Bound by the Mark of Lies (BL)
Chapter 100 - 95: The butler’s favorite (3)

Chapter 100: Chapter 95: The butler’s favorite (3)

The grand doors of the imperial hall opened slowly and deliberately, revealing the opulent chamber beyond. Chandeliers cast a golden glow on the polished marble floors, while gilded columns stretched to the ceiling, framing the vast space where the empire’s nobility had gathered with eager anticipation. The murmur of conversation died down as all eyes turned toward the entrance, their gazes falling on the pair standing at the threshold.

Gabriel was aware that this moment was coming, but the weight of it remained like iron in his bones. He stepped forward with measured precision, his expression an exquisite mask of indifference, meticulously crafted to conceal none of the turmoil swirling beneath the surface. Damian Lyon, Emperor of the realm, stood beside him, exuding effortless authority, his golden eyes gleaming with satisfaction that set Gabriel on edge.

As they moved further into the hall, the subtle shift in the crowd did not escape Gabriel. The heads bowed, whispered words exchanged behind delicate fans, and knowing glances directed at him. They already knew.

His family and the palace had all made decisions about his future as if he were nothing more than a pawn. And now, before the entirety of the imperial court, his fate had been sealed.

He had thought there would be time. Time to claim some semblance of control over how this arrangement unfolded. A fool’s hope. Damian had ensured that time was never an option.

’I was a fool. I should never believe any of them. I should’ve remained in Ashmont.’

A sharp glint of amusement flickered in the Emperor’s gaze as he extended a hand. "Shall we?"

Gabriel barely spared him a glance, resisting the urge to scoff. "How generous of you, Your Majesty."

His words were soft, but Damian heard them. The slight upward curl of his lips confirmed it. Gabriel did not reach for his hand. Not immediately. Not until the hall’s silence stretched long enough to press against his spine, suffocating him with expectation.

’I was prepared to fully trust you. You shattered everything in less than a day.

Finally, he put his bare hand in Damian’s gloved one. The contrast was stark: warm skin against cool leather, a silent reminder of the power dynamic at play.

The Emperor’s fingers curled around his own with quiet finality, and the evening’s first dance began—their first dance as the court’s new reality.

The music grew louder as they stepped onto the polished floor, and Gabriel’s steps were deliberate and practiced. The imperial court had always danced with civilized masks, and tonight was no exception. If Damian wanted to parade him as his chosen consort, Gabriel would let him—but only after the Emperor felt every ounce of resistance humming beneath his skin.

"Is this how you play your games?" Gabriel murmured softly as he followed Damian’s lead. "Rushing ahead before I have even caught my breath?"

Damian’s fingers pressed ever so slightly against his waist. "I merely ensured that you wouldn’t have the chance to reconsider."

Gabriel exhaled slowly through his nose, his irritation well hidden beneath a carefully sculpted expression. "You were afraid I’d change my mind."

"Not afraid." Damian turned them elegantly, golden eyes never straying from Gabriel’s. "Simply thorough."

Gabriel clenched his jaw. ’Liar.’

Gabriel’s gaze flickered with something sharp, but he did not say anything. He could not afford it—not here, not now, not with the entire court watching their every move. The performance had to be flawless, and Gabriel knew how to deliver a perfect illusion.

The dance ended, and applause echoed throughout the hall as the two came to a graceful halt. Damian did not release him right away, his fingers pressing against Gabriel’s. Gabriel, on the other hand, did not back away at first—a silent but undeniable battle.

Damian then led him with a slight incline of his head to the grand dais, where the imperial throne stood. And at its right...a seat.

Gabriel clenched his jaw, his pulse steady despite the storm raging beneath his skin. His gaze flickered over the seat beside the imperial throne, its presence as damning as a decree etched in stone. It was not just any chair. It was the Empress’s seat.

A hollow sensation settled in his chest, cold and suffocating. He had expected to be put on display, but this—this was something else entirely. A bold proclamation, an inescapable verdict passed down before the entire court.

Damian had not simply chosen him. He had enthroned him.

Gabriel exhaled slowly through his nose, his fingers twitching at his sides before stilling. The moment stretched unbearably as every noble in the grand hall watched, waiting, eyes gleaming with curiosity and veiled hunger. The weight of expectation was a living thing, pressing against his ribs, coiling around his throat like an iron chain.

He would not falter.

Gabriel raised his chin slightly to meet Damian’s gaze—those golden eyes that contained both triumph and something deeper, something unreadable. If Damian was expecting him to resist or make a scene, he would be disappointed. Gabriel would not give him, or the court, the satisfaction of seeing him break.

’I will make him pay.’ He thought while ignoring Damian’s piercing gaze. There was more to the evening; he would be blocked in the coming-of-age ceremony, forcing Damian to listen to every greeting he received from the young adults.

Gabriel watched Max, Edward, and Astana as they waited to take their seats, his mind already racing with plans to make the Emperor suffer as much as him. There was no need for a master plan or anything grand; he observed Damian in the other evenings of the ball just as much as Damian watched him. He knew exactly how to make him squirm.

Max had already taken his seat and was watching the exchange with a mix of amusement and intrigue. Gabriel met his gaze briefly before lowering himself into the chair Damian had indicated, his movements slow and controlled. If they wanted to force him into this role, he would play along—but only on his terms.