Bound by the Mark of Lies (BL) Chapter 438 432: Enjoying it

Damian had barely set Arik down into the crook of Gabriel's waiting arms before the oga was retreating toward the adjoining chamber, tablet under one arm and a towel draped loosely around his shoulders.

"I'm invoking the recovery clause," Gabriel called over his shoulder, the sound of running bathwater following a beat later. "One more month. No council etings, no paperwork, no angry nobles unless they trip and fall into my lap… and even then, I'll consider it a personal attack."

Damian's brow arched, but Gabriel had already disappeared into the steam, leaving him with the faint sound of Arik's happy babbling and the quiet efficiency of Edward stepping forward.

"Regalia, Sire," Edward said simply, already handing off the dark trousers and white formal shirt to the attendants. They moved with practiced precision, layering fabric and fastening hooks until Damian stood in tailored black and white, the weight of the Imperial sash draped neatly over one shoulder.

Edward took the final piece himself, the high-collared black coat edged in gold. He settled it over Damian's shoulders, fingers working the clasps with ticulous care.

When he reached the collar, he paused… fingers stilling in a rare breach of his own discipline.

The mark was unmistakable, even half-faded against Damian's skin. An oga's layered bite, sharp and clean, the flesh faintly bruised where teeth had sunk in.

Edward stared for one heartbeat too long, his trained mask slipping into sothing dangerously close to disbelief. Then, with a flick of his wrist, he waved the remaining attendants out. They hesitated only a mont before obeying, no one disobeyed Edward when he looked like that.

The door closed with a soft click.

"Damian," Edward said.

The Emperor's golden eyes narrowed faintly, dangerously amused. Edward rarely used his given na, only when annoyed, angry, or with wine in his hand in the rare hours when the palace was asleep.

"You are marked," Edward continued, each word low and asured. "An oga's mark. Gabriel's mark."

Damian didn't bother confirming. He simply stood there, still as stone, the faintest shadow of satisfaction resting at the edges of his mouth.

Edward exhaled through his nose, stepping closer as if proximity might convince him this wasn't exactly what it appeared to be. "Please tell it's just another love bite and not what I think it is."

Damian's smirk was slow, the kind that carried the weight of an answer without a single spoken word.

Edward's jaw tightened. "You've lost your damned mind." He wasn't even trying for formality anymore. "Do you have any idea what the court will do when they see this? No—what will they stop doing? The concubine factions, the dowager sponsors, and every ambitious family still pretending they can court you or Gabriel… they'll know it's over. Permanently. The line of succession is sealed. The only heirs you will ever have will be with him."

"And here I thought I'd given enough warnings that I didn't want anyone but my mate. Are you really surprised?"

Edward's expression soured, sowhere between long-suffering and genuinely unsettled. "Surprised? No. Alard? Absolutely. You've made it official in the most public way possible without actually walking into the council chamber bare-necked."

Damian's mouth curved, slow and self-satisfied. "Maybe I should."

"Don't," Edward snapped, then caught himself, pressing a palm briefly to his brow. "For once in your reign, try not to hand them a political heart attack before lunch."

Damian's tone was mild, almost amused. "It's only a matter of ti before they find out."

"Yes," Edward bit out, "but the difference between them finding out and you parading it like a war trophy is the difference between a controlled fire and a palace inferno." He fastened the last clasp of Damian's coat with a precision that might have been sharper than necessary. "And right now, I am the one keeping the flas from reaching the archives."

From the adjoining chamber, Gabriel's voice floated through the open door, casual and far too aware of the conversation's direction. "If he starts a fire, Edward, make sure you save the imperial kitchens. I'd like breakfast tomorrow."

Damian's smirk deepened, and Edward closed his eyes briefly in a prayer for patience that never ca. "I'm getting you both coffee," he muttered, already reaching for the door. "And if either of you steps into public view before I return, may the gods help ."

Edward didn't wait for a reply, likely because he knew it would only annoy him more, and swept out with the clipped efficiency of a man who had accepted his fate but refused to suffer it quietly.

The mont the door shut, Damian let out a low hum, the sound threaded with that sa quiet, infuriating confidence he'd carried since birth.

Gabriel erged a few minutes later, hair damp from the bath, Arik balanced on one hip, and his tablet in the other hand. He was barefoot, the towel now traded for one of Damian's shirts, the hem brushing his thighs.

"You scared him," Gabriel observed, crossing the room without hurry. Arik's small hand found its way to Damian's sash, tugging at the gold embroidery.

"Edward?" Damian's mouth tilted in sothing almost fond. "He'll recover. He just needs ti to imagine the look on the council's faces."

Gabriel's dark eyes glittered as he adjusted Arik in his arms. "And you'll enjoy every second of that mont."

"Of course," Damian said simply, leaning down to press a brief kiss to Gabriel's mouth, slowly enough to remind him exactly why Edward had nearly dropped the regalia. "Why win a war if you can't watch your enemies realize they've lost?"

"I'm curious what would happen now. Would they try to kill so that you will be free again?"

Damian's gaze sharpened, the faint curve of his mouth flattening into sothing far more dangerous.

"They can try," he said, voice low enough that it was more a promise than a statent. "But they'll have to get through first… and we both know how that ends."

Gabriel's brows arched, unimpressed despite the steel in those golden eyes. "Dramatic. You've been spending too much ti with ."

"Not nearly enough," Damian countered without missing a beat, his hand brushing over the back of Gabriel's neck in a gesture that was equal parts possessive and grounding. "Let them see the mark. Let them understand, there's no undoing this. They can waste their breath plotting, but they won't live long enough to see it through."

Arik gurgled between them, oblivious to the weight in the room, tugging on Damian's sash again as if to punctuate his father's point.

Gabriel huffed out a faint, amused breath, though his eyes stayed on Damian's. "You're terrifying when you're like this."

"I'm always like this," Damian replied, the smirk returning, slower this ti. "You just don't usually see enjoying it."