Bound by the Mark of Lies (BL) Chapter 403 - 397: Changing events

The screen blinked once, the cursor hovering over a line of text that felt like a knife he’d left buried too long.

A bulletin he had written years ago, back when Dominie was only a shadow’s whisper in the Empire’s undercurrent, sat there, unfinished but sharp enough to cut everything it touched.

Subject: Lenora Abalone—confird contact with Crown Prince Olivier.

Status: high‑risk. Targeted surveillance engaged. Intercepts suggest planned removal of the Lyon heir.

Recomndation: extraction or elimination before her access compromises imperial security.

Gabriel’s knuckles tightened on the keys. He rembered every second of the night he found the proof, how the lanterns in the archive room burned low, how his hands had trembled not from fear but from fury. He rembered staring at the file for hours, rehearsing the ssage, and picturing Damian’s reaction if he sent it.

And then the hesitation had taken root.

’He won’t believe .

She’s his chosen mate, his shield.

He will think it’s a power play.’

That hesitation had cost him more than he could asure. It had cost them both.

In the real world, that delay haunted him. A single hesitation on a night when war was only a whisper and Olivier was still alive. By the ti Damian learned the truth, it was through fire and blood, far too late for trust to co without scars.

But here, here, wrapped in this twisted shard world where ti itself was only half‑real, Gabriel’s fingers hovered only for a breath. His pulse was steady now, his mind clear.

’Not again.’

He leaned closer to the keys, eyes narrowing, and completed the final line.

To: Lyon, Damian.

From: Dominie.

Lenora Abalone is compromised. Confird alliance with Crown Prince Olivier. Kill order authorization advised. Proof attached.

Don’t wait.

He attached the files, the intercepted correspondence, the patterns of her movents, and the ciphered reports only he could have gathered. They all glowed in the screen’s pale light, damning evidence wrapped in lines of ether code.

Gabriel didn’t allow himself to think.

He didn’t allow himself to weigh outcos or hesitate, not this ti.

His thumb hit the brass confirm key, pressing so hard it stung. The glyph burned bright for a split second, then the ssage shot through the old ether‑relay like a spark into dry tinder.

A green confirmation blinked.

Bulletin Sent.

Gabriel exhaled slowly, feeling the shard’s world tighten around him as though it felt the ripple, as though Olivier’s echo had heard the strike. The lanterns in the suite flickered once, shadows lurching like startled birds.

Gabriel sat back in the chair, eyes cold, pulse steady.

"You wanted cornered," he whispered into the still air, his voice low, rough. "Instead, I just gave him the blade to cut your throat."

Sowhere deep in the house, a door slamd, a sound that could have been real or the shard’s answer.

Gabriel didn’t flinch.

He had moved the first piece on this board, and there would be no taking it back.

—

The night passed in fragnts, shadows slipping across the ceiling, the low hum of the shard’s world pressing at the edges of his thoughts, but Gabriel stayed awake far longer than he should have, watching the old manor through the faint glow of the ether lamp by his bed.

When sleep finally took him, it was thin and restless.

A knock rapped softly against the carved door of his suite.

It wasn’t Peter’s knock, no weight behind it, no nace in the rhythm.

"Master Gabriel," ca a voice from the other side, low and deferential. "The car will be at the gate within the hour. His Excellency asked that you be ready."

Gabriel’s eyes opened to the gray wash of morning light slipping through the drapes. The room was exactly as he rembered from those years: cedar‑paneled walls, shelves lined with books he’d once morized to avoid conversation, and the faint cold of a world that had never felt like ho.

He sat up slowly, the blanket falling to his waist, and for a long mont just listened to the distant murmur of attendants moving through the hall and the faint crackle of the hearth. The shard’s world was steady, but the air felt heavier now, like it was watching him.

He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, bare feet pressing to the familiar coolness of the polished wood floor. A quick glance at the small desk in the corner showed his old ether‑powered computer still running in standby, the glyph panel dimd but warm. The sent bulletin sat in the outbox, confirmation gleaming faintly like a secret only he and the ether knew.

The attendant knocked again, softer this ti.

"Master Gabriel? Shall I draw the bath and lay out your court clothes?"

"Yes," Gabriel answered, his voice low but steady, a tone that would have surprised the boy who had lived in this room years ago. "I’ll be ready shortly."

He rose, smoothing the sleeves of his shirt as he crossed the room. The wardrobe creaked open under his hand, revealing rows of clothes chosen by soone else long ago: formal coats, soft linen shirts, and sashes in the von Jaunez colors. He picked one at random, letting the motions feel normal, as though routine could anchor him against the shard’s pull.

Steam curled faintly from the adjoining bath when he stepped inside. The attendants worked silently, bowing slightly before retreating, leaving him alone with the swirl of water scented faintly of cedar oil. Gabriel lowered himself into the bath, the warmth seeping into muscles that still rembered a very different life, Damian’s hands on his shoulders, and Arik’s weight against his chest.

Gabriel missed both.

He closed his eyes briefly, letting the shards of mory wash through him. Then he opened them again, sharper now, and rose to dress.

By the ti the attendant returned, Gabriel was standing by the window, buttoning his cuffs with slow precision.

"The car will arrive soon, Master Gabriel," the attendant said, bowing low.