Bound by the Mark of Lies (BL) Chapter 366 - 360: Banter

"You have two official ones, Christian and Sofia, one bastard that you like, Max, and God knows how many more from Hadeon’s mistresses."

Damian’s expression didn’t falter. If anything, he looked genuinely offended.

"I ant my childhood."

Gabriel gave him a look that could peel paint off a cathedral ceiling. "You an the one where you were crowned at thirty-one, raised by wolves and war generals, and had an entire underground legion of loyal fanatics before you hit twenty-five?"

amian didn’t so much as blink. "Twenty-four," he corrected mildly. "The oath ceremony was early that year."

Gabriel’s eye twitched.

"And you’re trying to tell about childhood loneliness?" he said, voice pitched so softly only Damian could hear it. "You had assassins sending you birthday letters written in code."

Damian nodded, utterly sincere. "It was very touching."

Gabriel stared at him like he was trying to rember if regicide was still technically illegal during a public celebration.

"I will end you."

"I’d die fulfilled."

"Not if I strangle you in your sleep."

"Romantic," Damian murmured, leaning closer like he wasn’t sitting next to a hormonal, rutless oga who had personally overthrown a rebellion while running a fever.

"I am swollen, bloated, possibly glowing, and every ti soone bows at like I’m carrying a divine relic, I consider biting them. And now you want to talk about ten?"

A nearby noble paused mid-approach, watching their interaction with the fascinated horror of soone unsure if they were witnessing foreplay or the start of a civil war.

Gabriel turned his head just enough to et the noble’s eyes, smile razor-sharp. "Is there sothing you’d like to contribute to this conversation, Lord Elrem?"

The poor man straightened so fast he nearly dislocated sothing. "N-No, Your Grace. rely... admiring the floral arrangents."

"Of course you were," Gabriel said smoothly, then added, without breaking eye contact, "They were hand-selected by the Emperor. He has a talent for presentation. Less so for impulse control."

Lord Elrem bowed again, this ti with a tremble, and vanished like a man fleeing divine judgnt.

Damian, entirely unrepentant, leaned toward Gabriel once more. "You are terrifying."

"I will walk into the ocean," Gabriel said, voice flat. "Pregnant and in full court regalia."

"I’ll follow," Damian said, far too quickly.

"Of course you would."

"Think about it," Damian went on, lowering his voice again like he was offering so seductive diplomatic treaty. "Three with your temper, two with my eyes, one who gets Max’s sarcasm by accident—"

"We are not genetically commissioning a court cody troupe."

"We could."

"No."

"A few with your wit. So with your magic."

Gabriel turned toward him fully, crown glinting like a halo and expression like the wrath of saints.

"Damian. If this child cos out healthy, I will consider it a miracle. If I survive you during this gala, I will consider it divine intervention. If you bring up twins again, I will weaponize prenatal exhaustion and end your bloodline with a spoon."

Damian grinned. "You sound radiant when you threaten ."

Gabriel inhaled deeply, then whispered, "Five."

Damian raised a brow.

"Five," Gabriel repeated. "That’s it. Final offer. You get your imperial line, and I get to keep what’s left of my spine."

Damian considered this like it was a treaty proposal across enemy lines. His thumb brushed over Gabriel’s knuckles, slow, reverent, and infuriatingly calm.

"...Five," he echoed. Then, with deliberate stupidity: "Not counting any possible accidents."

Gabriel didn’t blink. "You want to see an accident? I can create one. Right now. In front of your entire court."

Damian smiled like a man who’d already accepted his fate. "Twins run in your bloodline."

Gabriel narrowed his eyes. "So does vengeance. Take it or leave it. I don’t even know if I can have that many children."

Damian’s smile didn’t fade. If anything, it deepened, softening just enough to be dangerous.

"You can," he said quietly, with the unwavering certainty of a man who had read every dical report, interrogated the imperial physician twice, and bribed a fertility expert from the Academy under the guise of ’state security.’

Gabriel turned his head slowly. "What did you do?"

"Nothing unethical," Damian replied smoothly.

"That’s not an answer."

"I just wanted to know the odds," he continued, entirely unrepentant. "For planning purposes."

"I’m going to kill you with a chair," Gabriel muttered. "A throne, actually. Fitting."

"I had to be sure," Damian said, voice low and maddeningly calm. "You’re the strongest oga this Empire’s seen in three generations. Your body adapts faster than we expected. The bond stabilized within days. The physician said—"

"You bribed the physician?"

"I bribed the physician."

Gabriel pressed his fingers to his temples. "Of course you did. Of course the man who built a secret army before he hit drinking age is out here conducting prenatal military intelligence."

"It was important," Damian said, and this ti, there was no teasing. Just warmth, threaded with sothing too soft for soone like him. "I want them to be yours. Ours. Not chosen for politics. Not arranged. Not broken before they’re born. I want them loud, smart, and impossible. Like you."

Gabriel didn’t answer at first. He just sat there, surrounded by music, ceremony, and five hundred people bowing to his belly like it was already a throne.

Then he exhaled.

"Five," he said again. "That’s the line."

"I’ll take it," Damian said, without hesitation.

Gabriel looked sideways at him. "No sches?"

Damian lifted their joined hands and kissed Gabriel’s knuckles with perfect composure. "No sches," he said softly, "not with you." Then, without looking away, he added with a touch of mischief, "Now, shall we pause this ceremonial torture in favor of ruining their fun?" His gaze shifted toward the far corner of the ballroom—where Christian, Irina, Alexandra, Rafael, and Max were laughing far too freely for Damian’s liking.

Gabriel followed Damian’s gaze toward the cluster of glittering chaos across the hall—Christian waving his wine glass like a conductor, Irina giggling behind a fan she definitely wasn’t using properly, Alexandra arching a brow at sothing Max had said, and Rafael looking like he’d rather be anywhere else but too polite to leave.

They were laughing. Unsupervised. Comfortable.

Dangerous.

Gabriel tilted his head, suspicious. "Why are they smiling?"

"Exactly," Damian said, already rising to his feet with all the slow nace of a man preparing to crush joy under his polished heel. "They’re up to sothing."

Gabriel stood as well, steady despite the weight of his ceremonial robe and the fact that half the Empire had been watching him all night. "You think they’re plotting?"

Damian said it with a grin, sharp and amused: "I know Christian is plotting. And if Irina’s involved, then it’s socially catastrophic, and Alexander is watching her like a hawk."

Gabriel sighed like a man carrying not only the future heir but also the Empire’s collective emotional labor. "Astana is dood, and Paul Blake is one minor scandal away from demanding all his non-Shadow children be banned from ever using the na Lyon again."

Damian’s grin widened. "In fairness, Irina did na her pet dove Commander Gregoris and introduce it as her date at the midwinter banquet."

"She also told Astana she was thinking of becoming Christian’s official companion," Gabriel muttered. "While holding his hand. While winking at Alexander."

"And now Alexander’s volunteering for more palace duty than any field captain on record," Damian said with a low laugh. "Coincidence?"

Gabriel gave him a flat look. "She’s baiting all three of them and calling it political education."

"Effective," Damian said without a hint of sha.

"She’s eighteen."

"She’s learning from you," Damian added, entirely too proud.