Bound by the Mark of Lies (BL)-Chapter 299 - 294: Quiet morning

Damian glanced over, eyes bloodshot but sharp, and lifted the spoon anyway. "If Edward brings one more ’healing broth,’ I’ll declare war on the kitchen staff."

Gabriel made a soft noise, halfway between a laugh and something far more dangerous. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and crossed the room barefoot.

Damian didn’t move. Didn’t flinch when Gabriel reached up and pressed a hand against his chest, palm flat, fingers splayed.

Warm. Steady. Still his.

"You smell like soap," Gabriel murmured. "And fever. And that stupid citrus shampoo I told you to throw out."

"Means I’m clean," Damian muttered, spoon halfway to his mouth again.

"Mhm, I assume you have the same aversion to healing foods like me. Now you know who Edward is."

"I should give him a vacation."

Gabriel huffed, amused despite himself. "You mean exile."

"Semantics," Damian said, taking the spoonful like it offended him personally. "He’s been waiting for this moment his whole life. Me—weak enough to doze, tired enough to listen."

Gabriel tilted his head, watching him with a kind of quiet fondness only he could make look like a judgment. "You’re lucky he loves you."

"He doesn’t," Damian replied without heat. "He loves you. I’m just the tyrant he’s tolerated for twenty years to get to this point."

Gabriel didn’t deny it. "Let me play the favorite and get you some real food."

Damian’s lips twitched, the ghost of a smile curling like smoke at the edge of his mouth. "Be careful. You say things like that and Edward might retire on the spot. He’s been waiting for you to take over."

Gabriel was already pushing himself up, the blanket slipping off his lap. "I’ll give him a raise in your name."

"You’re going to bribe my staff?"

"I’m going to feed you before you start licking the spoon like a feral beast."

Damian exhaled a slow breath through his nose, but didn’t argue. Didn’t try to stop him. His body still ached too deeply for pride, and Gabriel knew it.

Gabriel paused by the door, glancing over his shoulder. "Something in particular you’re craving?"

Damian looked at him, eyes still rimmed faintly with exhaustion, but brighter than they’d been in days. "You."

Gabriel blinked.

Then rolled his eyes with a sharp, crooked smile. "You’re lucky I find you attractive even when you’re dying."

"And you’re lucky I’m too tired to make that your problem."

Gabriel left, steps light but certain, the scent of soap and citrus trailing faintly behind him—along with something heavier, quieter.

—

Real food steamed between them. Sautéed vegetables, rice scented faintly with mint and lemon peel, soft bread warmed through and split open with fresh butter melting in its center. Gabriel had even convinced one of the kitchen staff to part with his favorite spiced lentil stew. No broth, no powders, no herbal teas that promised virtue and tasted like punishment. Just food. Nourishing, alive, human.

Damian sat in his chair like a man relearning the art of existing. He moved slower, but not sluggishly. His shirt hung loose at the collar, sleeves rolled to the elbow, the fever having finally burned itself out during the night. There was color in his face again—not much, but enough to push back the specter that had clung to him since the ether purge.

Gabriel caught him mid-bite. "You look less like death."

"I feel worse," Damian said flatly, then chewed. "But thank you."

"Ever the romantic."

On the far side of the room, Edward stood with his hands politely clasped behind his back, face perfectly neutral. But even that couldn’t hide the subtle way his shoulders had relaxed. Or the way his gaze lingered just a second longer on the way Gabriel leaned across the table to pass Damian the bread, the way Damian took it without asking.

The quiet was normal. So normal it felt fragile, like a spun-glass thread stretched over a blade—but real.

Edward exhaled quietly through his nose and whispered something under his breath that only he could hear.

Of course, the moment didn’t last.

A quiet knock preceded the sound of polished boots and a measured voice from the hallway.

One of the imperial guards stepped in and bowed low, eyes fixed on the marble tiles. "Your Majesty, Lord Maximilian Claymore requests permission to enter."

Damian didn’t look up immediately. He wiped his fingers slowly on the edge of a napkin, as if that act—mundane and domestic—mattered more than whatever news Max was dragging through the palace halls.

Gabriel, for his part, arched a brow. "Does he look smug or mildly repentant?"

The guard blinked. "He... smiled."

"Smug, then," Gabriel muttered.

Damian finally glanced at Edward, who had already turned toward the door like a man who’d known this would happen. With a flick of his wrist, the butler gestured silently—permission granted, though with no particular enthusiasm.

"Send him in," Damian said, settling back in his chair. His golden eyes were sharp now, alive with the familiar edge of anticipation. "Let’s see what mess he’s made this time."

Max raised both brows as he stepped fully into the room, coat already thrown aside. "I’m wounded. I haven’t started anything today."

"You’re early," Gabriel said, watching him without malice, just curiosity wrapped in a veil of fatigue. "Which means you’ve either come to confess, gloat, or eat."

"Yes," Max said simply, and took the empty seat at the table like it had always been waiting for him. He reached for a roll without asking. "You didn’t die. I brought wine."

Edward, already approaching with a third plate, gave him a look that hovered somewhere between approval and exasperation. "No alcohol before noon."

"I brought it, I didn’t say I’d drink it." Max glanced toward the Emperor, then added, "Unless he dies again, in which case I’m drinking it straight from the bottle."

Gabriel scoffed. Damian, half-amused, half-plotting, just leaned back and watched them both like a wolf enjoying the brief illusion of peace.

Edward returned with a plate filled with actual food and placed it in front of Max with a dry, "For as long as the kitchen remains intact."

Max saluted him with his fork. "Your faith in me is touching."

Gabriel smiled faintly, a tired but warmer thing now. "This is the most normal we’ve had in weeks."

"Mhmm, I can see it, but brace yourselves; Alexandra is on her way." Said Max while stabbing his food.