Bound by the Mark of Lies (BL)
Chapter 146 - 141: Idle conversations (2)

Chapter 146: Chapter 141: Idle conversations (2)

The Emperor did not blink.

Outside, smoke curled from Gabriel’s lips, silver threading through the dark like spun steel. He stood at ease, shoulders relaxed despite the earlier confrontation, wind tugging at his coat. Max lingered beside him, the picture of indolent elegance, though those who knew him well could see the guard beneath it.

Elliot Claymore had already stormed off, pride bruised, movements stiff with the kind of anger that couldn’t admit defeat. His exit had been theatrical. Predictable. And irrelevant.

Above, Damian said nothing.

He stood at the edge of the archway, posture unmoving, hands clasped behind his back like a blade sheathed in human form. His eyes, golden and clear, tracked Gabriel’s silhouette with the stillness of a man watching something far more dangerous than political fallout.

Beside him, General Halbrecht exhaled through his nose.

"He’s not coming back in until the air clears," Halbrecht said, arms folded. "Which might take a while, considering the stench Elliot left behind."

Beside him, High Arcanist Virenth shifted her weight, her sapphire robes brushing the marble as she folded her hands behind her back. "Elliot reeks of desperation. It lingers."

"That was more entertaining than last week’s Senate debate," she added, her voice dry as weathered parchment. "I do enjoy a good fall from imagined grace."

"Elliot’s always been fragile," Halbrecht rumbled. "Wrap glass in silk; it still shatters when tapped."

"Poetic," Virenth drawled. "Don’t tell me you’ve taken to reading tragedies in your downtime."

Halbrecht grunted. "I’d rather chew sand."

"Mm," she mused. "You say that, but you walk around sounding like a man one monologue away from a duel."

"Must be your influence," he muttered. "Dramatics seep."

"Careful, Halbrecht," Virenth replied with a sly smile. "If I’m rubbing off on you, you might develop taste next."

"Taste for what? Insults and enchantments?"

"Please," she scoffed. "If you had any affinity for either, you’d be less of a walking fortress and more of a strategist."

"And you’d be less of a lecture wrapped in lace," he shot back.

"Lace, yes," she said airily. "But these lectures reshape empires, and you know it."

Damian didn’t interrupt. He just allowed the banter to spin itself out, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly.

"Boy’s still got it, though. Gabriel, I mean," Halbrecht said after a pause. "Never thought I’d miss seeing someone dismantle Elliot without lifting a sword."

Virenth’s lips twitched. "He always had a talent for dismemberment. Verbally, at least. And precision, he could take apart a proposal like it was battlefield strategy. His drafts on leyline stabilization were so good the Guild tried to publish them under someone else’s name. Twice."

"He was ours," Halbrecht muttered. "One of the good ones. If he’d stayed where he belonged—"

"He wasn’t ours," Damian interrupted, his voice calm and edged with steel. "He was borrowed. Briefly. But now he is exactly where he should be."

Virenth turned, robes swishing softly. "You’re awfully possessive for someone who used to complain about his insubordination."

"He’s less insubordinate now," Damian replied. "Mostly. But he’s also more focused. His recommendations during the Leyline Reformation talks were so precise the old ministers spent three weeks trying to understand how he predicted the breach rates. They didn’t even realize half the defense strategies they approved were his. He doesn’t just think ahead; he sees through people. That’s more dangerous than magic."

"Mm. That’s one word for climbing your political ladder with a blade between his teeth."

Halbrecht grinned. "He had more field sense than half our tacticians. Even at nineteen, he wrote reports like he was writing scripture. Terrifying, really."

"And poetic," Virenth added. "Nothing like receiving a weekly operations memo that reads like a war ballad written by a scholar with a grudge."

Damian’s lips curved faintly.

He remembered those reports. The boy with ink-stained hands, all bones and brilliance, walking through leyfield wreckage as if he belonged more in the ruins than the palace. Gabriel hadn’t been polite. He hadn’t been soft. But he had been right. And it had made the court hate him.

They had hated him and stolen from his work endlessly.

"He would have made an excellent council leader," Virenth murmured. "But no. Now we’ll have to bow to him at events and listen to him recite trade reform with those damn judgmental eyebrows."

Halbrecht let out a bark of laughter. "Empress Gabriel. I’ll need stronger liquor."

"You should be honored," Damian said smoothly. "To serve someone competent for once."

That earned him twin glances—dry and unimpressed.

"Careful, Majesty," Virenth said. "Your imperial bias is showing."

"Not biased," Damian said, walking to the table where leyline sigils and border wards lay half-drafted. "Just... long overdue standards."

Outside, Gabriel tipped his head back, smoke curling from his lips as he said something to Max that made the latter smirk. The wind ruffled Gabriel’s dark and elegant coat, and his stance was noble to the core.

A reminder: he was not born into the palace. He was brought here. And he stayed by choice.

Virenth tilted her head. "If he lasts, he’ll either be the most beloved Empress in three centuries... or the most feared."

Halbrecht grunted. "I’d settle for effective. Everything else is seasoning."

"And if he doesn’t last?" she asked softly, watching Damian instead of the balcony now.

Damian didn’t blink. "Then I’ll burn whoever makes it necessary."

He glanced briefly toward Virenth. "You’ll take over the Ministry of Magic. Official appointment will be signed by morning. The Ebon Count’s disgrace has left us no choice."

Virenth didn’t flinch, but her smile was feline. "Finally," she murmured. "I was getting tired of running it from the shadows anyway."

Halbrecht arched a brow. "You’re really taking the seat? Thought you’d sworn off administrative headaches."

"Oh, I did," Virenth said lightly. "But that was when I still had to smile at the Ebon Count in meetings. Now I’ll get to reassign his entire staff and reorganize the Ministry like a spellwork diagram."

"Pity," Halbrecht muttered. "He did have decent wine."

"I’ll keep the wine," she said sweetly. "Burn the rest."

Damian smirked faintly. "I trust you’ll remind them why it’s a Ministry of *Magic*, not mediocrity."

"Oh, I will," Virenth said, eyes gleaming. "With style."

Halbrecht rolled his shoulder. "You’ll have half the court groveling and the other half running for cover."

Virenth looked pleased. "As it should be. Let them remember what real arcane governance feels like. And if they don’t, well... there are always frogs."

Damian arched a brow. "Please restrain your polymorph impulses. At least until after the next council vote."

"No promises," she said sweetly. "Though I’ve always thought Count Bellgrave would make a very squat toad."

Halbrecht snorted. "You’re going to enjoy this far too much."

"I intend to," Virenth replied, smoothing her sleeves. "And while I’m at it, I’ll finally finish what the Ebon Count kept stalling, reforming the arcane registry. We’ve got bloodline claims dating back three dynasties that haven’t been verified since the ink dried."

Damian’s voice turned mild. "Do what you must. And don’t hold back. They’ll test you. The same way they’ll test him."

Virenth’s gaze flicked again to Gabriel. "Let them try."