Bound by the Mark of Lies (BL)
Chapter 400 - 394: The Shard’s World (3)

Chapter 400: Chapter 394: The Shard’s World (3)

Peter’s smile grew into the wide, thin grin Gabriel resented.

"You’ve learned to bite," he murmured, voice a velvet blade. "But you still don’t know where the teeth should go."

Then the air shifted.

Gabriel felt it before he saw it, ether, cold and precise, sliding over his skin like invisible wires. The grip on his neck loosened, but not out of mercy. A surge of pressure wrapped around his chest, his arms, his ribs, a crushing force that never left a mark. The wall behind him vibrated with the hum of it, the faint ozone bite of charged wards crawling through the air.

His body arched against the invisible hold, breath ripping short, as Peter’s fingers released him entirely. No bruises, no fingerprints, just the relentless squeeze of ether pressing into bone and sinew like it was carving him from the inside out.

Peter stepped back a pace, watching him with the calm detachment of a man pruning a tree.

"You’re lucky today," Peter said softly, almost kindly, as if that could disguise the threads of power still tightening around Gabriel’s lungs. "Olivier has sent for you."

Gabriel gritted his teeth, refusing to gasp. The room swam at the edges, shadows stretching in unnatural patterns.

"They’ve decided," Peter went on, his tone that quiet authority Gabriel had hated since childhood, "that the time has come. The Imperial House is ready to propose a bonding contract. A fine union... between you and him. Between von Jaunez and the throne."

The ether cinched tighter, forcing Gabriel to his knees with a sharp jolt of pain that sang through every nerve but left no evidence on his body. His hands clawed at the empty air, bracing against nothing, his pulse roaring in his ears.

Peter crouched slightly, tilting his head as if inspecting a prized weapon, his medals catching the lantern light.

"Do you hear that, Gabriel?" His voice was low, coaxing, and cruel in the same breath. "A chance to redeem this family. To serve as you were always meant to. Olivier wants you, and that is not an honor you get to refuse."

Gabriel’s vision blurred for a heartbeat, the corridor spinning before snapping back into harsh clarity. He forced his breath through his teeth, forcing his mind past the pain, past the twisting weight of ether grinding against his ribs. This wasn’t real, but it felt like it.

He knew how to deal with Peter, but this was new; he didn’t remember the imperial palace being interested in an alliance with von Jaunez. Sure, Peter always wanted it and Olivier used it so that the rest of the family would be under his foot. But this never happened.

"Why now?" Gabriel asked over the pain, his younger voice shaking under the strain.

"Crown Prince Olivier found out that your heat came this year. At last you are useful."

Gabriel’s stomach dropped, the words landing with a weight that threatened to drag him under.

The ether’s pressure coiled tighter around his ribs, a snake winding in for the kill, but he held Peter’s gaze, refusing to look away.

"Useful," Gabriel repeated, his tone flat but brittle, his younger voice cracking at the edges. The corridor around them seemed to darken, shadows bleeding into the carved wood, lantern light shivering as if the manor itself felt Peter’s satisfaction.

Peter’s mouth curved into that faint, terrible smile he always wore when he believed he’d won.

"You were born for this," he said, voice smooth, low, and utterly certain. "Everything we’ve done... everything I’ve done... was to give you a place in the history of this Empire. And now..." His fingers flexed, and the ether constriction bit deeper, cutting off Gabriel’s breath in a sharp rush. "...now, you will repay it."

Gabriel gritted his teeth, forcing a shallow inhale past the crushing bind, his thoughts cutting through the haze like splintered glass.

History. Empire. Olivier. None of this was real. None of this ever happened.

"You’re lying," he rasped, not because he believed Peter would admit it, but because the words steadied him, anchored him in the storm of memory and ether.

His fingers clawed at the smooth wood beneath him, feeling the faint grooves in the paneling, a detail too sharp, too specific for a simple illusion. The shard was feeding him his own memories, stitching them into a lie, and that realization turned the pit in his stomach to cold fire.

Peter crouched, the medals on his chest gleaming in the flickering light. His shadow fell over Gabriel like a closing door.

"Why would I lie," Peter murmured, the sickly sweetness in his voice twisting like a blade, "when everything you are is proof of what I built? The palace will come for you soon enough. You should be grateful Olivier even asked. You should thank me."

His words dripped like oil, smooth and suffocating. The pressure flared again, Gabriel felt it crash into his lungs, his ribs, an invisible hand forcing him lower until his knees hit the marble with a muted crack. The sting shot up his legs, sharp enough to make his vision swim.

But the mark on his neck burned hotter in response, Damian’s mark thrumming like a distant heartbeat, a rhythm no shard could erase.

Gabriel’s breath steadied, not much, but enough. He raised his head, his younger face shadowed by sweat and strain, and met Peter’s gaze with a steel that had been tempered far from this place.

"I already belong to someone," Gabriel whispered, the words scraped raw from his throat, quiet but edged like a blade that had tasted blood.

Peter’s eyes narrowed, the faintest gleam of amusement flickering through the shadows there, cruel and indulgent. He tilted his head, studying Gabriel as though he were nothing more than an asset refusing to follow orders.

"Ah," Peter murmured at last, his tone smooth and poisonous, "yes. That little mark you’re so proud of."

His fingers shifted against Gabriel’s neck, brushing deliberately over the place where Damian’s claim burned beneath the skin. The touch was light, but the ether around it coiled tighter, digging into Gabriel’s chest until his breath hitched.

"Well," Peter went on, voice lowering to that soft, mocking cadence Gabriel despised, "it doesn’t matter."

The corridor’s lanterns flickered, their light dimming in rhythm with the slow curl of Peter’s smile.

"His Highness is a dominant alpha. He can overwrite such a... trivial thing with ease." He leaned closer, the scent of incense and cold metal tightening around Gabriel like a noose. "Marks are nothing in the hands of those who truly rule."

The ether constriction flared again, Gabriel felt it grip his ribs and his spine, pressing him deeper against the wall without leaving a single bruise. His vision swam at the edges, but the burn of Damian’s mark pulsed steady, defiant.

Peter’s smile sharpened.

"And besides..." His voice dropped to a purr, vile and intimate. "It’s not as if I, or he, ever forbade you from seeking pleasure."