Bound by the Mark of Lies (BL)

From his seat, Rafael's earlier amusement cooled into something more measured. He kept his gaze on the polished edge of the table, the kind of stillness that came from knowing the Emperor was in the room and not looking for commentary. Irina shifted her letters into a neat stack; she clearly had no intention of reading.

Gabriel leaned back in his chair, arms folding loosely, the posture a deliberate echo of Damian's calm. "And if I tell you I still want to wait?"

Before Damian could answer, Alexandra chimed in with the enthusiasm and lack of self-preservation of a middle child. "Gabriel, you promised to do it after you give birth."

The air in the study thinned. Irina froze, eyes darting to Rafael, who did not look up from the table. Rafael's jaw ticked once. Whether from surprise or the effort of keeping himself from laughing was hard to tell.

Gabriel's head turned slowly toward his sister, his expression giving nothing away except the fact she was skating on very thin ice. "Did I?" he asked, voice level.

"You did." She grinned unrepentant. "You can glare at me as much as you want, I'm not afraid of my little brother."

Gabriel's gaze held on her for a long moment, the kind of silence that could cut far deeper than raised voices. "You should be," he said finally, though the measured tone only made Alexandra's grin widen.

Damian's hand settled on the back of Gabriel's chair, his thumb brushing once against the carved edge, a small movement, but one that drew Gabriel's attention back to him. "She's right," he said, the corners of his mouth lifting in that rare, private way that made Rafael and Irina instinctively still. "Which means we no longer have anything to debate."

Gabriel's brow arched. "I wasn't aware you needed my sister to win your arguments."

"I don't," Damian replied, unbothered. "But I'm not opposed to accepting her help when it works in my favor."

Alexandra leaned back in her chair, smug. "See? Even the Emperor appreciates my input."

"Enjoy that while it lasts," Gabriel said dryly, turning a page in the agenda without looking at her.

The faintest glint of amusement crossed Damian's eyes before his voice dropped just enough for the others to feel the shift. "Eight weeks, Gabriel. The coronation. And the marriage."

"Enjoy that while it lasts," Gabriel said dryly, turning a page in the agenda without looking at her.

The faintest glint of amusement crossed Damian's eyes before his voice dropped just enough for the others to feel the shift. "Eight weeks, Gabriel. The coronation. And the marriage."

Gabriel's gaze lifted, cool and measured. "I've barely been back in this office for a day, and you expect me to orchestrate the most public ceremony the Empire's had in years? I need time to choose the guest list, the order of events, the…"

"That's already handled," Damian said, cutting in without raising his voice. "The guest list is in draft. Logistics are in motion. The press will be fed the official schedule next week."

Gabriel's brow arched. "You've arranged all of this without me?"

"I arranged it for you," Damian corrected. "The workforce is already dispatched: security, staging, and ceremonial staff. Gloria will be here by tomorrow to take your measurements for the coronation attire."

Alexandra smirked. "Oh, I'm clearing my schedule for that."

Rafael leaned back slightly, arms crossed, his expression halfway between cautious and impressed. "You know, most people at least pretend to negotiate before steamrolling the other party."

Damian didn't look at him, but his mouth curved faintly. "Most people aren't me."

Irina, still twirling her pen idly, glanced up. "You could at least let him pick the flowers," she said, tone airy but gaze sharp. "You're going to regret it if they clash with the ether draping."

Gabriel's lips twitched despite himself. "Finally, someone making sense."

Damian's gaze slid back to him. "Eight weeks, Gabriel. You'll be ready."

Gabriel didn't answer right away. He only held Damian's gaze for a moment longer, a silent exchange that was part challenge, part concession. Then, with the same quiet decisiveness he'd walked in with, Damian straightened, tapped his fingers once against the back of Gabriel's chair, and left, no further argument, no backward glance.

The door closed behind him, and the study seemed to shift, the air loosening without the Emperor's presence anchoring it.

Gabriel exhaled slowly, leaning back in his chair. He could have postponed it, ten years if he really wanted. Damian might push, might maneuver, but in the end, he would not force him. And yet…

It wasn't the marriage he minded; that was already his reality, one he'd accepted without hesitation. It wasn't even the political power. He wielded that daily, ceremony or no. It was what came with the title.

Now, he was the Emperor's consort, a man with the authority to shape policy and shut down a council session with a single sentence. People could still tell themselves he was an exception, a rare indulgence. But after the coronation?

After the coronation, he would be the standard. The example. The figure the Empire's ether feeds replayed whenever propriety, loyalty, and public conduct were discussed. Every step, every word, and every tilt of his head would be measured, copied, and critiqued.

And Gabriel knew too well, the man they wanted to see was not the man he truly was.

"You're thinking too hard," Alexandra said, breaking into his thoughts.

"I am." Gabriel's gaze shifted to the window, the glass catching the faint shimmer of the capital's ether grid threading through the skyline. "I'm going to make nobles lose their minds," he said at last, a slow, wicked grin unfurling across his face.

Irina tilted her head, almost smiling. "By existing?"

"By existing exactly as I am," Gabriel corrected.

Rafael huffed out a quiet laugh, the tension in his shoulders easing just a fraction. "Then the coronation might be worth watching after all."

Gabriel leaned back in his chair, still looking out at the city. He wouldn't let anyone change him, not the crown, not the title, and certainly not the endless parade of nobles who thought they could dictate how he fit into their image of the Empire. If they wanted a perfect model, they'd get one. It just wouldn't be the model they expected.