Bound by the Mark of Lies (BL) Chapter 157 - 152: Garden party (1)

Where is my coffee?" Gabriel asked the butler with a glare sharp enough to curdle cream and frighten nobility.

Edward, unbothered as ever, closed the folder he’d been analyzing with a deliberate thud that echoed off the chamber walls. "There is no coffee until noon. The healers recomnd you wait until then. In case... of side effects."

Gabriel blinked. "Side effects?"

"Ether fluctuations. Irritability. Heart palpitations." Edward raised an eyebrow. "You, more irritable than usual, would be... catastrophic."

"Catastrophic..." Gabriel repeated the word with a gleam in his eyes that made everyone shiver. "It would be catastrophic if your precious dining set were to shatter by accident."

Edward didn’t flinch. "Then we’d finally have room for sothing tasteful."

"Move your fight to an area without expensive dical equipnt," Damian said, stepping out of the waiting hall with the weary air of a man used to managing disasters before breakfast. "Otherwise, I will deduct it from both of you."

Gabriel glanced sideways. "How much?"

There was a long pause in which even the healers looked like they were silently edging toward the nearest exit.

"Don’t even think about it," Damian warned, marching forward with the authority of a man who had diffused too many noble disasters to count. Then, without breaking stride, he turned to Edward. "And you, stop your little revenge. The chaise was changed. Get over it."

Edward’s eyes narrowed, just barely. "It was antique. Hand-carved. One of a kind."

"It was ugly," Gabriel muttered.

"It was imperial," Edward snapped, scandalized.

"It had three legs that worked and one possessed by the ghost of interior design past," Gabriel replied. "I sat on it and nearly declared war on my lower back."

"Do not put that on the innocent chaise," Edward said, his voice cutting. "We both know that His Majesty caused your lower back pain."

Gabriel blinked.

Damian paused mid-step.

There was silence.

Then Gabriel said flatly, "Edward."

"Yes?"

"Are you seriously still angry about that?"

"I am angry," Edward hissed, "because the bed was right there. A perfectly fine, reinforced, linen-turned, blessed bed. And instead—instead—you both desecrated an imperial heirloom in the study like it was a tavern alcove."

Damian could not take it anymore.

The banter between the two of them had beco increasingly petty by the day—layered with threats of porcelain sabotage, whispered critiques of historical furniture, and Gabriel’s flair for violence disguised as charm. And now, as Edward stood in the hallway looking personally betrayed on behalf of a chaise, Damian began to laugh.

Not a smirk. Not a dry huff.

He laughed.

The sound, rich and unguarded, peeled out into the corridor like sothing rare and warm, like spring breaking through the frost. Even the healers, still halfway to escape, turned to stare.

Gabriel looked sideways at him, startled. "You alright?"

"No," Damian wheezed, pressing a hand to his ribs. "No, I’m absolutely not. Because my imperial butler is holding a vendetta against a piece of furniture while my future consort threatens holy artifacts before breakfast."

"I never threatened a holy artifact," Gabriel said automatically.

"You threatened Edward’s tea set," Damian shot back.

"That is not holy," Gabriel muttered.

Edward sniffed. "It should be."

Gabriel turned toward him, mock-horrified. "Did we break it?"

"It cracked," Damian admitted. "Twice."

"It scread," Edward added, deeply offended. "I heard it from the hallway. I felt it in my soul."

Gabriel covered his mouth with one hand, shaking. "I can’t—"

"It was a piece of history," Edward snapped. "And now it’s in storage next to a lted sconce and Lady Virethorn’s ruined corset."

Gabriel wheezed. "That corset? The one from the solstice banquet?"

Edward’s eyes narrowed. "The very sa. Soone said it was enchanted to stay upright regardless of moral compromise."

"It failed," Damian noted while wiping his laugh tears away with a silk handkerchief.

Edward huffed. "So did the chaise."

Gabriel turned, trying to contain his laughter. "Edward, I swear, if you ever write a moir, I’ll buy the first ten copies."

"Don’t encourage him," Damian said, though his voice still carried the ghost of laughter. "He’ll title it Porcelain and Betrayal and include a foreword detailing every ti you left tea unfinished."

"I should," Edward muttered, crossing his arms with regal offense. "Volu One will cover the tragic downfall of the study."

"Volu Two?" Gabriel asked.

Edward looked him squarely in the eye. "Volu Two is just a list of every ti you tracked mud into the velvet corridor. With diagrams."

Damian pinched the bridge of his nose. "Enough. We are dignitaries of an empire. We have public faces. We have a garden party. And if we don’t leave this hallway now, the healers are going to start charging rent."

Gabriel gave him a mock bow. "After you, Your Majesty. Let’s go shake hands and terrify nobility."

"Just smile, don’t stab anyone," Damian said, tightening his grip around Gabriel’s waist as they walked.

Gabriel whispered back, "Define stab.

Behind them, Edward sniffed. "If either of you damages another chair, I will replace all the seating with stone benches and call it an aesthetic statent."

"I’ll just sit in Damian’s lap," Gabriel said, without missing a beat.

Edward didn’t respond.

But he did walk faster.

—

The garden was warm with late-morning sun, dressed in curated abundance. Blush-colored roses coiled around carved columns, tables were spread with polished fruit and spiced pastries, and the gentle notes of harp and violin floated across the lawn like conversation too refined to interrupt.

Gabriel stood alone at the edge of the central path, a crystal glass in one hand, posture impeccable, and entirely unwilling.

The Emperor had etings scheduled with the Ministry and several newly arrived delegates from the southern territories. Edward had delivered the explanation with calm efficiency, as though it were a perfectly natural thing to send Gabriel into a garden of foreign nobles and circling predators alone, like so well-dressed decoy.

The convoys had co for the coming-of-age ball, but they were staying for the politics. Weeks of banquets, negotiations, "accidental" etings, and carefully calculated alliances. The garden party was ant to be casual, an informal welco to the Empire’s softer face.

But Gabriel had never felt more on display.

He took another sip of sparkling wine and resisted the urge to hex the nearest staring duke.

They were watching. All of them. Whispering into their sleeves, folding their fans, noting his every movent. His every hesitation.

He hadn’t worn the imperial colors today, only his own: deep black and violet silk with silver embroidery curling across his sleeves like tethered lightning. His hair had been slicked back simply, but the imperial mark on his neck was still visible. Damian’s scent still lingered faintly on him.

And that was enough.

Let them look.