Bound by the Mark of Lies (BL)-Chapter 262 - 256: What Would You Have Done?

"No," the physician said bluntly. "Because this shouldn’t be possible. But it is. Which means we deal with what’s real, not what’s recorded."

He looked at both of them now, his gaze even and vaguely exhausted, as though he’d aged five years during this appointment.

"The Consort is marked," he went on, "so his pheromones are—at this stage—selective. They’ll only trigger to Your Majesty. That limits risk, but not reaction."

Gabriel blinked. "Reaction?"

"I advise," the physician said, adjusting his scanner with a resigned sigh, "that you both take some heat or rut days and go through it. Properly. In private. Preferably in a location without breakable furniture."

Gabriel’s brow lifted. "Are you prescribing sex?"

"I’m prescribing survival," the physician deadpanned.

Then he added, without a hint of apology, "Also, the heat might induce rut. Your Majesty should be aware of that."

Damian’s expression didn’t shift, but the quiet around him did. The air felt heavier. More charged. Like a circuit about to complete itself.

Gabriel gave a faint laugh, humorless. "Well, that’s convenient. All I’m missing now is a fruit basket."

The physician ignored him. "No suppressants. No interference. No ether dampeners. Just time, water, isolation, and cooperation."

"Define cooperation," Gabriel said under his breath.

The physician glanced at the door longingly. "Anything short of bloodshed."

He finished packing his tools with clipped efficiency, then paused as he passed Damian.

"One last note," he added, almost offhandedly. "If the heat escalates and the rut hits at the same time... I suggest soundproofing. And maybe warn the guard rotation."

Damian didn’t answer.

Gabriel did. "Why? Planning to sell tickets?"

The physician gave him a flat look. "Just hoping to avoid an incident with the beta attendants or guards."

Gabriel arched a brow.

The physician elaborated with the weariness of someone who had seen too much and documented it all. "If Your Majesty’s rut is triggered while the Consort enters heat, unregulated, unsuppressed, the pheromone levels could become... destabilizing. Especially for betas."

He turned briefly toward Damian. "There’s a reason the imperial regulation restricts alphas from releasing pheromones in public spaces. If the bond flares mid-cycle, you’re going to affect everyone within range."

Gabriel blinked. "Affect how?"

The physician didn’t sugarcoat it. "Some beta males, especially young, unaligned, or still in hormonal transition, can manifest a secondary gender under extreme pheromone exposure. If it happens near you, near the throne, it becomes a scandal. If it happens because of you, it becomes political ammunition."

A pause.

Then, flatly: "So no public scenes. No open corridors. No drama."

Gabriel opened his mouth, then closed it again with a sigh. "You’re telling me that if I so much as glow too loud, someone’s secondary gender might change mid-hallway?"

"Exactly," the physician replied. "And that’s before we factor in panic responses from non-dominant alphas."

Damian hadn’t moved. But his silence now came with gravity. Like a storm that had decided not to announce itself.

The physician packed the last of his scanner. "I’ll make sure the medical wing is locked down. No attendants. No unfiltered air circulation. You’ll have everything you need. Food will be delivered through shielding. Staff rotation will be restricted."

He gave Gabriel a pointed look. "And you will not start any more arguments between now and onset."

Gabriel exhaled through his nose. "I make no promises."

"You’ll make this one," the physician snapped. "Because the last thing I need is a fertility spike cascading through the west wing while you two settle a lovers’ quarrel with a civil war."

Gabriel blinked. "That was oddly poetic."

"I’ve had a long night," the physician replied. "Don’t push me."

Then, with one last glance at Damian, and an even longer one at Gabriel, he said, "Good luck. And try to act like you’re both trained adults instead of walking ether bombs."

He left.

Gabriel didn’t look at Damian. Not at first.

"So," he said, his voice cool, casual—cutting, "are you going to explain yourself?"

Damian said nothing.

Gabriel moved to the cabinet and pulled free the change of clothes Edward had prepared, the soft dark fabric whispering against his skin as he slid it on.

"You had me escorted out like a liability," he continued, tone deceptively light. "Shuffled here under medical seal like I’d lost control. Edward wouldn’t explain. The doctor wouldn’t explain. And you—"

He turned, eyes sharp.

"You broke the report before reading it."

Damian remained still, his expression unreadable.

Gabriel scoffed. "So go on. Tell me why. Tell me what the hell you were thinking."

A long pause.

Then Damian’s voice came, low and steady—too even.

"You’re twelve weeks pregnant. You haven’t eaten properly in days. You’ve slept less than four hours at a time since we found out about your ether poisoning. You’re running on caffeine and spite and still showing up to every meeting like nothing touches you."

Gabriel didn’t flinch.

But he didn’t deny it either.

Damian moved closer, not imposing, just present.

"Delphine came to me to inform me that Rosaline was planning to make you lose the ability to procreate. She didn’t know if you drank the blend or not."

Gabriel’s breath caught.

It was slight—almost imperceptible—but there.

Damian’s eyes stayed on his, unreadable.

"What would you do in my place?" he asked softly. "If someone told you the person you marked might have been poisoned, and you didn’t know if it worked?"

Gabriel didn’t answer right away. His hands tensed at his sides, fingers flexing once, twice, before curling into the hem of his coat.

"I would’ve told him," he said at last, his voice cool and clipped. "I would’ve told him the moment I knew. I would’ve let him choose how to respond."

Damian’s jaw shifted, but he said nothing.

"Instead," Gabriel said, his voice growing colder, "you dragged me here under a sealed escort, let the physician drain half my blood, and stood at the door like the scan was a bomb."

"It was a bomb," Damian said. "Just one I couldn’t risk you detonating alone."

"You don’t get to make that call."

"I had to," Damian snapped, the calm cracking for just a second. "Because if you had drunk it—if there was even a chance—"

He stopped.

Reined it back in. freeωebnovēl.c૦m

When he spoke again, it was quiet. Controlled.

"I didn’t think you were fragile, Gabriel. I never have. But that doesn’t mean you’re expendable."

Gabriel turned away, jaw tight, the lines around his eyes carved deep from more than just exhaustion.

"You keep saying things like that," he murmured, "but it still feels like you’re managing me. Like you’re keeping me in a box until I’m safe to touch."

Damian took a breath.

"I’m not trying to manage you," he said. "I’m trying to shield you. You are doing more than you should. Let me and the others help."