Bound by the Mark of Lies (BL)
Chapter 392 - 386: Their roles

Chapter 392: Chapter 386: Their roles

A faint shift rippled through the room, like the tension in the air before a storm breaks. Even the lantern light seemed sharper, the etched wards humming against the glass panes with a subtle tremor.

Damian’s gaze swept the table, molten eyes cold enough to burn. "Two months," he said, each word measured, unhurried, lethal. "Two months since I declared the embargo. Two months since I ordered every channel monitored, every crossing sealed, every transaction accounted for. And yet..." He let the word hang, turning the folio so the seal caught the light. "I have not seen the full reports."

A minister from the western bloc cleared his throat, his voice wavering. "Your Majesty, we..."

Damian didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to. "Do not tell me what you intend. Tell me what you have done."

Silence. Then the soft rustle of robes as another senator, younger, tried to fill the void. "The embargo has... held, Your Majesty. Donin’s ports are starved of our goods, and their northern trade routes are failing. But there are rumors..." He hesitated, clearly regretting the word. "Rumors of smugglers. Of back channels."

Damian’s jaw tilted slightly, as though considering something far away. "Rumors," he repeated, tasting the word. "I did not order rumors. I ordered proof."

He leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking faintly, his hands folding over the folio as if cradling a weapon. "Donin bleeds slowly. That was the point. But if even one shipment leaves under your watch, if one House thinks itself clever enough to play both sides..." His gaze pinned the older senator in green, then slid toward the trade minister, who had avoided his eyes since the discussion began. "You will not enjoy the correction."

The minister swallowed hard, words spilling before he could stop them. "There are... early figures from the southern provinces. They’ll be compiled by tomorrow..."

"Today," Damian interrupted softly.

The minister blinked. "Your Majesty?"

Damian’s smile was a shadow. "You will have them compiled today. You will have them on my desk before the lanterns dim, or I will walk into your offices myself and count every shipment ledger by hand."

A shiver went through the chamber, the sort of chill that had nothing to do with weather.

Damian let the silence settle again, deliberate and heavy. Then he glanced down, opened the folio once more, and drew out a separate sheet marked with the seal of foreign affairs. His voice, when it came, was calm enough to make the words all the sharper.

"And while you scramble to deliver what should have been done weeks ago," Damian went on, each word deliberate, quiet enough to force the room to lean in, "prepare a complete list of every envoy’s reply to our embargo. Every country. Every port. Every court that thinks our patience is weakness."

His gaze lifted, molten and unblinking, and the air seemed to thin under it. "Do not expect the Shadows to clean up what you’ve neglected. They are my army, mine, not the Empire’s errand runners."

The chamber stilled, the weight of the statement sinking like lead. A few senators lowered their eyes, others gripped styluses tighter, as if afraid they might drop them and draw attention.

Damian tapped one finger against the folio, the sound soft, measured, and far more ominous than raised voices. "Your offices have resources, clerks, and auditors. Use them. I am not paying for excuses."

A young delegate at the far end rose halfway from his chair. "Your Majesty, the embargo has been felt in Donin’s trade circles. Their western ports..."

"I am aware," Damian cut in, smooth as a blade sliding home. "What I require is detail, not reassurances. Tell me where their supply lines crack. Tell me who they’ve approached for relief. Tell me what they whisper in the markets you think I can’t hear."

The delegate sat down slowly, chastened.

Damian’s hand stilled over the page, his tone softening by a hair, but the edge remained. "The embargo stands. For as long as I command it, no grain, no timber, and no core‑charged steel cross those borders. If anyone in this room," his eyes swept them, unhurried, "thinks they can turn a profit by ignoring my word, they are welcome to try."

No one answered.

"Now," Damian said, his voice returning to that cold calm that had become its own kind of warning, "I expect a preliminary compilation before dusk. Begin."

Chairs shifted. Styluses resumed scratching, hurried now, the room buzzing with restrained urgency. A minister whispered orders to an aide, who scurried out through the warded doors.

Damian leaned back slightly, fingers steepled, watching the sudden activity like a man surveying pieces on a board. The flicker of satisfaction that passed through his eyes was quick, almost imperceptible, but it was there, a predator content, for now, with the panic he’d sown.

He turned another page in his folio, his voice cutting through the rustle of work without warning.

"And since Donin appears to have forgotten our generosity," he murmured, "I want the trade projections from the northern provinces by tomorrow. If they falter, we will tighten the routes further. Let them feel what it means to gamble with an Empire’s patience."

A murmur of agreement moved through the table, but no one dared look at him too long.

Damian closed the folio with a soft snap, the sound final. "This session is not adjourned. You will work while I review the northern reports."

And with that, the Emperor settled back in his chair, his gaze returning to the pages before him, leaving the chamber to scramble beneath the steady hum of lanterns and the unshakable knowledge that every word he’d spoken was a promise and a threat.

— free.webn\ove(l)(.)c(o)m

Gabriel sat cross-legged on the edge of the low couch, robe wrapped loosely around him, dark hair still damp from the evening bath and curling faintly at his nape. Arik was tucked against his chest, a warm and steady weight, small fingers curled into the fabric near Gabriel’s collar as if to anchor himself. The child’s breaths were soft, even, each exhale a tiny warmth against Gabriel’s skin.

The private chamber was quiet, lanterns turned low, the scent of parchment and faint ether hums filled the air. A single tablet lay across Gabriel’s knee, its surface flickering softly with the encoded report that Edward had handed him minutes ago. The edges of the text pulsed with residual wards, proof it had come directly from the council chamber without interception.

Edward stood a pace away, gloved hands clasped behind his back, his expression poised but his eyes, sharp under the light, betrayed a flicker of pride that he tried, and failed, to suppress.

Gabriel scrolled through the last lines of the report with his thumb, letting the details settle. "He said that?" Gabriel murmured, his tone somewhere between faint amusement and something far sharper.

"He did," Edward replied, voice even but carrying the satisfaction of someone whose loyalty had just been validated on a very public stage. "He reminded them whose army the Shadows are. The council scattered before they even reached the second clause of the embargo."

Gabriel’s lips curved, faint but genuine. "I assume they’re still scrambling."

"They are," Edward said, a flash of pride slipping through as he adjusted his cuffs. "He demanded a full accounting of every envoy’s response. He made it clear the embargo will hold as long as he wills it. And, if I may add, not a single senator dared challenge him twice."

Gabriel tilted his head, eyes still on the tablet but voice softer now. "Good. Let them learn to tread carefully before the next session."

Arik stirred against him, making a quiet, breathy sound that made Gabriel’s fingers still over the screen. He looked down, his gaze softening in that rare, quiet way it always did when looking at his son. The golden eyes were closed now, lashes brushing warm cheeks, completely oblivious to the weight of the world waiting outside these doors.

Gabriel exhaled slowly, brushing his knuckles against Arik’s back. "Your father is tearing through parliament," he murmured to the sleeping child, half a smile playing at his lips. "Remind me never to let you attend sessions too early. You’d start a civil war before lunch."