Bound by the Mark of Lies (BL)

Edward had known he'd overstepped the moment he stepped out of their room two hours ago. The icy thread of recognition had been instant, not just that he'd crossed a line, but that he'd done it in the one arena where neither of them would forgive easily. Gabriel, perhaps, if he handled it right. Damian? Not a chance.

The dining hall was bright with late summer light spilling through the tall windows, gilding the edges of polished silver and crystal. The long table had been set in its pared-down configuration, with only the center section in use, a small nod toward intimacy without losing the weight of formality.

Damian walked in at Gabriel's side, the faint swish of cream-colored trousers brushing over polished leather shoes, the crisp white of his shirt open at the throat in a rare concession to comfort. Gabriel matched the simplicity with his own precision: black trousers, a white shirt with sleeves rolled just enough to show the clean lines of his forearms, and a white gold bracelet catching the light on his right wrist.

Casual, yes, but in the way only the imperial couple could be, clothes still tailored within an inch of their lives, the cut and fabric an unspoken reminder that this was ease born of rank.

They took their seats as the staff began bringing in the first course, the faint scent of roasted vegetables and herbs threading through the air. Edward was already in place a few seats down, posture textbook-perfect, eyes fixed on the dishes as they were arranged, as though the exact placement of a bowl could anchor the conversation away from him.

It didn't work.

"Edward, when are you going to take your leave?" Gabriel asked, his tone sickly sweet.

"I didn't decide—"

"In two days," Damian said, answering over him without looking away from the bread being set down in front of Gabriel.

Edward's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, though his eyes didn't lift from the neat arc of his cutlery. "As His Majesty says," he murmured, the civility in his voice as brittle as spun glass.

Gabriel's fork hovered over the plate for a moment before he speared a piece of glazed carrot, his smile all surface warmth. "Excellent. I'll make sure the household is informed. Wouldn't want anyone to mistake your absence for… negligence."

Across the table, a servant's hand faltered briefly as they poured the wine, the soft splash against crystal the only sound in the pause that followed.

Damian leaned back in his chair, the fabric pulling slightly across his shoulders, gaze fixed on Edward with the kind of dispassionate weight that could crush stone. "Two weeks, Edward. No palace business. No quiet reports. No shadowing my schedule."

"I understand," Edward said, each word clipped but steady, carrying more resignation than resistance.

Gabriel's laugh came sharp, curling with promise, but it didn't last. He let it fade, studying Edward the way only someone who had spent years reading every twitch of court could , and there it was, the stiffness, the subtle downturn of the mouth, and the regret already set deep before they'd even sat down.

"You didn't walk into that study by accident, did you?" Gabriel asked, though his voice had softened from its earlier blade edge.

Edward's gaze flicked up for the briefest moment before returning to his plate. "I actually did; I'm not that wicked." He gave Gabriel a look before continuing. "I was speaking with someone over comms, and it… distracted me. The door was open and I entered as usual…" He paused, shoulders tightening. "I decided to use it as an opportunity only when we were in the private quarters. As a reminder to His Majesty of the consequences of forcing me to take leave when the palace is in the middle of preparations for your marriage ceremony and coronation."

Gabriel's brows lifted, not in shock, but in faint, amused disbelief at the pettiness of it. "So it was revenge."

"Yes," Edward said without hesitation.

Damian's voice cut in before Gabriel could reply, low and deep. "Revenge that will extend the duration of your leave if you keep arguing. I've seen your medical reports, Edward. Your stress levels are high enough to alarm even the most lenient physician. Consider this an enforced recovery before you collapse and make yourself useless to both of us."

The faintest flicker passed over Edward's face, the smallest crack in his composure. He inclined his head once in acknowledgment, saying nothing more.

Gabriel, for his part, simply reached for his wine, the curve of his mouth suggesting that for once, he'd let Damian have the last word.

—

The palace had quieted by the time they reached their quarters, the muted echo of their footsteps trailing over marble and into the softer hush of their private wing. Damian shed his jacket in one fluid motion, draping it over the back of a chair, and loosened his cuffs before crossing to the sideboard where a decanter waited.

Gabriel followed at a slower pace, unhurried, leaning one shoulder against the wardrobe frame as he watched Damian pour two fingers of something amber and strong. "So," he said, tone casual but eyes sharp, "how exactly did you get Edward's medical reports? Because I know for a fact the butler didn't hand them over willingly."

Damian glanced over his shoulder, the faintest shadow of a smirk tugging at his mouth as he swirled the glass. "You're right. He didn't."

Gabriel straightened, interest piqued. "Meaning?"

"I asked his physician directly." Damian took a slow sip before continuing. "You'd be surprised how cooperative people become when the Emperor himself makes a personal inquiry and when said inquiry happens to be accompanied by the head of the Royal Guard and a signed imperial order."

Gabriel arched a brow, walking toward him. "That's not asking, Damian. That's cornering."

"Efficiently," Damian corrected, setting the glass down long enough to unbutton the top of his shirt. "Besides, I wanted the truth, not whatever version Edward thought we should see. His health isn't something I'll gamble on, even if he insists on being an insufferable bastard."

Gabriel reached past him, fingers brushing his as he took the glass for himself. "So you bullied a doctor and intimidated a butler just to keep Edward from working himself into a hospital bed?"

Damian's golden gaze caught his, unflinching. "Yes. And I'd do it again."

Gabriel took a slow sip, the burn spreading warm through his chest. "We do deserve each other. How did the most workaholic people meet under the same roof?"

Damian's mouth curved, slow and controlled, the kind of smile that carried far too many memories to be entirely innocent. "Fate," he said, as if it were the most obvious answer in the world.

Gabriel snorted softly, setting the glass down on the sideboard with a muted clink. "Fate doesn't usually shove two people into the same political furnace and tell them to keep it from burning the empire down."

"Then it was strategy," Damian countered without missing a beat, closing the space between them until Gabriel had to tip his chin up slightly to meet his eyes. "The universe's… or mine."

Gabriel studied him for a long moment, the warmth of the drink mingling with the heavier heat of Damian's nearness. "Yours," he decided finally, a faint smirk tugging at his mouth. "Fate wouldn't have had the nerve."

Damian's thumb brushed over his wrist, a light touch, almost absent, with the kind of intent that had nothing to do with accident. "Then I'll take the credit. And the blame."

Gabriel shook his head but didn't move away. "We're going to kill each other before the coronation at this rate."

"Unlikely," Damian murmured, leaning just close enough for his breath to ghost over Gabriel's temple. "I have far too much planned for you to risk that."