Bound by the Mark of Lies (BL)-Chapter 385 - 379: Like his parents

Damian chuckled.

Low, warm, and entirely unguarded, the kind of sound that didn’t belong in throne rooms or war camps, but in early mornings and places called home. The kind of sound that gave Gabriel shivers despite the dull ache still gripping his body, despite the weight of what they had just realized.

Damian leaned closer, brushing his knuckles lightly against the baby’s downy cheek, his voice slipping into something too soft to be anything but real.

"Well," he murmured, golden eyes never leaving the child’s face, "it seems like he doesn’t have to take the trial like me."

Gabriel turned his head slightly, breath catching.

"Ether has chosen him," Damian said, reverent now. "Without it."

"Great," Gabriel muttered, his voice dry, but his eyes still locked on the baby’s face. "So you’re a menace like your parents."

He let out an amused huff, though his fingers curled tighter around the child, as if bracing for impact from a future not yet written. "Born two minutes ago and already glowing. Perfect."

Damian leaned closer, one brow lifting in mock offense. "I wasn’t glowing when I was born."

"No," Gabriel replied, finally looking up at him, tired but smiling. "You waited until you could terrify the court and level a battlefield."

The child shifted faintly in Gabriel’s arms, one tiny hand pressing against his chest with surprising steadiness. As if the gods were listening... and agreeing.

Damian smirked. "Takes after you, then."

Gabriel gave him a sideways look, half-exhausted, half-wary. "And you want another four like him? The Empire should brace itself in dealing with one golden-eyed heir."

"I never said the others need to inherit anything but your stubbornness and my charm," Damian replied smoothly, reaching over to run a thumb gently across the soft line of their son’s brow. "This one just gets the full divine package."

"Lucky him," Gabriel muttered. "Firstborn, chosen by ether, probably watched by half the court already, and cursed with the attention of you."

The door opened with a hiss. A whisper of motion, precise and cold, far more dangerous than fury shouted aloud.

Edward stepped in.

He was immaculate, as always. Dark coat buttoned to the throat, gloves removed but held in one hand, the other curled at his side like he was resisting the urge to tear someone apart. His silver-framed glasses caught the low light, and his eyes, sharp and unreadable, flicked instantly to the bundle in Gabriel’s arms.

Then to Gabriel.

Then to Damian.

Damian didn’t move from Gabriel’s side.

"He has your temper," he said, still watching their son, utterly unfazed by Edward’s entrance. "Already glaring at the light like it insulted him."

Gabriel snorted softly. "Perfect. Between the three of you, we’re doomed."

Edward crossed the room in measured steps. The kind of pace one used when they were one breath away from murder and had the self-control to weaponize it with silence.

"You’re both laughing," Edward said, his voice deceptively calm. "That’s good. Laughter means blood loss hasn’t made either of you delirious. But if you think I’m not logging every reckless decision that led to this—" he gestured vaguely, accusingly, at the room, the child, and the Emperor still barefoot in ceremonial robes, "—then you don’t know me at all."

Gabriel tilted his head. "So... a normal Tuesday?"

Edward’s jaw tightened. "You gave birth with two full ether surges in the last hour. Half the wards nearly burned out. The physician nearly passed out. And you—" He turned his stare onto Damian. "—thought this was the moment to break three rules and rewrite a divine protocol that has stood since the founding of the Empire."

Damian met his eyes without blinking. "It worked."

Edward’s nostrils flared.

Gabriel, despite himself, laughed, too tired to care, too relieved to stop.

The baby made a soft, indignant noise at the sudden sound, eyes fluttering open just long enough to scowl, yes, actually scowl, at the noise before promptly falling asleep again.

Edward blinked.

"...All right," he muttered, finally stepping forward and crouching down beside the bed. "Let me see the menace."

Damian angled the child gently, and Edward, after a long pause, stared down at the golden-eyed infant like he was witnessing a cosmic error too beautifully made to undo.

"I’ll write the proclamation," Edward said flatly, after a moment.

Gabriel blinked. "What proclamation?"

Edward stood. "The one declaring this child is already more terrifying than both his parents."

—

A week later, the palace was quieter but only on the surface.

The storm hadn’t passed. It had simply been gilded in silk and buried under protocol.

Gabriel reclined on the chaise by the open windows, wrapped in pale linen and a robe too soft to feel real, his body still sore in ways that made walking a deliberate act. Recovery was slow, steady, and annoying. He hated being still. Hated being watched.

And he was always being watched now.

By physicians. By aides. By shadows.

By Damian.

And of course, by the tiny creature currently curled against his chest, warm and impossibly serene, as if the world hadn’t already decided he would rule it one day.

Arik Rigel Lyon.

Firstborn of the Emperor.

Golden-eyed.

Peacefully sleeping.

Gabriel exhaled slowly, fingers brushing through the baby’s wisps of dark hair. He hadn’t cried once that morning. Not when the palace bells rang to mark the seventh day. Not when the warding mages tuned the ether lines again. Not even when Irina knocked over an entire tea set an hour ago.

A menace. A silent one. Gabriel was almost proud.

The chamber doors opened softly, and he didn’t need to look up to know who it was; Alexandra’s perfume always arrived a breath before she did.

"I told them no visitors until the child is at least a month old," Alexandra said sweetly, closing the door behind her with the kind of finality that could start wars.

Gabriel exhaled, slow and dry. "And yet, here you are."

"I’m not a visitor. I’m your sister," she replied, gliding across the room with her usual mix of elegance and mild threat. "I brought no delegation. No gifts. No gossip... today."

Her eyes flicked toward the small bundle resting against his chest, her voice softening slightly. "I came for him."

Gabriel adjusted his hold, careful not to wake the child. "He’s sleeping. Threaten him quietly."

"I only threaten adults. Infants are immune. For now." Alexandra eased into the chair beside him, pulling her legs up and resting her chin on one knee like she was sixteen again. "They’re calling him the golden heir, you know."

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