Bound by the Mark of Lies (BL) Chapter 371 - 365: You could choose

Paul said nothing at first.

He didn’t need to. The air between them folded in on itself, weight shifting, cooling. The sound of the distant music didn’t reach here anymore. Not past the stone in his chest.

Alexander didn’t move. He stood behind Irina like a man with nothing to prove and no intention of letting go. Still composed. Fingers resting easily on her hips. His head was no longer bowed, but the space between them stayed sealed, anchored by a silence too thick to be anything but deliberate.

And Irina... gods. Irina just looked content.

Her dress shimred faintly in the dim light, her hair ca loose from its pins, and her posture was perfect and unbothered. She looked like she belonged there. In his hands. Between them.

Paul exhaled slowly through his nose, the sound more tired than angry.

"Is this going to be a pattern?" he asked, voice rough from the strain of pretending it didn’t hurt. "One of you for each of them?"

Irina’s lips twitched. "I’m not a possession."

"No," Paul said. "You’re a Blake. Which apparently makes you excellent at falling for n I have no control over."

Alexander didn’t blink. "You never had control over her."

That earned him a brief glare.

"I noticed," Paul said dryly. "It started at birth."

He dragged a hand over his face, as if trying to erase what he was seeing, or at least delay acknowledging it. But it didn’t help.

Because the truth was simple.

One daughter wrapped around the wrist of the Emperor’s personal executioner. One son, Astana, is being courted by the Emperor’s brother and second prince of half the continent. And the other three? Shadows. Directly under Alexander’s command.

Other fathers would be delighted, as their family will be one of the strongest in the empire. He sighed; there was nothing he could do.

Paul Blake stared at his daughter like she was a diplomatic incident dressed in silk and glitter. Beautiful, blaless, and entirely too dangerous to touch without consequences.

He wasn’t furious. Not really. Not anymore.

He was exhausted.

"I trained you better than this," he muttered.

Irina arched a brow. "If by this you an choosing soone capable of burning a city to the ground with one look and still being the safest place I’ve ever stood, then yes. You trained perfectly."

Alexander’s fingers tensed at her waist.

Paul ignored him.

Mostly.

"You could have chosen a nice beta," he said, waving vaguely, like that was still an option and not already a funeral in motion. "Soone quiet. A steward. A diplomat. Soone with... Soone that isn’t my superior."

There was a beat of silence.

Not shock. Not offense.

Just the kind of pause that made it obvious how far they’d already co.

Irina didn’t blink. "You an soone boring."

"I an soone I could threaten."

Alexander, to his credit, said nothing. He didn’t need to. The weight of his presence, quiet and vast, had never once faltered. His hands at Irina’s waist hadn’t twitched, but they’d gone still in that particular way that said he was listening too carefully now. Like if Paul said one wrong word, the stone beneath their feet might fracture.

Paul stared at him, at the cut of his posture, the steady way he held Irina without holding her back. A soldier’s stance, yes, but also sothing more. Protective, yes. Possessive, probably. Dangerous, always.

"Well, I’m Gabriel’s lady-in-waiting; even if it wasn’t Alexander, there would be soone dangerous and with too much power." Irina said it with a flutter of her fan and the kind of breezy logic only she could turn into a weapon. Then, as if genuinely weighing the absurdity, she tilted her head. "Maybe Gregoris?"

That did get a reaction.

Paul blinked once. Then narrowed his eyes in pure military reflex.

Alexander’s jaw tensed, not jealousy, not exactly, but a very clear no carved into the line of his expression.

Irina smiled wider.

"I was joking," she added, far too pleased with herself.

Paul muttered sothing under his breath that sounded suspiciously like thank the gods and rubbed a hand over his face again. "Gregoris," he said finally, his tone sowhere between baffled and despairing. "You would’ve picked the bloodhound."

"He’s loyal," Irina offered, not helping. "And terrifying."

"You say that like it’s a recomndation."

"In this world?" She gestured vaguely at the palace. "It sure is."

Paul gave her a look that could’ve peeled paint off a wall. "What happened to wanting a peaceful life? A garden, so books, a man with soft hands and a profession that doesn’t involve blood?"

Irina blinked, deadpan. "I’ve had a crush on Damian because the only subject talked about at dinner was your and my brothers’s plans. I take him as progress."

"I should’ve sent you away at the academy and not to Gabriel. You sound just like him."

Irina’s eyes sparkled. "Thank you."

"That wasn’t a complint," Paul bit back.

"It is to ." She leaned slightly into Alexander’s arm, all mischief and steel wrapped in satin. "Besides, I was already like this before Gabriel. He just gave it vocabulary."

Alexander made a sound low in his throat, half amusent, half agreent. Paul caught it and frowned harder.

"I am surrounded," he muttered, "by terrifying people who think manners are optional."

"Manners are optional," Irina said, flipping her fan open with a snap. "Survival isn’t."

Alexander’s hand curled a little tighter at her waist. Like he agreed with every word she just said.

Paul gave up entirely. "Fine, but at least follow protocol: courting, then... the rest."

Irina gave him a perfectly innocent look, one that did not belong to soone standing in the shadow of the Empire’s second most feared man with his hands already on her waist.

"We’re very traditional," she said sweetly. "Aren’t we, Alexander?"

Alexander, without missing a beat, replied, "I already submitted the formal request for permission."

Paul blinked. "You what?"

Irina turned to look up at him, blue eyes wide with sothing dangerously close to smug delight. "You did?"

"I don’t plan halfway," Alexander said simply.

Paul opened his mouth, closed it again, then just rubbed at his temple like the beginnings of a migraine were forming behind his eyes. "You’re all conspiring against ."

"No," Irina corrected. "You just raised us too well. We learned from the best."

Alexander didn’t smile, but sothing in his eyes flickered—approval, maybe, or admiration, or just the certainty that this girl, this woman, would never need guarding from anyone but him.

And she’d never want it from anyone else.