Bound by the Mark of Lies (BL)-Chapter 228 - 223: I Will Not Be a Doll (BONUS)

The palace blurred behind them, its towers receding into the ether-lit skyline as the dark, sleek car pulled away from the Winter Wing.

Inside the vehicle, the silence was oppressive.

Lady Delphine Roseroth sat composed in the back seat, her posture immaculate despite the smooth hum of the engine beneath them. The city’s lights flickered past the tinted windows—ghostly blue and silver reflections skating over the interior.

Across from her, Rafael sat rigid, his hands clenched tightly in his lap, his face pale with the sting of humiliation he hadn’t yet mastered how to hide.

The electric hum of the tires against the road filled the space between them.

For nearly three blocks, Lady Delphine said nothing.

She peeled off one glove with deliberate care, finger by finger, folding it neatly across her lap. Her rings—opal and pale etherstone—glinted coldly in the dim cabin light.

Rafael shifted, the movement small but desperate.

Finally, he broke.

"I—" His voice cracked. He swallowed and tried again. "It was an accident."

Delphine tilted her head slightly, finally granting him the courtesy of a glance. Her expression was so serene it bordered on terrifying.

"Of course it was," she said, voice low, dispassionate. "Because only a fool would sabotage himself on purpose."

Rafael flushed deep red, shame searing up his neck.

Outside, the sleek towers of the capital rushed by, blurred into streaks of ether-blue.

"You think the court cares for accidents?" Delphine asked, her voice as smooth and final as a closing door. "They remember moments. Spectacle."

Rafael opened his mouth to protest, but no words came.

"You didn’t just stain a gown," she continued, each word a soft, lethal blow. "You made a spectacle of yourself. You gave Lady Irina Blake a narrative—and you gave Gabriel von Jaunez the perfect opportunity to claim her."

Her nails clicked once against the leather seat as she turned her gaze forward again, out into the night.

"You handed them everything."

The car’s speed barely changed, the hum of the ether-powered engine a constant, vibrating in the bones of the vehicle.

"I can fix it," Rafael said hoarsely, desperate.

Delphine smiled faintly—more pity than amusement, more disappointment than anger.

"Darling," she murmured, "you’re no longer the one writing the story."

The cityscape brightened ahead—the glittering sweep of the Upper District looming into view, where political futures were bought, sold, and buried every day.

"It’s my mistake. I thought that shielding you from this would be better." She sighed, the sound almost too soft for the humming cabin to catch.

"No matter. Irina already had a good standing because of her father’s loyalty to the Emperor. You just added some sparkle to it. I might even be grateful later."

Her voice was light, almost amused.

It was the most terrifying thing Rafael had heard all evening.

The car slid through a checkpoint into the Upper District, the etherlights flashing briefly over the hood, catching the family crest embedded in the sleek black doors.

Delphine tapped her manicured nails lightly against the window, her eyes reflecting the cold, crystalline skyline.

"You’ll learn from this," she said at last, as if issuing a decree rather than offering comfort. "Or you’ll be replaced."

Rafael stiffened, his breath catching.

"Mother, you can’t possibly can think that either the Emperor or his brother would give me a chance. You saw it, they don’t even care to casually talk. I didn’t spend years in the academy to become a doll."

"You’ll learn from this," she said at last, as if issuing a decree rather than offering comfort. "Or you’ll be replaced."

Rafael stiffened, his breath catching at the finality of it.

He gritted his teeth, fists tightening against his knees.

"Mother," he said, voice strained, "you can’t possibly believe either the Emperor or his brother would ever give me a chance. You saw it. They didn’t even care to casually talk. I didn’t spend years in the academy to become a doll."

Delphine turned back to him slowly, one eyebrow lifting ever so slightly.

"Doll?" she echoed, her tone soft, dangerous. "Is that what you think you were meant to be?"

The car hummed gently under them, the engine idling in the underground bay, the city’s lights a distant echo beyond the closed world of polished black leather and cold strategy.

"I sent you to the academy to survive," Delphine continued, her words crisp as broken glass. "To listen. To adapt. To make yourself necessary."

She leaned in, close enough that Rafael could see the sharp glint of calculation in her pale eyes.

"You think a throne is given to the clever? To the charming? To the loyal?" she murmured. "No. Thrones are given to the ones left standing when everyone else is dead, discredited, or broken."

Rafael swallowed hard but didn’t look away.

"And right now," Delphine finished, her voice as smooth as the knife she had just metaphorically slid between his ribs, "you are none of those things."

For a moment, the only sound was the faint mechanical whisper of the car’s ventilation system.

Then Delphine sat back, as composed as ever, smoothing her gloves with a flick of her wrist.

"You may not have caught the Emperor’s attention," she said, tone cooling again into distant elegance. "But court life is not a single battle. It’s a war of seasons."

Her gaze flicked briefly to the manor door as the chauffeur opened it.

"You have until the next season to be something more than a boy who spills wine," she said lightly. "Adapt, Rafael. Or you’ll find yourself forgotten before the first frost thaws."

And with that, she stepped out into the soft, glittering light of the Roseroth estate’s underground hall, her heels clicking crisply on the marble as if nothing at all had gone wrong.

Behind her, Rafael remained for a beat longer, the door left open by the waiting chauffeur, the cool underground air brushing against the heated flush of his skin.

"It was an accident," Rafael said at last, his voice low but clear. "I had no reason to provoke someone so close to those I want to reach."

He stepped out of the car without looking at her, the polished soles of his shoes hitting the stone with a muted thud.

"But when even my mother doesn’t believe me..." he continued, his words threading through the cold air between them, "where is the point?"

Delphine said nothing.

She didn’t need to. Her silence was an answer in itself—sharp, final, merciless.

Rafael smiled to himself, a small, broken thing, unseen and unacknowledged.

"I never cared about your world," he said quietly, "but despite that, I wanted to be a good son."

He straightened his jacket with a precise tug, a soldier’s motion drilled into him from years at the academy. His eyes didn’t meet hers.

"You don’t do the same for me," he finished simply.

Delphine’s gloves creaked slightly as her fingers curled.

Rafael stepped past her, into the manor’s cool, expansive corridors, without waiting for a reply.

At the threshold of the elevator that would carry him to his wing of the estate, he paused, glancing back over his shoulder—not out of regret, but to make sure she heard the last thing he needed to say.

"I will prepare for the civil exam," he said, his voice steady now, distant. "Good night, Mother."

And then he was gone, swallowed by the sleek hum of the rising lift, leaving Delphine Roseroth standing alone, surrounded by all the glittering remnants of a future she no longer controlled.