Bound by the Mark of Lies (BL)-Chapter 252 - 246: The Second Option

The private space curated by House Varel was exactly what it was meant to be—exclusive, warded, untouchable.

A softened alcove veiled by curtains of pale smoke-silk, lit from beneath by low ether-glow. It wasn’t removed from the ballroom but elevated just enough to make entry feel earned.

Inside, the Spite Department had taken to it with the familiarity of people who no longer flinched at luxury.

Julian had one leg crossed over the other, swirling a drink with academic disapproval. Irina was still adjusting the shoulders of Rafael’s coat—threatening, in low tones, to pin a brooch through his sternum if he slouched again. Alexandra stood near the edge, arms folded, watching the nobles below as if debating which one to dismantle next.

Gabriel was seated on the divan, posture impeccable, a flute of chilled water in hand and the polite expression of someone enduring endless praise disguised as conversation.

Then Damian stepped in.

No one said anything. Not right away.

He entered like nothing had happened—because nothing had. Not publicly. Not in a way the room could trace.

His coat was unwrinkled. His expression, unreadable.

Only Gabriel’s gaze lifted to meet his

That was enough.

Julian cleared his throat. "Good of you to rejoin us. We were just discussing which noble family would fail the civil exam first."

"Whichever one spells their own name wrong," Irina offered, prim.

"I’d put money on Roseroth," Alexandra murmured, sipping slowly.

"I’m right here," Rafael said, managing dignity and dread in equal measure.

"If you do your job perfectly," Gabriel replied, tone flat and deliberate, "I’ll consider giving you the civil exam."

Rafael blinked. "I would rather just do the test."

Julian made a noise halfway between a laugh and a cough. "Reasonable. The exam is kinder."

"Debatable," Irina said. "You haven’t seen Gabriel mark papers."

"I haven’t seen him blink in two hours," Rafael muttered. "I think he’s absorbing energy from the hatred of old nobles."

Gabriel didn’t smile, but his fingers tapped once on the rim of his glass. "Flattery will not raise your scores."

"But it buys time," Alexandra offered, setting her glass down. "Which, in court, is the only thing that matters."

Damian said nothing.

He lounged—without theatrics, without need to prove presence. His coat parted with a flick of his wrist, movement clean and efficient, and he leaned forward just enough to pluck a glass of cognac from the small table set before them.

The crystal caught the low etherlight, casting fractured amber over his gloves.

Gabriel leaned against Damian’s shoulder with a quiet sigh, his posture effortless—measured detachment for the court, but something else entirely behind the veil.

The others were still bickering. Irina and Julian now embroiled in a petty debate over regional essay weighting, Alexandra interjecting purely to escalate, Rafael trying to vanish into the upholstery.

"You know," Gabriel murmured, low enough that only Damian would hear, "I discovered something new this evening."

Damian didn’t turn. "What?"

Gabriel’s breath stirred the edge of his collar. "Blood also makes me nauseous."

A pause.

Damian took another sip of cognac. Then, softly, "I see."

Another beat.

"Duly noted," he said, with a slow smirk. "Next time, it will be bloodless."

Damian placed his other hand on Gabriel’s waist, slow and deliberate.

"Only for you."

His thumb brushed just once against the fabric—barely a gesture, barely a touch. But Gabriel felt it anyway, the steadiness beneath the veneer. The silent promise buried under velvet coats and layered wards.

He didn’t pull away.

Outside the veil, the music shifted again, laughter rising and falling, nobles orbiting each other in predictable patterns. But in that moment, none of it reached them.

Gabriel let his eyes slip shut for half a breath.

Just one.

Then: "What should I do with Callahan?"

He hadn’t said the name all evening. Had dodged the subject through four meetings and two scheduled reports. He didn’t want to think about it—not while the walls still held the scent of new paint, not while the Empire still weighed him with every glance.

Damian didn’t move.

"Whatever you want."

Gabriel opened his eyes slowly.

"George is with us—for the moment," Damian continued, voice low, even. "But we know him. Max has already had to cover more than you see. He’s trying to stay ahead of the moves George hasn’t made yet."

A pause.

"I didn’t forgive them," Gabriel said. Quiet. Steady.

Damian nodded once. "You’re not meant to."

"They’ll pay," Gabriel murmured. "After their use is over."

"Good."

No pity. No warning. Just confirmation.

Like they were discussing the weather or war.

And maybe, in a way, they were.

Gabriel’s fingers flexed slightly where they rested against the cushion. "I don’t want him in the palace. Not yet."

"Then he won’t be," Damian said. "Gregoris already delayed the audience until after the civil exam. He’ll remain under watch but moved out of the palace." ƒrēenovelkiss.com

Gabriel tilted his head against Damian’s shoulder, just enough to let the weight settle again.

Gabriel didn’t speak again. Not yet.

The silence held between them, not heavy—just stretched, like cloth pulled taut across something sharp.

Then, from the far corner of the veiled space, Alexandra’s voice cut through the quiet like a needle through silk.

"Don’t get up," she said, still lounging with a glass in hand. "You look too decorative."

Gabriel lifted his head from Damian’s shoulder, one brow rising. "Was that a compliment?"

"I’m low on better ones," she replied. "And the moment calls for diplomacy."

Damian didn’t move. "What is it?"

Alexandra took a slow sip, then stood. She hadn’t been far—just quiet. Listening.

"There are whispers," she said mildly, her voice slipping into the quiet like a blade through silk. "That Rafael is the second option after Gabriel."

Gabriel’s fingers stilled against the curve of his glass.

Alexandra continued, unbothered. "It seems his mother has started to move again. No direct source, of course. That would be crude. But the tone is familiar. Controlled. Distant. And calculated to circulate."

Gabriel didn’t look at Rafael, who sat further down the lounge, posture stiff and eyes carefully blank. Irina had gone very still beside him.

Damian remained quiet.

Not from surprise—but assessment.

Gabriel leaned back slightly. "She wants to place her son near the throne, one way or another."

"She’s making sure people say his name," Alexandra replied. "The rest comes later."

"She wouldn’t dare position him above me," Gabriel said, tone flat.

Alexandra shrugged. "She doesn’t need to. Just next to you. Just enough to blur the lines."

Damian took another sip of cognac.

Then: "What else?"

"She’s being careful. Not naming names. Not making claims. Just... suggesting." Alexandra tilted her glass, letting the light catch the amber. "The kind of suggestion that works best in crowded rooms and quiet corners."

Gabriel finally glanced toward Rafael. "And you?"

Rafael didn’t flinch. "I’m not part of her game. She didn’t ask."