Bound by the Mark of Lies (BL)
Chapter 397 - 391: A Tether and a Threat

Chapter 397: Chapter 391: A Tether and a Threat

"Well?" Damian’s voice cut through the low hum of the clinic, calm on the surface but laced with something volatile.

Marin didn’t flinch. He crossed the room, coming to stand on the opposite side of Gabriel’s bed, eyes scanning the monitors as he spoke. Correct content is on freew.ebno(v)e\l.(c)om.

"He’s stable. His ether levels are high, but they’re not spiking anymore. The tether..." His gaze flicked briefly to Damian. "...whatever he did with that shard, it’s fading. Donin’s residue is weak. It won’t hold him much longer."

Damian’s jaw tightened, the cords in his neck shifting as he swallowed back a dozen orders that would fix nothing.

"How did he get clearance?" Damian’s words were low, dangerous. "I told you... no ether work until..."

Marin met his eyes fully now, unshaken. "Until I cleared him. Which I did."

The golden stare sharpened. "You..."

"He came to me," Marin interrupted softly but firmly, "and I evaluated him myself. He was healing faster than most would after what he’s been through. His channels were strong. He made his case, and I signed off with supervision." Marin’s tone flattened slightly, though it remained respectful. "And if you intend to lecture me, Your Majesty, do it later. Right now, I am telling you that the rest of the seasoned imperial medical team is trembling under your fury."

Damian’s head lifted slowly, golden eyes narrowing, not with rage now, but with something heavier, sharper, as though weighing Marin’s words like stones in his palm.

For a heartbeat, the only sound in the room was the low, steady pulse of the ether monitors and the soft hiss of the lanterns overhead. Then Damian exhaled through his nose, a sound that might have been a laugh if it weren’t so void of amusement.

"They should tremble," he said at last, voice low, deliberate. "They’re entrusted with the life of the man who keeps this Empire standing when I cannot. And they allowed him to step out of recovery and tether himself to a shard that should not even exist."

Marin didn’t flinch, though the weight of that molten gaze would have made lesser men falter. He stood with his hands clasped behind his back, every inch the seasoned physician, unwilling to bow further than duty required.

"They follow protocol," Marin replied calmly, "but they are not built to argue with an Empress‑in‑waiting who already outmaneuvered half your council and the entire ward command before you married him. Gabriel is not easy to refuse, Your Majesty. You know this better than anyone."

A muscle in Damian’s jaw twitched. He turned his head just enough to glance at Gabriel, still and pale beneath the soft glow of the stabilizers, dark hair falling slightly across his forehead. The bond between them hummed faintly, a thread stretched thin but unbroken.

"I know," Damian said quietly, almost to himself. His fingers tightened on the rail. "Which is why I wanted him locked down until Marin, not the others, you, said otherwise."

"You wanted him safe," Marin said, and for the first time, there was no clinical edge in his tone. Only understanding. "So do I. That’s why I signed off, with conditions he met. And that’s why I’m standing here, not apologizing for doing my job."

Marin exhaled slowly, the weight of his own words settling between them.

"I don’t believe Gabriel ever intended for this to happen," he said, his voice steady, stripped of its usual clinical detachment. "The shard in Donin is weak, fading even as we speak. Our projections show no more than six, perhaps seven, days before the tether burns out completely. Your Majesty... the best thing you can do for him now is wait. Let him wake on his own. And in the meantime, give your attention to Prince Arik. He needs you just as much."

Damian’s jaw tightened, the muscles in his shoulders coiled like wire. The monitors continued their soft, infuriatingly calm beeping, each pulse a reminder of Gabriel’s stillness. His fingers brushed over Gabriel’s hand again, as though grounding himself in the warmth there, faint but real.

"Six to seven days," Damian repeated, his voice quiet but edged, molten eyes fixed on Gabriel’s face. "You’re asking me to stand still while the man who holds that shard still breathes."

Marin didn’t waver. "I’m asking you to trust him, Your Majesty," he said. "Trust what you already know. This isn’t recklessness. This is Gabriel."

For a long moment, silence filled the clinic, with the low hum of ether monitors, the whisper of lanterns, and the muffled footsteps of attendants outside the door. Damian’s shoulders rose and fell with a measured breath, but the storm in his gaze didn’t subside.

He finally looked up at Marin, his tone clipped and absolute. "I want every update, every fluctuation, the instant it’s logged. No delays, no softened reports."

"You will have them," Marin replied, inclining his head before stepping back.

When the door closed behind him, the room felt too large, too quiet. Damian remained seated, leaning forward, elbows braced on his knees, still holding Gabriel’s hand in both of his. His thumb moved absently over the knuckles, a gesture that was both possession and prayer.

He let his forehead rest briefly against Gabriel’s arm, his voice dropping to a whisper, soft enough to be swallowed by the steady rhythm of the monitors.

"Wake up soon," he murmured. "You’re not allowed to leave me waiting this long."

For a heartbeat longer, Damian stayed there, eyes closed, the faint warmth of Gabriel’s skin grounding him against the gnawing weight in his chest. Then, with controlled calm, he straightened, letting go of Gabriel’s hand only because he had to.

He turned and left the clinic without another glance back, each step measured and controlled, until the door closed behind him with a quiet click.

Out in the long hallway, the palace lanterns cast pools of amber light against the polished stone, shadows stretching like long fingers along the walls. Damian’s pace didn’t falter as he spoke, his voice low but carrying the edge of command.

"Gregoris," he called.

The shadow stepped out from a corner like he’d been waiting all along, bowing his head with precision.

"Yes, Your Majesty."

Damian didn’t slow. "Prepare the generals," he said, each word clipped. "In seven days we strike Hadeon, whether Gabriel wakes or not."

Gregoris’s silver eyes flickered, the barest pause in his stride, but his reply came without hesitation. "Understood. I’ll begin the mobilization quietly. No whispers will leave the council."

"Good." Damian’s gaze stayed forward, his shoulders set like a blade poised to cut. "If the shard tether fails, we take the fight to him before he has a chance to recover. No more waiting."

Gregoris inclined his head again, the faintest smirk ghosting over his rough features. "I’ll have the generals ready, and the Shadows will stand by for your word."

Damian didn’t respond, not immediately. His thoughts were still in that clinic room, still with Gabriel, still hearing the steady beeping that mocked him with every passing second. But as they reached the far end of the hall, he finally spoke again, voice quieter, colder.

"If he doesn’t wake," Damian said, molten gold eyes narrowing, "then Hadeon will wish he’d stayed buried in the rubble of Donin."

Gregoris’s smirk deepened into something far sharper. "Then we’ll make sure he does."