Bound by the Mark of Lies (BL)
Chapter 140 - 135: The Claymore puppet (1)

Chapter 140: Chapter 135: The Claymore puppet (1)

The world fell silent in that rare, silver lull between night and dawn, when the stars remained visible but the sky softened into violet and gold hues. A faint glow crept through the heavy curtains, creating lines of early morning light across the bed.

Gabriel stirred first.

His body ached in familiar ways, the kind that had him sinking deeper into the sheets for a moment longer, eyes closed, lips parted in a lazy breath. Everything smelled like heat and skin, with faint hints of cedarwood from Damian.

He blinked slowly, adjusting to the pale light in the room. The fire had long died out, leaving the room cooler, quieter. At some point, a thick, warm blanket was pulled over him. He didn’t remember when they’d made it to the bed.

Damian lay beside him, one arm stretched carelessly across the mattress, the other curled loosely under the pillow. He was completely still, save for the subtle rise and fall of his chest. Peaceful.

Gabriel did not think he would ever see him without armor. There were no sharp words, no commanding presence, and no heat in his golden eyes. Just... calm.

His gaze lingered over his dark lashes, swept down over high cheekbones, casting shadows against smooth, tanned skin. His black hair was a mess across the pillow and Gabriel’s shoulder, curling slightly at the ends. His facial lines, which were usually so defined with authority, softened in sleep; his jaw relaxed, his lips slightly parted. His brow was uncreased.

Gabriel could not stop himself from thinking, ’How beautiful.’

The thought settled in Gabriel’s chest like a pebble dropped in still water, small but rippling, and he let out a slow breath. He reached out, almost unintentionally, his fingers barely brushing Damian’s hair as it fanned across the pillow. Soft. He drew his hand back like he’d touched fire.

His body was sore, spent in ways that didn’t only come from the night before. His heart was quieter now, but not calm.

It was difficult to recall why Damian had constructed walls in the first place after witnessing him in this state, unguarded, breath warm, and even.

A small, bitter smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "You’re still a menace," he whispered to the stillness.

"You say that," came a low, sleep-rough voice, "but you were clinging to your menace all night."

Startled, Gabriel snapped his head down to see golden eyes open, half-lidded and sleepy, but clearly amused. Damian’s voice sounded like the morning, with a hint of smugness and a slower, more contented tone.

Gabriel gave him a long look. "You were awake?"

"One doesn’t sleep through that kind of admiration," Damian murmured, a slow grin tugging at his lips. "Besides... you talk to yourself."

Gabriel’s face twitched, annoyed. "I whispered."

"And I heard every word," Damian said, far too pleased with himself. "You called me beautiful."

"I did not," Gabriel said flatly.

"You did," Damian said, as smug as a cat stretching across a sunbeam. "Shall I repeat it back to you word for word?"

"No," Gabriel growled, tugging the blanket up over his head. "Go back to sleep. Pretend you’re dead."

Damian chuckled, reaching under the blanket to pull Gabriel closer. "If I were dead, you’d miss me."

"I would sleep in peace."

The door opened without a knock, breaking the momentary silence between them, and it was the type of entrance that only one man in the Empire dared to make.

Gabriel groaned.

"Good morning, Your Majesty. "Young Master," Edward said, his voice smooth and pleasant in the way that only someone still slightly furious could manage. "It’s 5:30. Your day begins in exactly ninety minutes. And, if I may be so bold, I will remind you that I did prepare dinner last night. For two. In the dining room".

Damian exhaled into Gabriel’s neck, completely unbothered. "Morning, Edward."

"You didn’t come," Edward continued brightly, as if reciting a weather report. "You didn’t eat. You did, however, destroy the study. I assume the table is now... sentimental."

Gabriel poked his head out from beneath the blanket, his hair in a tangled crown of defiance. "You act as if we demolished the place."

"I did not say you demolished it," Edward responded, stepping deeper into the room with the calm dignity of someone who had clearly practiced this confrontation in his head. "But the study now smells of sin and cedarwood, and the chaise lounge seems... violated."

"We didn’t touch your precious table," Gabriel muttered, his tone dry.

"I’m sure you think that’s a defense," Edward said, smiling thinly. "But the chaise is one of a kind. From Velmont. And I do not believe it was designed to creak in protest like it does now."

Damian chuckled against Gabriel’s shoulder, voice lazy with sleep. "It held up just fine."

Gabriel elbowed him half-heartedly, grumbling, "Don’t help."

Edward pressed on, unfazed. "And the rug. It’s... askew."

"The rug?" Gabriel blinked. "You’re complaining about a rug?"

"It was symmetrical," Edward said sharply, eyes narrowing as if personal offense had been taken. "I restored order to that study for five years, and in one night—"

"Edward," Damian interrupted, his voice warm and slow as molasses, "we didn’t touch the table, the rug or anything that comes to your mind. Only the chaise."

"That is hardly comforting," Edward said, raising his gloved hand in surrender. "But if His Majesty is pleased with his interior redesign through debauchery, who am I to argue?"

Gabriel pulled the blanket over his face. "I’m going to die from secondhand embarrassment."

"I’ll prepare a tasteful funeral," Edward said dryly, already turning for the door. "Open casket. Perhaps beside the chaise."

Damian sat up then, sheets slipping down his chest, and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He stretched once, bones popping, and ran his hand through his messy dark hair.

"You know," he said, glancing at Gabriel as he stood, "Edward actually likes you."

Gabriel peeked at him, one brow lifting. "That’s what you call liking someone?"

"He’s being kind," Damian replied, amused. "You have to learn how to read him. He saves his real cruelty for people he doesn’t care about."

Gabriel frowned faintly. He wanted to scoff and push back, but something about Edward’s tone stuck with him. It hadn’t been cold. Irritated, yes, dramatic, definitely, but never cutting. Never cruel.

Charles said the same thing a few days ago, he remembered suddenly, while they were in the study. That Edward was harsher to those he didn’t like. Cold, precise, and distant. With Gabriel... there was always a note of familiarity, even if laced with sarcasm and veiled judgment.

He blinked, thrown off balance by the realization. "Huh."

Damian offered him a small, knowing smile before disappearing into the bathroom. "Told you."

The sound of water started running behind the closed door.

Gabriel flopped back against the pillows, brow furrowed. "What kind of upside-down world did I end up in..."

There was no response; Edward had vanished, presumably to realign the rug.