Bound by the Mark of Lies (BL)-Chapter 311 - 306: Truth and name

The study was quiet again once the door closed behind Astana.

Damian didn’t move for a long time.

The report in front of him, something about eastern ward fluctuations, remained unread. His hand hovered above the page but never touched it. Instead, his eyes fixed on the steam rising from the cup Edward had left untouched beside Gabriel’s seat. Jasmine and ironroot. A calming blend meant to soothe the last remnants of pain.

He exhaled through his nose. Not quite a sigh.

The warmth still lingered in the room. Gabriel’s scent, light but unmistakable, was woven into the fabric of the study now. Like it belonged here. Like he belonged here.

Astana could believe that Damian was cruel enough to manipulate even his mate. Most of the court would agree. Perhaps even Max, on a darker day. Damian smiled bitterly at the thought and reached for the teacup still resting beside Gabriel’s seat, his fingers brushing the porcelain with the care of a man holding something far more fragile. freewebnσvel.cѳm

But the truth, the real truth, was different.

Dominie had been the one to ask Damian to be his mate. Not Gabriel, not the quiet, elegant strategist they all saw now. But the broken-eyed omega who had stood beside him in the ruins of a city aflame, blood in his mouth and death in his wake. The one who had pressed a bloodstained hand to Damian’s jaw and said, "You’ll be Emperor, and I’ll follow you. If we survive this, you’re mine."

And they had survived.

It took Damian over a year to find out who Dominie was—what name belonged to the man who handed him the match that burned an empire to the ground.

And worst of all?

Gabriel didn’t remember him.

Not the battlefield.

Not the blood-soaked vow whispered into Damian’s collar when ether roared through their veins like wildfire.

Not the weight of a dying world balanced on the word mine.

Not even the promise.

The tea he meant to drink had gone tepid—lukewarm enough to deserve contempt, but not worth the effort of scowling. Damian set it down untouched.

He didn’t want to force Gabriel to remember. That was the line he’d drawn for himself, the one vow he hadn’t broken.

In truth, he would be content if Gabriel never remembered, if the shards of that war-stained past remained buried forever, as long as Gabriel was safe, whole, and unshattered. As long as he was here.

But now, with the danger of Olivier’s fragment gone and Gabriel’s ether finally stabilizing, the edges were starting to fray. Not the memories erased by the shard, that damage was absolute, but the ones it hadn’t touched. The ones that had only been buried deep in Gabriel’s mind.

They would come back.

In dreams. In scent. In moments when Gabriel’s eyes went too still for too long. When a word from Damian cut too sharp or familiar.

And when they came, there would be no stopping them.

He would remember. Not everything, and certainly not all at once, but it would be enough.

The door opened.

Gabriel stood in the doorway, dressed down in a loose-knit sweater and soft black slacks, his hair still slightly damp from the bath. He looked... young like this. Younger than he should.

Damian sat back in the chair, the one Gabriel usually claimed when sorting through palace reports, and simply looked at him.

"Your hair is wet," he said, his voice softer than expected.

Gabriel blinked once, then reached up to run his fingers through the strands, as if only just realizing. "I didn’t feel like drying it."

"Come here," Damian said, rising from the chair.

He crossed to the side wardrobe—one the staff quietly restocked with robes and towels after training—and pulled out a thick, dark towel. The fabric was still faintly warm, like everything that belonged to this wing now bore the trace of Gabriel’s presence. Damian held it out, but Gabriel didn’t move.

"I’m not cold," Gabriel said, even as a small shiver betrayed him.

"You’ll get a headache," Damian replied, stepping closer, already unfolding the towel. "Or make Edward faint with horror. Your choice."

Gabriel rolled his eyes but let himself be drawn forward, the sigh that left him more fond than annoyed. Damian’s hands were careful as he pressed the towel to Gabriel’s hair, slow movements absorbing the damp while his fingers threaded through the strands with unhurried ease.

"You’re supposed to be resting," Gabriel murmured, eyes half-closed now.

"I am," Damian said. "I’m reading reports without hearings or meetings in the middle; I could get used to this."

There was something soothing in the rhythm, in the way Gabriel leaned just slightly into the touch without fully realizing. His defenses dropped in layers when no one else was watching.

Gabriel turned toward him, one brow lifting with familiar precision. "Well, you did vanish with your omega during what just so happened to align with your rut. It’s practically a romantic folktale in the making."

Damian scoffed. "If that’s what counts as romance, I should have Gregoris draft a children’s version. With less blood."

Gabriel’s lips curved faintly, but the weariness didn’t leave his eyes. "They’re not just romanticizing it. Some of them are betting on the future heir already. The names they’ve come up with are atrocious."

"Oh?" Damian stepped closer, towel still loose in his hand. "Do tell."

"One suggested we name the child after one of the imperial stars," Gabriel said flatly. "Preferably something that sounds like a virtue. Radiance. Victory. Purity."

Damian grimaced. "Gods."

Gabriel leaned slightly into the towel, his eyes fluttering half-closed as Damian resumed drying his hair. "This is what happens when you skip your hearings—chaos, scandal, and nobles making up ridiculous names for a child whose gender we don’t even know."

"I know it," Damian said, far too casually for Gabriel’s liking.

Gabriel’s brow lifted, suspicion immediate. "Do you want to be exiled?"

Damian only chuckled. "Do you want to know?"

"How?" Gabriel narrowed his eyes. "I made Marin swear he wouldn’t tell us anything until the sixth month. And I definitely didn’t ask."

"I didn’t ask either." Damian’s voice dropped a little, not quite smug, but close. "The ether. The pheromones. I can feel it."

Gabriel narrowed his eyes. "Does Edward know?"

Damian hesitated, just long enough to confirm it. Gabriel made a sound of indignation that was far too dignified to be a full-on scoff, but very clearly meant scoff.

"So the butler knows before I do. Wonderful."

"He didn’t ask," Damian said, entirely unhelpful. "He just noticed. And panicked."

"Of course he did. That’s his hobby." Gabriel tilted his head, damp strands sticking to his cheek. "Did he also start preparing monogrammed towels? Or are we saving that level of delusion for month five?"

Damian smiled, the kind that meant he absolutely had authorized something just as outrageous.

"Damian."

"They’re tasteful."

"We don’t have a name!"