Bound by the Mark of Lies (BL)-Chapter 160 - 155: Lingering scent (1)

Damian didn’t even blink. "We’ll take care of that."

Anya opened her mouth, perhaps to defend herself, perhaps to explain, but the moment was already lost. The garden had moved on from her. The court’s eyes had drifted like birds toward the new center of gravity: Gabriel, unbothered and radiant beside the Emperor.

Gabriel tilted his head, expression serene. "I believe the air quality would improve if we walked elsewhere."

Damian offered his arm. "I agree."

Gabriel took it with unhurried grace, his fingers brushing against the inside of Damian’s wrist, a quiet reminder that while he wore the Emperor’s mark, he bowed to no one blindly.

They turned as one, Gabriel’s dark robe trailing over the polished stone like a curtain closing on a show.

The garden remained behind them, silent, stunned, and small.

"With this event," Damian said smoothly as they entered the shaded marble corridor, "I bring you good news."

Gabriel glanced sideways, amused. "Oh?"

Damian nodded once, slow and regal, acknowledging a bowing countess with no more than a flick of his gaze.

"Edward will forget about his chaise," he said, "and concentrate entirely on discovering how the princess obtained my cologne formula."

Gabriel’s laugh was low and entirely unapologetic. "You know he’s going to tear through the palace archives like a bloodhound."

"He’s already doing it," Damian replied. "While creating another formula."

Gabriel gave him a side glance, amused. "He multitasks under stress. How efficient."

"He said the act of betrayal unlocked his creativity."

"Interesting."

He didn’t wait for Damian’s answer.

"Also," he added, his voice laced with quiet interest, "it would be interesting to see how far she goes."

Damian didn’t respond immediately. His jaw was set tighter than usual as they ascended the final steps toward his quarters. His movements were tight, with a deliberate stillness that only Gabriel recognized as barely restrained agitation.

The scent still clung faintly to the air, but that was all it took.

He became disgusted by it.

He hadn’t expected the smell of his own cologne—worn by someone else—to trigger such a visceral reaction. It wasn’t even strong anymore, but it lingered like something unwanted on the skin. A memory that didn’t belong to him anymore. A violation.

Inside his quarters, the moment the door shut, he exhaled harshly and moved toward the bathroom without removing his coat.

"I’m not changing it because of her," Damian said at last, voice low, quieter than Gabriel had ever heard it.

"I’m changing it because I now get nauseous when I feel it," he added, pulling off his gloves with sharp, practiced movements. "And being stuck on you makes me lose my mind."

He didn’t wait for a response. He reached for the small silver bell on the carved table near the hearth and rang it once, sharp and precise.

A quiet chime that carried weight in this part of the palace.

Moments later, one of the discreet attendants stationed outside entered with a practiced bow. She kept her eyes respectfully lowered; everyone knew better than to look directly at the Emperor unless summoned to.

"Draw the bath," Damian said, already undoing the front clasp of his coat. "Scrub everything. Twice. I want every trace of that scent gone. Better yet, tell Edward to burn everything."

The attendant blinked, just once, but bowed swiftly. "Yes, Your Majesty."

She disappeared through the side door without another word, her steps nearly soundless, but the urgency in her movements said enough.

Damian exhaled through his nose, sharp and quiet. His coat slid off his shoulders, landing in a heap he didn’t bother to acknowledge. Normally, everything he did was deliberate, precise, ritualistic, almost.

Now he just wanted to be clean.

Gabriel remained by the hearth, his arms crossed loosely, watching with a guarded expression. "You’re aware Edward will take that instruction literally."

"Good," Damian muttered, pulling at the buttons of his sleeves. "Let him. I don’t want to smell it on the walls. On the linens. On me."

He rolled his sleeves up to the elbows, pacing once, then pausing near the doorway to the bath.

Gabriel took a step forward, slower, thoughtful. "It really got under your skin."

Damian looked over his shoulder, and the edge in his golden eyes softened, not gone, but redirected.

"It got on yours," he said again, his voice quieter this time. "I could smell it on you the moment I stepped into that garden. I knew it wasn’t you, and it still made my throat close."

Gabriel’s gaze dropped, just for a beat. Then, dryly, "You’re getting poetic."

"I’m getting angry," Damian corrected.

Gabriel tilted his head, the corner of his mouth curling, not quite a smirk, not quite a smile. "Then should I accompany you to the bath?" he asked, tone deceptively light. "It’s still on me."

The air shifted between them.

Damian didn’t move. Didn’t blink.

But something in his expression cracked, just a fraction. Enough for Gabriel to see it: the battle between instinct and restraint.

"No," Damian said, his voice low but firm.

Gabriel blinked, almost amused.

"No?"

Damian met his gaze, steady. "Not tonight."

The air between them thickened again—tense, intimate, unfinished.

"I have other obligations in the evening," Damian continued, quieter now, as he rolled his sleeves up past his elbows. "And if you step into that room with me, I won’t be able to think about anything but you."

Gabriel’s brows lifted, his smirk curving slow and deliberate. "Is that a threat or a compliment?"

Damian stepped toward the edge of the chamber’s light, half in shadow, half wrapped in the rising steam. "A fact."

Gabriel considered him for a beat longer, then gave a short, quiet laugh. Not mocking, dangerously pleased.

"Well," he said smoothly, brushing invisible lint off his sleeve, "in that case, I’ll take a shower on the other side."

He turned, steps unhurried as he moved toward the guest bathing suite connected by the mirrored corridor that split Damian’s private wing.

"Far be it from me to tempt you."

That last line lingered in the air like a spark catching on silk.

Damian didn’t reply.

Didn’t need to.

His silence was a weight, his gaze following Gabriel until the man disappeared around the corner, still dressed, still smiling, scent still his.

The attendant reentered quietly, announcing the bath was ready.

But Damian just stood there for a long moment.

He could still hear the faint sound of water running from the other side.

Knew Gabriel wasn’t far.