Bound by the Mark of Lies (BL)-Chapter 319 - 314: Before dinner

Damian’s eyes didn’t waver. The fire carved shadows along his cheekbones like careful brushstrokes, flickering gold into the hollows of his face, but his gaze remained fixed, burning, unwavering, silent—all of it for Gabriel.

Gabriel didn’t fill the silence. He met the weight of that look with one brow arched in something just short of amusement, his posture easy, calm, waiting like someone who already knew the answer but was willing to let the truth take its time.

"Before," Damian said finally, voice low.

Gabriel’s smile was faint. A little tired. A little worn at the edges. But real. "Then ask."

Damian leaned forward and set his glass down with a kind of reverence. He wasn’t tense, but he was careful now, every movement deliberate, as if the floor between them had shifted and he didn’t want to be the one to break it first.

"When you saw me with the crown," Damian began, measured and slow, "you looked like you’d seen it before. Like something surfaced. A memory."

Gabriel didn’t answer right away. His fingers curled loosely around the rim of his glass, unmoving, his gaze distant, not lost, just deeper than usual. The firelight made him look older, like time had etched something new behind his eyes without asking permission.

"I did," he said at last. "Not like a vision. Not even a full memory. Just... something that came back. Quietly. Like a scent from another room."

Damian’s jaw ticked, the only visible fracture in his composure.

Gabriel met his eyes again, steady now. "I’ve held that crown before. Or one just like it. I remember the cold. The weight. The feel of it against my hands was wrong, almost like it knew I wasn’t meant to touch it. Like it bit back."

He paused. "I didn’t see your face. Just your shadow. Just the silence around us. And fear."

"That’s accurate," Damian said quietly.

Gabriel’s smile was brittle. "Then it happened."

"Yes," Damian confirmed. "Not all of it. But enough."

Gabriel leaned his head back against the armchair, exhaling like the truth had taken something with it. "I hate that I can’t remember the rest. I know it matters. I feel it does. But it’s like chasing smoke."

"It’ll come," Damian said. "And when it does, I’ll be here."

Gabriel turned to look at him again, and this time the silence between them felt different—anchored, less like a pause and more like a pact.

"Thank you," he said simply.

Then, as if the weight of the conversation had met its natural end, he set the untouched glass of juice down on the table and stretched arms rising above his head in a languid arc, spine curving just enough to make it pointed, dramatic, and a little gratuitous.

He glanced sidelong at Damian. "So, are you planning to keep this ’brooding, emotionally unavailable Emperor’ energy for the rest of the night, or should I prepare myself for an exceptionally awkward dinner?"

Damian didn’t blink. "Depends. Are you going to behave?"

Gabriel snorted. "Not even slightly."

"Then yes," Damian replied. "I’ll be brooding." ƒreeωebnovel.ƈom

Gabriel hummed as if considering the consequences of that. Then, without warning, without invitation, without shame, he stood, and with the same ease of breathless certainty, crossed the space between them.

And sat.

Right on Damian’s lap.

With the calm assurance of someone who knew exactly what he was doing. One hand rested at the back of Damian’s neck, the other settled over his heart. His legs draped easily over the armrest, as if he belonged there. As if he had always belonged there.

"I’m fine," Gabriel said, voice low as his fingers slid from the nape of Damian’s neck to the open collar of his shirt, then beneath it. His palm pressed flat against warm skin, finding the steady thrum of Damian’s pulse like he was verifying it himself.

"I can eat again," he continued, like it was just a passing fact, like his hand wasn’t now splayed across Damian’s chest, grounding both of them. "No citrus, obviously—I’m not an idiot. But you don’t have to look at me like I’m going to dissolve into smoke if you blink too long."

Damian didn’t speak. His eyes had dropped to the point of contact between them, where Gabriel’s skin met his own.

Gabriel tilted his head. "It’s gone, Damian. Whatever was left. The shard, the last residue of him. I’m not sick. I’m not bleeding in ways we can’t see. I’m just me."

Damian’s jaw flexed once, but his hands didn’t move from Gabriel’s waist. They held him steady, like anchoring something already tethered.

"I know," Damian said finally. His voice was rough, a shade quieter than usual. "But I should have done it earlier. I should’ve done it the moment I knew what it was."

Gabriel didn’t pull away. Didn’t soften, either. His hand remained exactly where it was beneath the shirt, over Damian’s chest, like a weight, like judgment, like forgiveness if it was ever going to be offered.

"You did it when I was strong enough to survive it," he said, not unkindly. "And when you were strong enough to let me."

Damian’s gaze flickered up, the gold in his eyes dimmer but no less intense.

Gabriel didn’t look away. "That’s the thing about regret, it rewrites the past like you had all the pieces back then. You didn’t. Neither did I. You still assumed a deadly risk to do it."

Damian didn’t flinch. But something in his expression fractured, barely visible, the kind of shift only someone who loved him would notice.

Gabriel’s fingers moved again, this time slower, pressing slightly into the line of muscle beneath his hand. "You touched something no one else would have dared go near. You poured your ether into it without knowing if it would tear you apart."

Damian didn’t move. But the silence around him shifted, thickened. As if the memory of that moment still lived under his skin.

"You shouldn’t have had to do that," Gabriel said, his voice quieter now, but no less steady. "But you did. For me. Even if it meant burning yourself in the process."

"I didn’t care," Damian murmured. "I still don’t. I won’t sacrifice my mate and child for delusions of past imperial bloodline."

Gabriel let out a soft huff of laughter, the sound curling in his throat like it didn’t know whether to be fond or exasperated. "Your ego is something else."