Bound by the Mark of Lies (BL)-Chapter 226 - 221: Silent Alliances (BONUS)

Chapter 221: Silent Alliances (BONUS)

Christian leaned in slightly, his voice pitched low and light, the perfect blend of charm and conspiracy.

"Would you mind taking a walk with me, Lady Irina?"

Irina set her teacup down with careful precision, feeling more eyes on them than she liked—but that was the point, wasn’t it?

"Not at all," she said smoothly, rising from her chair.

Christian offered his arm without flourish. She took it without hesitation.

And together, they moved toward the arching double doors at the far side of the salon, each step slow enough to look casual, quick enough to be deliberate.

Court eyes followed them.

Whispers stirred at the fringes—speculations about the young prince, freshly free from any official engagement, choosing a new companion so openly. The court loved a romance, especially when it involved titles, lineage, and political advantage.

But Irina wasn’t thinking about the court.

She allowed herself one glance back over her shoulder.

Astana hadn’t moved from his place at the table.

His posture was perfect. Impeccable.

But Irina didn’t miss the way his fingers curled—briefly, tightly—against the back of the empty chair beside hers.

It was small.

Private.

And it confirmed everything she already knew.

Christian wasn’t courting her.

Christian wasn’t interested in appearances for their own sake.

He was giving Astana time.

A shield in the middle of a battlefield—where names, bloodlines, and secondaries could tear a future apart before it ever had the chance to begin. Where every smile was a strategy, every glance a transaction, and every whispered word a blade.

Irina turned back toward Christian, the hem of her gown whispering against polished stone as she caught his expression in profile—detached, too calm, silver eyes scanning the ballroom like a general bored by lesser wars. For a moment, she saw not the charming prince the court adored, but the man beneath it all. And in that breath between glances, a rare flicker of respect stirred in her chest—unwelcome, but undeniable.

"Where are we walking?" she asked, tone deliberately light, almost playful, though her pulse still carried the echo of court tension.

Christian’s mouth twitched, the faintest smirk breaking through his diplomatic mask. "Anywhere that gets me away from the vultures," he said, not bothering to lower his voice.

She let out a soft laugh—short, but real. "Then by all means, Your Highness. Lead the way."

He offered her his arm—not as a courtly gesture, but like a silent agreement between two survivors. She hesitated for only a breath before taking it.

Together, they vanished into the deeper corridors of the palace, away from the curated chaos of court: from the calculating smiles, the poisoned cups, and the chandeliers that glittered with a thousand false promises. Behind them, speculation simmered. Glances clung like cobwebs. And old ambitions, dressed in silk and desperation, began to rot—unwitnessed and unlamented.

—

They stepped into the corridor beyond the salon—cooler, quieter, the hushed air pressing gently against their backs like the weight of all the eyes they’d left behind.

Irina didn’t wait long.

"I imagine they’ve already decided you like me," she said dryly, her heels clicking softly against the polished stone.

Christian chuckled under his breath, a warm, low sound. "They’ll be composing songs by tomorrow morning."

She gave him a sidelong look. "You don’t seem terribly concerned."

"I’m not," Christian said, slowing his pace slightly. "Let them talk."

Irina arched a brow. "Even if it ruins your chances at more... politically advantageous matches?"

Christian shrugged, hands tucked casually behind his back, the very picture of princely disinterest. "If they think I’m chasing after a duke’s daughter from a military family rather than, say, the heir of a merchant house with three dozen Ether mines, it buys me time."

Irina gave a soft snort, crossing her arms loosely. "Most nobles are still fooled by your mask."

Christian smiled lazily, his silver eyes gleaming under the soft wash of morning light. "Good. Masks are there for a reason."

"They think you’re harmless," she said, almost amused. "Spoiled. Easygoing. The golden prince who doesn’t care about succession, politics, or bloodlines."

Christian turned his head slightly, just enough for her to catch the sharper line of his mouth.

"I care about everything," he said, his voice lower now, quieter. "I just don’t want them to see where I’ll strike first."

"You really are terrifying," she said, voice quiet but certain. "You, the Emperor, Lord Max. You three are the same."

Christian’s mouth twitched, a flicker of amusement and something darker passing through his silver eyes.

"Same how?" he asked, his tone light but his posture sharpening almost imperceptibly.

Irina leaned one shoulder against the marble windowsill, casual in a way only someone sure of herself could be.

"You all hide it differently," she said. "Damian wraps it in iron and blood. Max buries it under jokes and laziness. You..." she paused, studying him, "you make it look easy. Like you could charm a room and burn it down in the same breath."

Christian didn’t deny it.

Didn’t even blink.

He only smiled faintly; something dangerous coiled neatly beneath it.

"And yet here you are," he said softly, "walking beside one of us."

Irina smirked. "I never claimed to be smart."

Christian laughed quietly—a low, genuine sound. "No. You’re smart enough to be dangerous too."

"Don’t inflate your ego with what I’m about to say," she muttered, tone dry as old parchment, "but I know my brother. Astana likes you. Even if he doesn’t want to accept it."

Christian’s smile was slow, restrained—but real.

Irina looked straight ahead, her voice sharper now, cutting through the gilded quiet of the hall.

"He would have been the perfect match for you," she said, softer. "If he had been an omega."

Christian’s hand flexed once at his side.

"But he’s a beta."

It wasn’t said cruelly. It was just true.

A fact as immovable as bloodlines and inheritance laws.

Christian’s expression didn’t crack outwardly, but Irina caught it—the faint pull at the corner of his mouth, the brief tightening in his jaw.

He already knew.

Of course he knew.

"You can’t give up your title," Irina said, almost gently now. "You can’t leave heirs to a cousin no one trusts. And you can’t give the Empire a consort who can’t give you children. Your family won’t let you."

Christian didn’t flinch.

"I know."

Irina turned, facing him fully now.

"You’ll have to change him," she said bluntly. "Or convince him to change himself. Either way, it’ll break something inside him."

Christian met her gaze, steady and unyielding.

"I don’t want to break him," he said, voice low. "I want to keep him."

Irina’s mouth softened, almost against her will.

"That’s the only reason I’m helping you," she said. "Because you aren’t trying to win the court. You’re trying to win him."

Christian held her eyes for a long moment—two stubborn forces recognizing each other fully for the first time.

Finally, Irina smirked and started walking.

"Come on, Your Highness," she said over her shoulder. "We’ve got a scandal to feed."