Bound by the Mark of Lies (BL)

The palace gardens shimmered with discreet ether lines woven into the hedges and fountains, keeping the air cool despite the late afternoon sun. Holo-lights disguised as fireflies darted lazily above the flowerbeds, glowing softly when the twins shrieked past them.

Michel led the charge, wooden practice blade raised like he was storming a fortress, dark hair flying in the wind of his own making. Beside him, Ophelia kept pace, skirts hitched unceremoniously, her matching brown eyes flashing as she lunged with a sharp cry. The sensors embedded in the garden pathways flared faintly at their steps, tracking them as though they were precious cargo.

Gabriel sat beneath the shade of a glass-and-marble pavilion, one leg crossed, brown eyes calm and steady. The faint hum of the nursery wards followed him here, its usual occupants refusing to sit still. Two children stamped with his face, his eyes, and his hair.

His gaze drifted across the ether-lit lawn. Damian stood near the fountain with Arik, golden eyes sharp, cropped black hair catching the blue light of the current. At fifty-seven, he still looked like a man in his late thirties, time smoothing over him as if it dared not touch. Beside him, Arik, twenty-six now, was every inch a Crown Prince, his voice carrying through the air as he gestured at holo-projections hovering above the water.

Gabriel's lips curved faintly. Unfair. Damian was fine wine, only sharper, richer, and stronger with age.

"Staring again," Orfeo murmured, sprawled on the bench beside him, green eyes alight with mischief.

Cecil sat straighter, silver eyes reflecting the light, a glass of chilled water balanced neatly in his hand. He glanced once at Damian, then back to Gabriel. His tone was quiet and level, but it cut through the air.

"You're the same."

Gabriel turned his head, brow arching.

"You look no older than when Orfeo was born," Cecil continued, unblinking. "Brown eyes sharp, frame unchanged. You say Father defies time, but so do you."

Orfeo grinned, leaning back against the stone. "See? Terrifying and immortal. Both of you."

Gabriel's lips curved into something wry, his gaze softening despite himself as he studied his middle son. "Always the observant one."

"Always," Cecil said simply, raising the glass to his lips.

The twins shrieked again across the grass, ether-lights bursting like sparks as they collided with the garden wards. Orfeo laughed, shaking his head, while Gabriel leaned back with the faintest smile, caught between pride, amusement, and the unshakable truth that he had everything he ever wanted.

—

The fountain cast blue-white light across the garden, the ether currents humming steadily. Damian stood with his hands behind his back, gaze fixed on the shifting holo-map above the water. Arik mirrored him, taller now, shoulders squared in a way that no longer hinted at youth but at the steadiness of experience.

"So," Damian said, his voice low, almost conversational, "you'll go to Wrohan."

Arik's golden eyes flicked toward him, then back to the holo-map.

"Of course. They want the Crown Prince on display, the picture of alliance." His mouth curved faintly. "I can play that part."

Damian hummed, unhurried, and reached for his glass of cold lemonade. "They are even cockier than before. Demanding our convoy wear regulators… King George is lucky you want to go. Otherwise, I wouldn't have let that insult pass."

Arik's lips curved darker, humorless. "Just a little more, Father. Then they'll learn what it means to dress a wolf in chains. Felix and George are lying to themselves if they think I care for their ether exploitations or their daughters."

Damian glanced at him sidelong, golden eyes catching the light. "Well, you've refused every marriage proposal so far."

Arik caught Ophelia as she stumbled near the fountain, steadying her before she toppled into the water. She flashed him a smile, then darted off again after Michel, skirts flying. He watched her for a moment, something softer passing across his face before he turned back to Damian.

"And here I thought you would let me slide this time," he said, dry amusement in his voice.

"I will," Damian replied, though his mouth curved with something between wryness and irritation. "But the nobles are already circling my office with their omegas as though they're offering crown jewels. It's relentless and increasingly annoying."

Arik huffed, shoulders shifting with quiet humor. "Not just for me. Cecil ignores them. Orfeo laughs in their faces. None of us are rushing to make their lives easier."

"That," Damian said, tipping his glass of lemonade slightly toward him, "is precisely why they're losing their minds. Three sons, all high matches, and not a single one of you interested. It unsettles them more than war ever could."

Arik's golden eyes glinted, sharp with something unspoken. "Then let them stew. I already had enough contractual consorts to stop them from talking, but they are pushing for permanent relationships. They never change."

Damian's mouth quirked, more steel than humor. "They won't change. Nobles never do. Offer them stability and they demand more. Refuse them and they gnaw themselves to pieces."

Arik's gaze lingered on the fountain's glow, then flicked back to his father. "Then let them gnaw. The contracts I've kept are more than enough to silence rumors about neglect. But they keep pushing for permanence, as though an heir tomorrow would solve their panic."

Damian hummed, golden eyes narrowing in thought. "It isn't the heir they want. It's control. They can't stomach the idea that you might look beyond them, Wrohan, Pais… anywhere that isn't their own bloodlines. They'd rather suffocate you here than risk losing their grip to another crown."

Arik's mouth curved, humorless. "Then let them suffocate. I'm not in the habit of making their nightmares comfortable."

Damian laughed, the sound low and dangerous, carrying more weight than amusement. The fountain caught the edge of it, scattering ripples through the blue-white light as if the garden itself recognized the warning in his voice.

"Spoken like my son," he said at last, gaze steady on Arik. "Let them drown in their own panic. We don't move to soothe them, we move when it serves us."

Arik didn't flinch, didn't bow to the words. His golden eyes matched his father's in that moment, unblinking. "Then I'll keep them waiting. They'll gnaw themselves hollow before I ever choose on their terms."

A new voice cut through the air, dry and familiar.

"Charming family values you're passing down."

Gabriel stepped into the fountain's light, leaving Cecil and Orfeo behind to their inevitable chaos. His gaze moved from Damian to Arik, sharp as ever, though his mouth curved faintly. "One laughs like a wolf, the other bares his teeth the same way. No wonder the nobles can't breathe around you."

Damian tipped his glass of lemonade toward him, eyes glinting. "And yet you married into it."

Gabriel arched a brow. "Pity or madness, depending on the day."