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

"No," the physician said bluntly. "Because this shouldn’t be possible. But it is. Which ans 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 appointnt.

"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 so 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 ti, 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 sa ti... 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 soone who had seen too much and docunted it all. "If Your Majesty’s rut is triggered while the Consort enters heat, unregulated, unsuppressed, the pheromone levels could beco... 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. "So beta males, especially young, unaligned, or still in hormonal transition, can manifest a secondary gender under extre pheromone exposure. If it happens near you, near the throne, it becos a scandal. If it happens because of you, it becos 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 that if I so much as glow too loud, soone’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 ca 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 dical 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 argunts 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 ."

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 escorted out like a liability," he continued, tone deceptively light. "Shuffled here under dical 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 why. Tell what the hell you were thinking."

A long pause.

Then Damian’s voice ca, 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 ti since we found out about your ether poisoning. You’re running on caffeine and spite and still showing up to every eting like nothing touches you."

Gabriel didn’t flinch.

But he didn’t deny it either.

Damian moved closer, not imposing, just present.

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

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 soone 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 mont 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 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.

When he spoke again, it was quiet. Controlled.

"I didn’t think you were fragile, Gabriel. I never have. But that doesn’t an 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 . Like you’re keeping 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 and the others help."