t get near you."

Gabriel turned his head slightly, half-lidding his eyes. "You’re more nervous than I am."

Damian didn’t deny it.

Instead, he reached across the space between them and rested his hand on Gabriel’s thigh—not possessive, but grounding. "You don’t have to impress them. You only have to be seen."

"I know," Gabriel said quietly. "But I’d still like to impress them. So they remember exactly who they’re underestimating."

Damian smiled. Just a little. "Then let them try."

Outside, Serathine’s estate came into view, lit from within like a cathedral of glass and polished stone. The gates stood open, lined in silver-tipped hololights and ceremonial guards in winter regalia. Nobles were already arriving—stepping from their cars in carefully curated silks and heirloom jewels.

But none of them arrived with Shadows.

None of them arrived beside the Emperor.

And none of them arrived as the Empire’s chosen Consort—draped in midnight, warded in ether, and carrying a secret no one in that hall was ready for.

Gabriel exhaled slowly, tightening his grip around Damian’s hand.

"Let’s give them something to talk about."