Bound by the Mark of Lies (BL)
Chapter 152 - 147: Mother in law (1)

Chapter 152: Chapter 147: Mother in law (1)

Gabriel had just settled into the chair by the window, coffee in hand and a rare moment of silence his only company. He leaned back on the armchair, trying to calm himself down. The ether in the palace and Damian’s mark helped him to forget about his nightmares. Or so he thought until now.

He closed his eyes, feeling the shadows grow bigger and stronger, tugging on his legs. Cold hands tried to drag him under the ground. Unintelligible whispers echoed into the sunlit room, approaching him, cold touching his ears, a knot formed in his chest, waiting for what would happen next, when Edward appeared in the doorway with a look that promised disruption.

"A message arrived," he announced, tone too casual.

Gabriel did not open his eyes; he did not need to feel the butler’s scowl to know he did not like his stance. "From whom?"

Edward stepped inside, hands folded neatly behind his back. "Crista Lyon."

Gabriel’s fingers tightened slightly around his cup, the warmth no longer comforting. The name was enough to stir the cold in his chest into a spike of tension, sharp and unwelcome.

Crista Lyon.

He opened his eyes slowly, lids heavy as if weighed by the memory of that name. The sunlight streaming in from the tall palace windows didn’t reach the shadow curling at his feet anymore.

"Did she sign it herself?" he asked, voice flat.

Edward’s silence stretched, just for a second too long. Then, "She used her seal."

Of course she did. She wasn’t asking nicely but ordering him. He knew that he had to meet the rest of Damian’s family. The ball was full of events and each member of the imperial family had duties to perform, saving him from meeting them earlier.

Gabriel sighed and finally sat up, placing the cup down on the table beside him with deliberate care.

Edward smiled. "She’s asked to meet with you."

Gabriel finally looked up, eyes narrowing. "When?"

"I may have taken the liberty of setting the meeting for half an hour from now."

Gabriel set the cup down slowly. "You fucking what?"

"She sent the request in the early morning. I did not see the point of delaying." Edward adjusted a cuff. "The glass house has been prepared; no swearing from now on."

"I haven’t even eaten."

"She won’t eat you," Edward said helpfully. "She’s a beta."

Gabriel stopped halfway to the door, blinking. "What?"

"Crista Lyon. Beta. Not an alpha, not an omega. She is a kind woman and just wants to meet her son’s mate. We are alike in this matter."

Gabriel frowned. "That’s not as helpful as you think it is."

Edward allowed himself the faintest trace of a smile. "Perhaps not. But it is meant to reassure you."

Gabriel shot him a look that was neither grateful nor amused. "The last person who tried to reassure me ended up with tea on their lap."

"I’ve dressed accordingly," Edward said, deadpan, gesturing to his darker coat. "Come along now. Let’s not keep the Empress of Stone Gardens waiting."

Gabriel dragged a hand through his hair, already regretting the day. "She actually calls it that?"

"No," Edward said. "But I do. And it suits her."

The corridors leading to the southern wing were painfully bright, with sunlight reflecting in the etched glass and polished marble. Every step brought the scent of blooming ether-flowers and freshly waxed floors, which contrasted with Gabriel’s stomach coiling with each breath. He hated this. Not because he feared Crista Lyon but because she was unpredictable. Damian’s mother was a legacy, a shadow behind the throne, and somehow more dangerous because she had no blood on her hands.

Edward stopped before a pair of pale doors, glass frosted with garden motifs. "She’s inside."

Gabriel glanced sideways. "And you’re not coming?"

"I’ve been ordered to prepare tea for the aftermath," Edward said, his tone light. "Survivors always want tea."

Before Gabriel could curse him again, the doors were already opening.

"I hate tea." Gabriel muttered to himself before stepping into the new battlefield.

The greenhouse was warmer than expected. Ivy trailed the walls, thick and lush, and the air smelled of citrus and something older, possibly frankincense. Crista Lyon stood at the far end of the room, gloved hands holding a watering can and black hair braided like a crown. She didn’t look like an empress. She was dressed casually, like she planned to remain in the greenhouse tending the plants all day.

"Gabriel von Jaunez," she said, her voice cool and elegant. "So you are real."

"And so are you. And I thought Damian rose from hell on his own."

Crista turned her head slowly, a faint twitch of amusement on the corner of her lips. "He didn’t," she said, her voice smooth like velvet. "Though he likes to think so. The dramatic flair runs in the family."

She set the watering can down by a potted heliotrope and turned toward him fully, brushing her gloved hands together. "But I see now that he didn’t rise alone."

Gabriel stepped further into the glasshouse, the light from above making the silver leaves shimmer faintly as he moved. He stopped before a small round table set for them; he rested his hands on the chair before him.

"So you know. I didn’t think Damian would be a mama’s boy." Gabriel’s tone was as relaxed as before, but there was an underlying sense of danger. He did not expect anyone except Damian, Edward, and possibly his shadows to know about his past. His decision to make Damian Emperor.

Crista didn’t flinch. In fact, she smiled subtly, her eyes sparkling with curiosity, as if she had just been given her favorite type of puzzle.

"Oh, he’s not," she said lightly, walking past the lilies to take her seat with the ease of someone entirely in control of the garden and the conversation. "He hasn’t let me coddle him since he was nine and decided the world was made of knives. But he does listen to me. Sometimes."

Gabriel didn’t sit yet. He watched her, sharp and quiet, as though she might morph into something else the moment he blinked.

Crista noticed, of course. "Edward has a tendency to mention only what’s relevant. And Damian, well, my son is many things, but forthcoming with emotions is not one of them. So let me clarify: I don’t know everything. I know enough."