The Reborn Sovereign of Ruin, Bound by His Star

Arik set his cup down. "I have a meeting with King George tomorrow regarding the Agaron-Wrohan treaty structure."

The room stilled again, but differently this time.

Political interest replaced familial entertainment.

Enia’s eyes narrowed. "How advanced?"

"Advanced enough that George understands Agaron is no longer simply negotiating for energy access. He will sign because he cannot afford not to."

Mirelle’s smile sharpened. "And Felix?"

"Felix will understand what is happening too late if the signing is handled correctly."

Liam looked at Arik, startled despite himself.

Arik did not look back. He remained focused on Enia and Mirelle, offering only enough information to make the shape of the plan visible without exposing its spine.

"The treaty gives me the political reason to remain involved in Wrohan," Arik continued. "The engagement gives me the personal one. Together, they make any movement against Liam an attack on Agaronian diplomatic interests."

Henry’s expression turned thoughtful. "And a Ravenwood-hosted reception would establish that his family recognizes the bond before Canmore can contest the narrative."

"Yes," Arik said.

Mirelle leaned forward. "Not simply recognizes. Celebrates."

Liam made a strangled sound.

"No."

Mirelle ignored him. "If we allow the first public image to be Canmore reacting, Felix frames this as an internal family complication. If Ravenwood and Armstrong host the first event, then Liam is not being claimed by Canmore blood. He is being presented by his mother’s house."

Enia’s voice was soft. "By the family that raised him."

Liam went still.

He disliked being public. He disliked ceremonies, staged smiles, formal clothes chosen because they translated well through gossip columns, and rooms full of people watching him breathe as though it were a political statement.

But to take the first image away from Felix?

To stand under Ravenwood and Armstrong’s authority, beside Arik, marked and untouchable, while the old viper was forced to watch the narrative leave his hands?

Liam could tolerate a great many horrors for spite.

"In that case," Liam said, voice calm, "invite Felix."

The room stopped.

Even Arik turned his head slowly, a dark brow slowly raising in interest.

Mirelle’s eyes sharpened first.

Enia followed half a breath later.

Then the entire family seemed to inhale the same scent at once.

Blood.

Henry closed his eyes. "Liam."

"What?" Liam asked. "If we exclude him, he claims insult. If we invite him, he has to attend or admit he no longer controls the family line. And if he attends, he has to stand in a room arranged by Ravenwood and Armstrong, where every eye will see that I am not his."

Mirelle’s smile spread slowly and beautifully, and she was very much delighted with Liam’s development.

"Oh," she said. "Darling."

Liam looked at her. "Do not sound proud. It is alarming."

"I am proud. It is still alarming."

Enia leaned back, red eyes bright. "Felix would have to greet Arik publicly."

"And me," Liam said.

Arik’s gaze darkened.

The bond was warm, possessive, and sharp.

Mirelle noticed and looked delighted. "Even better. We make him bow to the engagement he failed to prevent."

Henry sighed. "This is no longer a reception. This is bait."

"No," Enia said softly. "This is correction."

The political talk unfolded after that with brutal efficiency.

Two imperial secretaries appeared at some point like shadows in tailored suits, silent, precise, and far too aware of exits for actual secretaries. Knowing Arik, Mezos, and Stanford, Liam could bet they were special forces with stationery.

Guest lists formed. Seating charts became weapons. Arrival order became execution by etiquette.

Felix would be properly invited, and to add more salt to the wound, so were Cain and Ray Canmore.

Arik listened, one hand resting near Liam’s, gold eyes calm.

Then he said, "If Felix attends, he will be searched."

Mirelle smiled. "Of course."

"By my people."

Enia’s gaze flicked to him. "And ours."

Arik inclined his head. "Together, then."

Liam stared at the room.

Somehow, his family and his mate had formed an alliance over the social dismemberment of Felix Canmore.

He should have been horrified.

Instead, he felt almost peaceful.

That was probably Arik’s fault.

—

After that, days passed with enough silence that Liam almost believed things would return to normal.

Or, at the very least, that he would be allowed to return peacefully to his lab.

He should have known better.

He spent most of those days repairing the never-ending problems with the Vanguard, because apparently building an illegal civilian ether grid beneath a hostile capital did not come with the luxury of delegated maintenance. It was difficult enough for Ravenwood and Armstrong money to reach the project without Cain, Felix, or Ray noticing the financial distortions and asking why entire categories of civil infrastructure were being quietly fed under their noses.

So Liam handled most of the specialized work himself.

Beautifully, naturally.

Exhaustingly.

The problem with this was simple.

He was not returning to the diplomatic residence as often as he should.

Liam had an excuse.

Arik was busy too.

That was not even a lie. Arik spent most of his days trapped in meetings with Agaron, reviewing treaty drafts, rerouting security concerns, and preparing the next round of negotiations with George. Liam considered that more than a full-time job and therefore a perfectly reasonable justification for not being dragged back to the diplomatic residence every evening like a troublesome piece of imperial luggage.

Stanford disagreed.

Mezos disagreed from a distance.

Arik disagreed through the bond with increasing warmth and decreasing patience.

Liam ignored all three with the admirable focus of a man tightening bolts inside a machine large enough to swallow his problems whole.

Now Rex stood on the upper observation platform, watching Liam work, and the Crown Prince of Wrohan looked approximately two minutes away from throwing himself into the chasm beneath the Vanguard.

Liam glanced at him over one shoulder. "If you fall, I am not retrieving the body."

Rex looked down into the roaring depths where red ether poured through the lower intake rings like a river of molten blood.

"I was considering it."

"Consider paperwork instead. It is less dramatic and more painful."

Rex gave him a look. "I have had enough paperwork to qualify as a state sacrifice."

"That sounds like a royal problem."

"It is a George problem."

Liam returned to the open compression panel. "Those are often the same thing."

Rex laughed once.

It was not a happy sound.

George was making his life a nightmare. That much had become obvious from the moment Rex entered Lab V with dark circles beneath his eyes, two security officers behind him, and the expression of a man who had been cornered by dynastic stupidity before breakfast.

Ray had apparently discovered ambition now that his bloodline had been dragged into public light.

Worse, he had discovered lawyers.

He had contested Rex’s position as Crown Prince with all the righteous confidence of a man who had spent years benefiting from scandal and now wanted the best of them converted into an inheritance.

Liam tightened the stabilizer screw until the casing gave a faint warning groan.

Mara, from the lower diagnostic station, called up, "If you break that, you are repairing it alone."

"I am already repairing everything alone."

"You chose genius. Suffer with dignity."

Rex leaned against the rail. "I envy your staff."

"Mara is not my staff. Mara is my punishment."

"I heard that."

"You were meant to."

Rex pressed a hand over his face.

For a moment, beneath the dry humor and the machine’s thunder, he looked young.

Exhausted by a throne that had stopped being theoretical and become a room full of knives.

Liam set the tool down. "You came here for more than dramatic suicidal ideation."

Rex lowered his hand.

"Yes."