Bound by the Mark of Lies (BL)-Chapter 383 - 377: Pretty fool

"Lord Rafael Rosenroth, second son of House Rosenroth, accompanied by the delegation of Pais."

Gabriel blinked once, slowly.

And there he was.

Rafael walked with the kind of stiff, practiced elegance only court tutors could force into a child’s bones. Every line of him screamed preparation: spine straight, chin held just shy of defiant, shoes polished, sleeves tailored to perfection. The Paisian colors were discreet in his lapel, barely more than a thread of garnet and black on ivory silk, and the crest he wore was his father’s, but the steps were all his own.

He was doing everything right. Gabriel could see it. The pace. The angle of his bow when he neared the dais. Even the exact second he paused before stepping into the full view of the imperial line.

And yet...

He was trembling.

Not visibly. Not to the crowd. But Gabriel saw the tension in his shoulders, the way his left hand curled ever so slightly at his side, and the faintest hesitation in the breath he drew before looking up.

Gregoris hadn’t moved.

But his attention had.

Gabriel could feel it like a shadow leaning forward beside him, those steel eyes dragging over Rafael like a blade placed gently against skin.

Alexandra, seated a few feet away with her goblet and her most innocent expression, let out a soft hum of appreciation.

"Oh, look," she murmured, just loud enough for Gabriel to hear, "he remembered everything I taught him."

Gabriel didn’t need to look at her to know she was enjoying this. Her posture was too composed, her smile too symmetrical. He could practically hear the mischief vibrating behind her lashes.

Rafael knelt. A breath too quickly, perhaps, but the form was there, flawless.

"Your Majesty. Your Grace. I offer my loyalty and respect on behalf of my House and my patrons from Pais."

Gabriel studied him, head tilted slightly, tone mild. "Rise, Lord Rosenroth. The court sees you."

Rafael stood, hands steady now, posture straight, but Gabriel caught the way his gaze flicked once, just once, toward the figure seated at Damian’s right.

Gregoris, still slouched with the relaxed menace of a man bred for war and bored by peace, met his gaze with the faintest raise of an eyebrow.

Gabriel’s lips curved.

’Oh, Rafael. You poor, pretty fool.’

He was already caught.

Alexandra clinked her glass lightly against her seat’s edge, far too pleased with herself.

Gabriel leaned back slightly, just enough for his voice to carry toward Gregoris without moving his mouth too much. "You’ll behave."

Gregoris’s smirk was slow and unrepentant. "He started it."

Gabriel exhaled through his nose, gaze still following Rafael as the younger man was led toward the left seating row, where he would inevitably have to pass Alexandra and Adam.

Another wave of political rot began to bloom, fresh, scented, and delicious.

—

The three-day ball ended the way all court spectacles did: slowly, in whispers, with nobles pretending to be less affected than they were.

But the damage had been done.

Gabriel, seated beside the Emperor in full view for every presentation, had held court without faltering. He didn’t smile often, but when he did, it was deliberate, tilted just enough to unnerve, charming just enough to be disarming. He hadn’t needed to raise his voice to be heard. Not once. Not even when the second prince of Dores tried to press a veiled accusation into a toast.

People were impressed. Again.

And that was the problem.

So the palace had acted quickly. Subtly.

Whispers began to drift down the corridors within hours of the final dance: that the Consort had fallen ill the morning after, that he had been too pale during the last ceremony, that the pregnancy was progressing faster than expected, and that ether had destabilized his condition. Some claimed they had seen a physician summoned. Others insisted the Shadows were dispatched in silence.

It was all very convenient. All very unconfirmed.

And every rumor had just enough truth to make it believable, because Gabriel had withdrawn. He hadn’t attended the noble brunch. He’d missed a scheduled audience with the eastern lords.

Hadeon, no doubt, had heard every word.

Which was exactly the point.

—

Now, Gabriel sat cross-legged on a velvet chaise, robe draped loosely over his shoulders, his hair still damp from a bath he hadn’t asked for. His dark hair swept back, revealing the sharp angles of his face and the slight, calculated pallor he wore like a second skin.

Around him, the room was a battlefield of silver-foiled boxes, jeweled paper, and diplomatic tokens wrapped in silk threads and false goodwill.

"Another mirror," Rafael announced flatly, holding up a parcel shaped like it had never known subtlety. "That’s four."

"Five," Irina corrected, digging through a heap of lace and scented parchment like a girl possessed. "Lady Tessen sent one yesterday. With... wait, yes. With her portrait painted on the back."

Gabriel didn’t even blink. "Burn it."

"Which part?" Alexandra asked, already holding a ribbon in her teeth and a letter opener like a dagger. "The wood, the paint, or her hopes?"

"All three."

A silence followed, only broken by the rustle of paper and Alexandra’s amused hum as she sliced open another package, this one sealed with emerald wax and a crest Gabriel didn’t immediately recognize. A heavy perfume burst from the velvet lining like a curse.

Irina gagged. "Why do they all smell like this?"

"Lack of taste and self-awareness," Alexandra said with a disturbingly cheerful tone, tossing aside a sachet of something floral and offensive. She didn’t flinch as it landed with a thud next to a box labeled For the Imperial Heir—Unisex Rattle Edition.

She held up a gloved hand, inspecting her nails like they weren’t painted to match her emerald earrings. "Gabriel... Do you know what nobles ask me now all the time?"

Gabriel didn’t look up, still sifting through a pile of cards like he was hunting for poison. "Favors and a meeting with me?"

"No." Alexandra’s smile grew wider, more deranged. "If I would have a child too. They are reminding me, very kindly, that I’ve been married five years and still have no child."

Irina made a noise between a gasp and a laugh.

Gabriel blinked once, then arched a brow. "How generous of them to care."

"Oh, deeply generous," Alexandra replied. "Last night, Lady Rowan even patted my hand and said, ’Don’t worry, dear, sometimes it just takes time.’ I had the distinct pleasure of replying, Not as much time as her husband took to look at another man in the garden."

Irina choked.

Rafael didn’t even look up. "Did she faint?"

"She stopped breathing. Does that count?"

Gabriel reached for a gold-trimmed envelope without flinching. "How long do you think it will be until they realize we’re the wrong branch of the family to pressure with bloodlines?"

Alexandra opened another gift, an ivory rattle carved with pearls, and smiled without warmth. "They already know. That’s why they’re trying so hard."

She turned slightly, her gaze sliding toward Rafael with the kind of sympathy that only made things worse.

"Oh, Rafael, you are next on their list."

Rafael looked up from the velvet pouch he was cataloguing and froze mid-movement. "For God’s sake."

"Don’t worry," Irina chirped, completely unhelpful. "You’re still young and eminently bondable. That was the phrase Lady Archelle used, wasn’t it?"

Gabriel hummed without looking up. "She also said you were ’unspoiled by court cynicism.’ That lasted like what? Four hours?"

"I threw her gift in the bin." Irina sniffed. "It had a cherub on it. A blinking cherub."

Rafael groaned and let his head fall back against the couch. "I am not ready to be ’the next eligible omega’ in whatever imperial matchmaking list is currently floating around."

Alexandra gave him a saccharine smile. "Dear, with Gregoris on your footsteps, there is no matchmaking list."

Rafael groaned again. "I’m going to die."

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