Bound by the Mark of Lies (BL)
Chapter 408 - 402: You will

Chapter 408: Chapter 402: You will

A soft chime rang from within the chamber, and the balcony doors sighed open further as two attendants stepped out.

Silver cloches glimmered under the lantern light as they were set down one by one, delicate cuts of roasted game, pale slivers of spiced fruit, bread braided and glossed to perfection, each dish steaming faintly under the subtle hum of ether‑heated plates. Crystal glasses were refreshed with wine the color of deep garnet, catching and scattering the light as though the night itself had been poured into them.

Gabriel inclined his head in a muted acknowledgment, hands folding neatly in his lap as the attendants withdrew with another low bow, leaving the air heavy with fragrant herbs and warm spices. Olivier waited until they were alone again before lifting his glass, swirling the wine in slow circles as though savoring the moment.

"You eat so quietly," Olivier remarked with a soft smile, breaking a piece of bread and setting it onto Gabriel’s plate with deliberate care. "It’s almost as if you’re still in a meeting."

Gabriel reached for his glass, his movements unhurried, every motion intentional. "Habit," he murmured.

Olivier leaned back slightly, studying him over the rim of his glass. "Speaking of meetings... tell me," he said, voice warm and conversational, as if they were old friends discussing nothing more than weather, "why did the Emperor ask for you?"

Gabriel let a measured pause stretch between them, as though considering how much to reveal. He cut a portion of meat, the knife’s edge gliding cleanly through, and only then spoke, voice calm and perfectly level.

"He didn’t say much," Gabriel replied, meeting Olivier’s gaze steadily. "But he seemed... content. Content with the fact that I would enter the royal family."

Olivier’s smile deepened, his eyes glinting with quiet satisfaction, though Gabriel could see the subtle flicker of calculation behind them. "Content," Olivier repeated softly, as though tasting the word. "Of course he would be. You have that effect on men in power."

Gabriel lifted his fork, taking a measured bite, giving himself the time to mask the spark of cold fury threading through his chest. "Perhaps," he said mildly, letting the shard’s strange night press in around them.

Olivier set his glass down, the crystal ringing faintly against the carved wood. His smile remained easy, but there was a sharper edge to it now, a glint of teeth beneath the charm.

"You say it so simply," he murmured, picking at the roasted game with the practiced elegance of a man who had never known hunger. "As though the Emperor’s favor were just... handed to you."

Gabriel chewed slowly, swallowed, and dabbed the corner of his mouth with the linen napkin. "Favor is rarely handed," he replied, voice smooth, almost lazy. "It’s earned. Or taken."

Olivier’s gaze lingered on him, measuring, weighing. The lantern light caught in his eyes, making them gleam like molten metal. "And which did you do, Gabriel?" he asked softly. "Earn... or take?"

The fork hovered in Gabriel’s hand for a fraction of a second before he lowered it to the plate, movements precise and controlled. "Does it matter?" he asked.

"With you everything matters," Olivier said, the words soft as silk and just as binding. "You have a tendency to rebellion."

Gabriel’s fingers stilled on the stem of his glass, the faint tremor of the shard humming under his skin like a distant chord struck too hard. He looked up, meeting Olivier’s gaze without blinking.

"A tendency," Gabriel repeated softly, as though tasting the word, weighing it.

Olivier’s smile deepened, lazy and knowing, the kind of smile meant to coil around someone and squeeze. He tore off another piece of bread, slow and deliberate, as if the conversation were nothing more than idle curiosity.

"You were always dangerous," Olivier went on, his tone coaxing, intimate, like a confession shared between conspirators. "Even when you were too young to realize it. You pushed back when others would have bowed. You challenged when you should have been grateful."

Gabriel’s jaw tightened, though the rest of him remained still, carved from poise and caution. "Grateful?" he asked, his voice calm, almost amused. "For what?"

"For my patience," Olivier said simply, leaning forward slightly, elbows resting lightly on the table. The lanterns caught on the planes of his face, softening him, making him look almost boyish despite the sharpness in his eyes. "For my willingness to wait until you became what I needed you to be."

Gabriel’s pulse thudded once, steady and low, but his expression didn’t shift. He set his fork down with quiet precision, letting the sound of metal against porcelain cut through the soft night air.

"Strange," he murmured, tilting his head slightly, his voice carrying a faint thread of mockery. "I was under the impression that patience didn’t come naturally to you."

Olivier’s smile didn’t waver. If anything, it grew fonder, softer, as though he delighted in the resistance. "It doesn’t," he admitted easily.

"It doesn’t," he admitted easily, his tone dropping to that low, coaxing rhythm that had once charmed whole courts into silence. "But you, Gabriel... you’ve always been worth bending for."

The words hung between them, sweet as poison. Gabriel let them settle, let Olivier think they had weight. Inside, his mind moved like clockwork, cataloging every word, every flicker of expression.

Olivier reached for his glass again, the wine swirling like dark silk under the lantern glow. "And since you’ve already impressed my dear predecessor," he continued lightly, "it’s only natural that I keep you close. There’s no reason for you to return to that little house of yours."

Gabriel stilled. "Your Majesty?"

Olivier’s smile sharpened, a glint of something final sliding beneath the charm. "A wing has been prepared for you," he said smoothly, as though offering a gift. "You will remain in the palace. Starting tonight."

Gabriel’s fingers curled subtly against his thigh under the table, hidden from view. There it is, he thought. The mask didn’t slip.

"No reason to leave," Olivier went on, as if reading from a script only he could see. "Everything you require will be brought to you. My staff knows your preferences."

’He doesn’t want me out there,’ Gabriel realized, a blade of suspicion cutting clean through his thoughts. ’Maybe he can’t hold the rest of this world together. Maybe the shard’s edges are already fraying.’

Gabriel folded his hands neatly in his lap, lowering his gaze just enough to mimic hesitation. He drew in a breath, carefully layered with that younger self Olivier thought he still knew. "It’s... generous," he said softly, the words threaded with just enough uncertainty. "But I... I left important notes at home. Work I’ve been compiling for months. They’re encrypted, no one else can access them."

Olivier’s eyes narrowed faintly, though his smile stayed in place. "We can send someone to retrieve them."

Gabriel shook his head, quick, almost apologetic, letting a touch of youthful anxiety flicker across his features. "No. They’re fragile. Only my ether signature can decode them. If anyone else tried to move them, they’d be lost. Please..." he leaned forward slightly, the picture of earnestness, "let me bring them here myself. Then I’ll stay as long as you wish."

For a heartbeat, Olivier only watched him, the false night pressing in, the lantern light catching on the edge of his jaw.

Then he smiled again, patient and cold all at once.

"Very well," Olivier said softly, though Gabriel heard the warning tucked beneath it. "One night. No longer."

Gabriel inclined his head, relief carefully painted across his face, while inside, his thoughts sharpened like knives. ’One night is enough’, he told himself, feeling the phantom thrum of Damian’s bond against his nape. Enough to reach him. Enough to plan.

He lifted his glass again, meeting Olivier’s gaze as the crystal chimed softly. "Thank you, Your Majesty," he said, voice smooth and unreadable.

Olivier raised his own glass in return, smile returning to that practiced charm. "Don’t make me regret it, Gabriel."

Gabriel sipped the wine, hiding the faint, dangerous smile that threatened to curve his lips.

’Oh, you will.’