Bound by the Mark of Lies (BL)-Chapter 315 - 310: The Ring Beneath the Glove

The doors closed behind him with a final, echoing click. Not a slam, no one dared slam a door in this wing, but the sound was heavy all the same, like the weight of something unsaid.

Gabriel stood for a moment in the middle of the Empress’s office.

Not his office. Not yet. Not officially.

But no one else had the key.

The room was lit in winter light, blue-grey and quiet, filtering through high glass like a memory refusing to be softened. The air carried the faintest trace of cedar ink and clean parchment. Edward must’ve aired it out. Or maybe Astana had. He wasn’t sure who was on rotation anymore. He hadn’t cared to check.

His coat felt too tight around the shoulders. The collar scraped against his neck where Damian’s hands had fastened it hours ago. Every thread of him still smelled like the execution. Like the crown that had dug into Damian’s brow, casting shadows Gabriel wasn’t ready to think about.

He exhaled through his nose and moved forward.

The table was already prepared. Files, reports, and folded correspondences sealed in crimson wax, all arranged in the neat chaos his team had perfected under pressure. There were even two cups of tea waiting—one untouched, one still steaming. The tea smelled like basil and lemon balm. Julian’s blend. For nerves.

Gabriel didn’t sit right away. He rested his gloved hand against the back of the chair instead, gaze flicking across the papers, the map pins, and the surveillance photos that outlined threats like stories waiting to collapse.

"You look better than expected." Said Rafael, entering the room with a tablet in hand.

Gabriel didn’t look up at first. His fingers tapped once against the carved backrest, a slow, steady rhythm. The kind that marked time in tension rather than comfort.

"I was dressed by a man who thinks execution attire should be tailored down to the bone," he replied, voice flat.

Rafael stopped short, half-smiling like he wasn’t sure if that was meant to be a joke. "So, the crown was real, then."

Gabriel finally turned to him, his expression unreadable. "The crown was the warning."

He crossed the room, gloves still on, posture razor-straight. The weight of the morning hadn’t melted off—it clung like a second coat. The only visible difference was the absence of Damian. And somehow, that made all the silence louder.

"Did Alexandra send the updated files?" Gabriel asked.

Rafael nodded and offered the tablet. "And Julian’s been in contact with the exam board. Three suspected breaches. Two local. One... less clear."

Gabriel took the tablet but didn’t look at it yet. He placed it next to the untouched tea, then finally pulled out his chair and sat, slowly, like he wasn’t yet sure how to exist in a body that had stood beside an emperor wearing the teeth of gods.

"I didn’t talk about your image, which is perfect all the time, but after the... heat."

"You want to see the bite marks?" Gabriel asked with a wide smirk.

"Oh, god. No. What did I have to ask?"

Gabriel tilted his head, the sharp line of his smirk lingering like a dare. "You walked straight into that one. Brave of you."

Rafael groaned and let his head fall briefly against the edge of the table, thudding softly against the polished wood. "I’m going to ask Alexandra to start screening me for brain damage."

"You should. She’ll probably find a full map of poor decisions right behind your frontal lobe." Gabriel reached for the tea but didn’t drink it, fingers merely circling the rim of the porcelain cup. His voice dropped slightly, not in weight but in warmth. "And for the record, I’m fine. A little tired. A little wired. And deeply uninterested in sympathy."

Rafael straightened again, this time slower. "Not offering sympathy. Just making sure you are suited for the news."

"Hit me with your worst."

"Damian cancelled the Imperial Engagement. He intends to proceed directly to your coronation and marriage. He had justified it through Patricia’s actions."

Gabriel didn’t blink. Didn’t flinch. He set the tablet down, perfectly quiet, perfectly still—as if Rafael had just reported a weather shift instead of a political explosion.

Then, slowly, deliberately, Gabriel leaned back in the chair. "Of course, he did."

Rafael hesitated. "That’s it? No dramatic sigh? No sarcastic comment about you finally getting to wear the ridiculous imperial veil?"

Gabriel’s smile came then, thin, amused, and edged like a blade sheathed just beneath the skin. "I’m reserving my dramatic sigh for the wedding vows. Maybe for the walk down whatever throne-flanked aisle Edward forces me to endure."

Gabriel turned it once, slowly, with his thumb.

"You know," he murmured, voice low, almost too quiet for Rafael to catch, "for all the crowns and blood and cities we’ve burned just to end up here, it’s almost romantic."

Rafael didn’t answer right away. His eyes dropped to the ring too, to the thin mark the glove had left beneath it, as if even fabric knew not to touch what belonged to the Emperor.

"Almost," Rafael echoed, dryly. "In the same way storms are almost gentle. And fire is almost kind."

Gabriel smiled again, genuine this time, tired in a way that only came from standing at the edge of history and knowing it was his name carved into the next page whether he liked it or not.

"Tell me what else burned while I was gone," he said, finally letting go of the ring, finally picking up the tablet. "Before Edward brings me something with a ceremonial cape."

Before Rafael could answer, the doors swung open with the practiced ease of someone who didn’t knock anymore—Alexandra, radiant in her sharp green coat and far sharper mood, stepped into the office like she owned it. Because today, she just might.

Irina trailed behind her with quiet determination, already pulling clips from her tablet and ready to defend her presence like a seasoned courtier, despite the fact that she still hadn’t figured out how to hold her tongue when someone slandered Gabriel.

"You’re late," Gabriel said mildly, not looking up. "Or early. I can’t tell anymore with this empire."

Alexandra didn’t bother answering that. Instead, she swept toward the desk, dropped a folder so neatly it was practically a threat, and fixed Gabriel with a look only siblings could get away with.

"You’re not allowed to be smug and emotionally stable. Choose one. It’s disorienting."

Gabriel glanced up at her, eyes glinting. "I’m wearing a ring forged from the Emperor’s ego. I’m allowed to be both."

Irina let out a snort she tried to disguise as a cough. Alexandra ignored it.

"We have a problem," she said instead, tone flattening as she opened the folder.