Bound by the Mark of Lies (BL)

Arik stared at the stack of holopads for another long moment before dragging himself upright with a groan. If he was going to drown in Gabriel's vengeance, at least he would look the part while doing it.

The shower hissed to life, ether-powered jets filling the chamber with clean steam. He stood beneath it until the water scalded away the last dregs of sleep, bracing himself against the tiles. When he emerged, warm black hair damp and curling at the edges, he dressed with meticulous precision: crisp black suit, ether-thread embroidery faintly glowing along the seams, and the crest of the imperial family at his collar. By the time he tightened his cufflinks, he was no longer a sulking son; he was the Crown Prince of the Empire.

A tray waited by his desk, courtesy of the staff. He bypassed the food, reaching for the latte. Just like Gabriel preferred, smooth, bitter with the faintest sweetness. The warmth grounded him as he turned toward the glowing mountain of holo-screens that pulsed steadily with unread files.

Rail expansion forecasts. Refinery energy audits. Supply-chain matrices so sprawling they looked more like battle maps than ledgers. Gabriel hadn't chosen this punishment idly.

Arik remembered almost everything now.

Goliath had been a dominant alpha, born two centuries ago. He had lived through every phase of the empire, its rises, its fractures, and its bloody rebuilding. He had ruled, commanded, and conquered. For nearly two hundred years, his name had been law. And for the last thirty of those years, he had lived in pain, his body unraveling, his strength decaying, yet his will refusing to bow until death forced him to.

That death had come only twenty-seven years ago.

And seven years later, he had been reborn into Gabriel and Damian's household, not as Goliath, but as Arik. Now twenty. Crown Prince. Son. Brother.

The irony was not lost on him. As Goliath, he had bent empires to his will. And now? Gabriel had shackled him to the most mundane battlefield imaginable: the paperwork of governance. Endless, detail-choked, and merciless in its tedium.

Punishment, yes, but not cruel without purpose. Something worse, perhaps. Because even a man who had lived two centuries couldn't conquer bureaucracy in a single strike.

Arik drank again, jaw tightening. He could almost hear Gabriel's voice, amused and merciless: 'You wanted to come back? Then you'll work for it.'

His lips curved despite himself, half a grimace, half a grin. "You're cruel, Mother."

The holo-screens shifted, deadlines flashing in red across the ether-display.

Arik rolled his shoulders back, pulling himself straight. He was not Goliath now, not entirely. He was Arik, their son, the Crown Prince. And if Goliath had survived two centuries, then surely Arik could survive Gabriel's paperwork.

He set down the cup, dragged the first pad closer, and began.

The holo-screens bled light across his desk, numbers flickering, graphs shifting, and red deadlines pulsing like warnings of a siege. Arik rolled his shoulders back and forced himself into the rhythm. Supply forecasts. Refinery audits. Ether storage inventories.

His mind adapted quickly, too quickly. Patterns leapt out at him, inconsistencies like cracks in stone. He reorganized tables, tagged errors, and routed corrections faster than Edward would have believed possible. It wasn't easy work, but it wasn't foreign.

Goliath had done this once too, in different forms, across different centuries. Not with holo-screens and ether-fed servers, but with endless parchment and ledgers, maps spread across candlelit tables. He remembered the ink stains on his hands, the ache in his shoulders, and the years when paperwork weighed heavier than a sword.

Two hundred years, and he had survived all of it. Wars. Betrayals. Thirty long years of pain that had hollowed him out before the end. And yet here he was, reborn, younger, stronger, working under the sharp eye of a mother who would never let him forget that fate wasn't his to command anymore.

Hours passed. The latte cooled. His golden eyes burned from the light of the displays. By the time the door clicked open again, he had the beginnings of a headache.

Gabriel entered without knocking, his black suit immaculate, his posture carrying effortless authority. His brown eyes swept the desk, taking in the neat stacks of signed approvals, the flagged memos, and the data still scrolling across the ether-screens.

"Efficient," Gabriel murmured, cool and amused. "But you missed a decimal in the refinery's emissions report. If you sign it like this, half the environmental lobby will come knocking at your door tomorrow."

Arik groaned, dragging a hand over his face. "Of course you checked."

"Of course I did." Gabriel moved closer, unhurried, and lifted one of the holopads. "I told you. Mundane. Taxing. Demanding attention to detail. Even a man who lived two centuries can't do this fast without mistakes."

Arik's jaw tightened, but a grin tugged at his mouth. "You're punishing me for being Goliath."

Gabriel set the holopad down and leaned against the edge of the desk, brown eyes glinting faintly. "No. I'm punishing you for thinking you could manipulate fate to end up in my household and get away with it."

Arik laughed under his breath, shaking his head. "You're never letting me live this down, are you?"

"Not while there's paperwork left in the empire," Gabriel said smoothly.

Arik groaned again, slumping back into his chair, golden eyes narrowed but faintly amused. "Gods, you're cruel."

Gabriel's lips curved, elegant and merciless. "You say cruel. I say thorough."

Gabriel lingered, brown eyes steady on his son, pale fingers brushing the corner of a holopad.

Arik frowned, golden eyes narrowing. "What? You've already buried me in enough work to keep me chained here for a week."

Gabriel's lips curved, elegant and merciless. "This isn't only about who you were, Arik. It's about what you didn't tell me."

The words landed heavier than any pile of holo-files.

Arik's shoulders stiffened. "You mean the ward."

"You mean unlocking the ward," Gabriel corrected smoothly. "Alone. Without warning. Without so much as a word to me or your father. You thought I wouldn't notice when Goliath slipped back into your bones?"

Arik exhaled, dragging a hand through his dark hair. "It was mine to carry. I didn't want you suffering for it. Not again."

Gabriel's tone sharpened, quiet as a knife sliding free. "You're my son. You don't get to decide which parts of yourself I see. Silence may have worked when you were an emperor once, but not here. Not with me."

Arik sat back, golden eyes studying him, the calm poise, the ageless elegance, and the terrifying precision. And then, slowly, his mouth curved into a grin.

"This isn't about efficiency at all," he said, almost laughing. "You gave me the most mind-numbing, meticulous work in the empire because you were furious I didn't tell you. This…" he gestured at the glowing mountain of holo-screens. "this is personal."

Gabriel's lips curved just slightly, brown eyes gleaming. "You catch on quickly."

Arik leaned back in his chair, shaking his head, still grinning despite himself. "Gods, you're petty. Petty and brilliant. You picked the one punishment even a two-hundred-year-old emperor couldn't power through."

Gabriel sipped his wine, unbothered. "Of course I did. You wanted to play at secrets? Then I'll bury you in details."

Arik laughed under his breath, almost admiring. "No wonder Father lets you run half the empire. You're terrifying."

"Terrifying," Gabriel echoed, setting his glass down with neat precision. "And right."

And with that, he turned to leave, brown eyes glinting with sharp satisfaction while Arik sat surrounded by holo-screens, equal parts impressed and doomed.