Bound by the Mark of Lies (BL)-Chapter 256 - 250: Impromptu medical checkup (1)

The palace looked the same.

Which was, frankly, insulting.

Gabriel stepped out of the convoy with the wind still tugging at the edges of his coat, the collar skewed from the ride and his scarf half-loosened in frustration. He hadn’t said a word on the way back—which, for Gabriel, was never a good sign.

He’d been pulled from the Winter Ball halfway through a sentence. A well-constructed one, delivered with perfect timing and a razor’s edge of charm. There had been polite laughter, Serathine’s daughter hovering too close, and a tray of overly sweet fruit cocktails he’d already declined more than once.

"We’re going home," Edward had said, with that particular tone that didn’t allow for interpretation. Not later. Not after dessert. Not after Gabriel had finished bleeding diplomacy across a room of half-interested nobles.

Now.

They’d informed Serathine and the rest of the group. And then they’d left—without Damian.

And that... that was the part that stuck.

Because if Damian had sent Edward and stayed behind, it meant something had gone wrong. Something calculated. And, more importantly, something he didn’t want Gabriel to see.

He was shielding him again.

Edward hadn’t explained, not really. Just a brief, sterile line: "There may have been concern regarding the refreshments."

Which, in imperial terms, meant someone had likely tried to poison him.

Again.

Gabriel didn’t even bother to ask what was in the glass. He hadn’t touched anything except mineral water and his own plate—and even then, only after Edward gave the nod. He wasn’t careless.

And he wasn’t shocked.

He did sigh, though. A sharp breath through his nose as they entered the palace’s front hall, the doors closing behind them with too much ceremony.

Because he understood.

He understood the implications. The fact that he was removed quietly, without fuss, and without explanation. That his presence at court—his body, his silence, his health—was now something being handled.

And he knew what that meant.

He was pregnant. He was marked. He was political currency. And now, he was fragile.

That was the worst of it.

Not the threat itself, but the way the walls had started to close in—not with violence, but velvet gloves. Whispered precautions. Silent decisions made behind his back in the name of safety. The way everyone kept treating him like something breakable, delicate, strategic.

He wasn’t fragile. He was furious.

"Edward," Gabriel said, finally breaking the silence as they turned into the main corridor, "if you’re going to remain quiet, at least give me the time necessary for this. You’re almost pushing me."

Edward didn’t break stride. His expression remained unchanged.

"I’m fine." Gabriel continued, yanking his scarf off with one hand, irritation curling in every word. "I walked myself out of the ballroom. I stepped into the car. I didn’t faint, cry, or threaten to set anything on fire. The least I’m owed is one minute to adjust my coat."

Edward didn’t stop, but he did slow half a step. Just enough to let Gabriel move at his own pace. A concession. Not an apology.

"That’s better," Gabriel muttered.

The palace was too still. Someone had cleared the way ahead of them too thoroughly. There was no staff. No passing courtiers. Just marble and etherlight and the sound of Gabriel’s own heels against the floor.

Every inch of it screamed control.

He hated it.

"Damian could’ve sent a message," Gabriel added under his breath. "He knows I don’t panic. Or, if I do, I do it quietly and after the threat is dead."

Edward didn’t respond.

Gabriel narrowed his eyes. "That wasn’t rhetorical."

"I’m aware," Edward replied mildly. "But you already know the answer."

Gabriel exhaled again—less a sigh, more the sound of someone choosing not to scream into expensive curtains.

’Right. I knew. Damian was trying to protect me and the child. Again.’

The thought settled somewhere behind his ribs, sour and bitter and infuriatingly soft.

They were halfway down the corridor when Gabriel stopped walking.

Edward halted two steps ahead, turning only when the silence stretched a moment too long.

"Are we going to speak about it," Gabriel asked, tone sharp but deceptively polite, "or just panic and pray I don’t collapse before the blood results come in?"

Edward didn’t answer immediately.

Which was, of course, the answer.

Gabriel folded his arms across his chest, coat half-off his shoulder, expression unimpressed.

"I’m not going to shatter because someone brewed something with malicious intent," he said. "And unless you think the tea also erased my critical thinking, I’d like to be briefed before I’m examined like a particularly delicate porcelain artifact."

Edward gave him a long, measured look.

Then: "It was a contraceptive compound. Masked in a blend tailored for omega focus. Harmless to most. Damaging to male omegas. Difficult to detect. Subtle over time."

Gabriel blinked once.

"That’s not an answer," he said. "That’s a medical brochure."

"It’s what we have so far," Edward replied. "And it’s what the physician will confirm."

Gabriel didn’t speak. Not at first.

Then, slowly, "So someone tried to sterilize me?"

Edward hesitated. "Yes."

Gabriel tilted his head. "But I’m already pregnant."

"Yes," Edward said again.

A beat.

Gabriel arched a brow. "And no one thought that might be worth mentioning before I was dragged out of the ball like a scandal in silk shoes?"

Edward exhaled. "Damian didn’t want you to know until we had confirmation."

Gabriel’s jaw clenched, but he smiled anyway.

It wasn’t a kind smile.

"Of course he didn’t."

He started walking again, the motion smooth, deliberate, as if his anger had somewhere to be and had already sent a carriage ahead.

Edward followed without a word. There was nothing left to say that wouldn’t make it worse.

Moments later, Gabriel pushed open the door to the medical office. The hinges had been oiled. The light was soft, calculated. Too clean.

The physician looked up, already gloved, already waiting. A tray of sterile instruments sat at the edge of the counter—prepped and positioned as if Gabriel were expected to collapse at any moment.

He didn’t.

He stepped inside with the practiced elegance of someone who had endured far worse under brighter lights.