Bound by the Mark of Lies (BL)
Chapter 115 - 110: The seventh day (2)

Chapter 115: Chapter 110: The seventh day (2)

The grand hall was filled with golden light, and the towering chandeliers cast long, delicate shadows across the polished marble floor. The rich aroma of burning incense wafted through the air, mixing with the expensive perfumes and the layered, complex undertones of noble pheromones. Laughter and murmured conversations created a tapestry of courtly politics that was subtle, refined, and ever-present.

Gabriel walked into the hall with measured steps, his face composed but his mind racing.

He had barely finished his conversation with Edward when he found himself back in the public eye, where every movement was scrutinized and every flicker of emotion judged. He could already feel curious eyes settling on him, lingering for just a beat longer than the previous nights.

Tonight, he would stand in front of Damian, before the entire court, and formally acknowledge him.

His gaze moved to the grand entrance, where Damian would make his entrance. Would he appear the same as always—untouchable, commanding, as if nothing in the world could shake his iron grip on himself and everyone around him? Or is there something different that only Gabriel will notice?

His fingers twitched at his side, resisting the urge to adjust his sleeves. He wanted to talk to Damian.

’I want to know if what Charles had told him was true. I need to find more about whatever Lucius and Theo know.’ He greeted nobles he had met the previous days with a short nod, keeping a steady pace.

’Damian love me.’ The thought made something twist uncomfortably in Gabriel’s chest. Love. What a ridiculous notion. It should not matter, not when their fates had already been decided for them. And yet, Charles’ certainty—his insistence that Damian would do anything for him—had lodged itself into Gabriel’s thoughts, refusing to be ignored.

He needed answers.

He moved with practiced ease, keeping his expression neutral as he took his place next to Prince Christian, who was idly adjusting the cuffs of his ceremonial attire.

Christian, younger than Damian but bearing the same sharp features, shot Gabriel a sidelong glance. "Enjoying your special role tonight?" he murmured, voice laced with amusement.

Gabriel arched a brow. "Hardly. But I assume you are?" He had brief conversations with the Prince and he intervened when Princess Anya went overboard with the rumors. Something told Gabriel that as Damian, he was presenting a face to the world, but he would not be surprised to discover the same ruthlessness beneath it.

Christian smirked. "I do enjoy a good spectacle."

Gabriel hummed noncommittally, letting his gaze sweep over the assembled nobles. The final night of the ball was always the most grandiose, the most politically charged. Those who had yet to make an impression would make their final attempts tonight, while those who had already gained favor would revel in their accomplishments.

His gaze shifted to the main entrance, waiting for Damian’s arrival. The Emperor was always the last to enter, so all eyes were on him when the time came.

Gabriel’s fingers twitched slightly at his sides. Would Damian appear perfectly composed, as if nothing had happened? Or would there be some clue, some faint mark that revealed his previous absence?

Gabriel found himself wondering how Damian was doing during his rut. And then it struck him. He never had sex with an alpha during a rut, and he certainly never had sex as the bottom.

’Fuck.’

He was far from a virgin, but he forgot that he would have to bear Damian’s children. Sure, he considered it vaguely, but this added another layer to his problems.

Then, just as his thoughts were about to stray too far, something unusual caught his attention.

A woman, standing near the far edge of the room, her posture stiff—too stiff.

Gabriel had seen countless nobles shake with nerves before greeting the Emperor, but something about her was off. An omega, by the scent of her, but she was barely masking her distress. Her hands were tightly clenched in the folds of her dress, and her chest rose and fell with unsteady breathing.

His first assumption was the obvious one: she was overwhelmed by the enormity of the situation, the gravity of standing before the Emperor. It happened frequently enough. Some omegas, particularly those from smaller noble houses, found the court’s scrutiny unbearable. She was dressed in a simple, high-quality dress, but the gray color did not suit her skin tone or brown hair.

Gabriel took a deep breath, trying to take his gaze away from the trembling woman and look for an attendant to send someone to help her. There was nothing good about an omega in distress coming close to Damian, who was already fighting his rut.

And he froze.

A scent. Barely noticeable beneath the heavy layers of perfume and incense, but distinct once detected.

It was sharp. Like fabric left to dry in the freezing wind, the crispness of untouched snow just before a storm. A scent he had only smelled a handful of times before.

Ether overload.

Gabriel’s spine straightened, his breathing remained steady, but his mind raced. He had felt it before when he was mostly on exploitation sites. They had to evacuate the moment one of the workers felt it.

The woman wasn’t just nervous. She was unstable.

Her body had absorbed too much ether, either by accident or on purpose, and she was now a ticking time bomb.

His gaze sharpened, as he quickly assessed her. There was no obvious sign of an impending magical surge, but that meant nothing. It could take seconds or minutes. It could be silent and catastrophic or loud and uncontrollable.

His fingers curled slightly.

No one else had noticed yet. The other nobles were too busy with their own games, too distracted by their positions and whispers. His mind was racing with possible solutions, but there were none; it was nearly impossible to stop it, and when they did, it was only through luck.

Gabriel’s heart pounded, not from fear, but from calculation.

’How much time do we have before she loses control?’

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