Bound by the Mark of Lies (BL)
Chapter 72 - 67: Beneath the Surface (1)

Chapter 72: Chapter 67: Beneath the Surface (1)

Blake Manor

When Astana awoke, the manor was quiet, an unfamiliar silence hanging over the halls. It wasn’t like the palace, where every moment was filled with the measured footsteps of attendants, the murmurs of officials, and the constant weight of duty pressing down on him.

Here, at home, the air felt lighter. As he made his way downstairs, the polished wood floors creaked softly beneath his feet, and the aroma of fresh bread and black tea welcomed him into the dining room.

Only Irina remained at the table, stirring honey into her tea with delicate precision. Her light pink dress rustled slightly with each movement. The rest of the household had already begun their day, leaving the siblings alone for breakfast. When he entered, she looked up and smiled brightly.

Irina was the Blake family’s youngest child, spoiled by her older brothers. She resembled Astana in female form, with the same blonde hair, blue eyes, and fair skin; both siblings were sheltered from the Blake family military tradition. Their older brothers and father filled the ranks of the imperial army.

"You’re finally home," she said, setting her teaspoon down. "It feels like I haven’t seen you in weeks." She said, smiling warmly at him. Astana braced himself as her blue eyes twinkled with anticipation; whenever Irina looked at him like this, it meant she wanted something that the other had already refused.

"Because you haven’t," Astana replied dryly, taking his seat. "The Emperor keeps me busy." He had been granted the day off, with the condition that he return to the palace in the evening. The ball was in its second day, and there were no official events for him, Max, or Damian to attend—a short break from all the work for all three. Damian informed him that he would train for the day, and Astana was confident that the majority of the soldiers would be assigned tasks simply to avoid Damian.

Irina poured him a cup of tea, her gaze lingering on him. "You know, it would be easier if you had someone with you—someone who understands."

Astana, who had just picked up a piece of bread, paused mid-motion. He lifted his gaze to meet hers. "No."

Her expression turned pleading. "But why not? There are still six more days of celebrations, and I would love to see the palace. If you took me with you, I could help you navigate everything—besides, I did see him last night—"

"That’s exactly why not," Astana cut her off, anticipating where this was going. He had already received reports about the rumors circulating—the younger generation, especially the noble daughters, had woven an idealized legend of Damian Lyon. They saw the poised, immovable ruler, the man whose presence alone commanded silence. They didn’t see the blood.

Irina clasped her hands together and leaned forward. "You don’t understand, Asta. He’s perfect. He is strong, intelligent, and composed; just looking at him, you can tell he was born to rule. He’s not like the other men here, who are all shallow and predictable." Her voice softened as she added, "I think I love him."

Astana exhaled, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Irina, you don’t even know him."

She straightened her shoulders. "I know enough. I’ve observed him—how he carries himself, how people respect him. No one else in the empire commands such loyalty."

"Loyalty and fear are different things," he countered, setting his cup down. "You think the nobility admire him because he’s some shining beacon of greatness? They respect him because he holds absolute power over them. They fear what he could do if they step out of line."

Irina frowned. "That’s just because he has to be strong. A ruler has to be feared to maintain control."

Astana gave a dry chuckle, shaking his head. "You talk like you’ve read one too many romantic novels."

She crossed her arms. "I think you’re just being overprotective. You always do this. Ever since we were children, you’ve treated me like I don’t understand anything."

"Because you don’t understand," he said bluntly. "You’ve seen him at a ball, Irina. I’ve seen him execute a man with a flick of his hand. Do you know what it looks like when someone is eyes burst within their skull? Do you know what it smells like when blood pools on marble? That’s the man you’re fantasizing about."

Irina paled slightly but held her ground. "You’re making him sound like a monster."

Astana shook his head. "I’m making him sound like what he is. The Emperor doesn’t love like a normal person, if he even loves. He decides who lives and who dies with the same ease you stir honey into your tea. He doesn’t have room in his life for foolish infatuations."

Her lips pressed into a thin line. "So you’re saying I’m foolish?"

"I’m saying you need to open your eyes before you get yourself hurt. Damian doesn’t need a wife, least of all one who sees him as some unreachable ideal. He needs alliances, power, and control. If you were in his way, he wouldn’t hesitate to remove you."

Irina stood abruptly, her chair scraping against the floor. "You don’t know that."

"Don’t I?" Astana asked, raising an eyebrow. "I see him every day. I serve him. I stand in the room when he makes his decisions. If you step into that world thinking you’re special, you’ll learn very quickly that you are not."

She clenched her fists at her sides. "You don’t believe in love at all, do you?"

Astana sighed. "Love? Love is a luxury for people who don’t have empires to rule. Damian has no use for it."

Irina’s expression hardened. "That’s a very sad way to see the world, Astana."

"Maybe. But at least it’s the truth."

She shook her head, stepping back. "Enjoy your breakfast, Your Highness," she snapped before turning on her heel and storming out of the room.

Astana watched her go, rubbing a hand over his face. He wasn’t going to entertain her delusions, not when she had no idea what kind of man she was talking about. He finished his tea in silence before pushing back from the table and heading toward his father’s study.

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