The Reborn Sovereign of Ruin, Bound by His Star

By the time they reached the bed, Liam had discovered several things.

First, Arik’s favorite color was not gold, despite the eyes, the imperial embroidery, and the general hereditary audacity of his family. It was bronze and... a close second purple.

Liam had looked at him over the rim of his second cup of hot chocolate and said, "Of course you have more than one."

Arik had only smiled.

Second, Arik liked the scent of saint’s breath, old paper, citrus oils, and the particular sweet note in Liam’s pheromones when he stopped pretending to be offended for longer than ten seconds.

Liam had nearly choked on his drink.

Third, Arik did, in fact, drink alcohol.

This had required clarification, because Kamal and Edward seemed to behave as though Arik being within ten meters of a bottle was a constitutional emergency.

"My tolerance is almost inhuman," Arik had said, cutting another piece of fruit with the calm of a man discussing weather patterns. "It takes a deeply unreasonable amount of alcohol to affect me."

Liam had stared. "Then why does Edward hide it from you?"

"Because the bottles I like are rare."

"That is not an answer."

"They are also expensive."

"That is less of an answer. You are the Crown Prince of the biggest empire on the continent. How can there be anything expensive for you?"

Arik looked at him for a moment, the knife still poised over the fruit.

Then he said, "By being old."

Liam blinked. "The alcohol?"

"Yes."

"You cannot simply say old and expect me to understand the economy of imperial alcoholism."

Arik’s mouth curved faintly. "Some bottles are older than current governments."

Liam stared.

Arik returned to cutting the fruit with infuriating calm. "Some are older than Wrohan’s present royal line. A few are older than the current borders of Agaron, though Edward argues that opening those bottles qualifies as historical vandalism."

Liam lowered his cup slowly. "Edward hides alcohol from you to protect cultural heritage?"

"And household discipline."

"You are Crown Prince."

"Yes."

"And still being parented by your steward."

"Yes."

Liam considered that.

Then said, "That is comforting, actually."

Arik’s eyes lifted. "Is it?"

"Yes. It means the imperial household has at least one functioning safety mechanism."

"Edward would be pleased to hear that."

Liam shook his head, but the edge of his mouth betrayed him.

Kamal, who had not been in the room but was somehow spiritually present, had probably approved.

Dinner had passed like that, unexpectedly easy in places Liam had expected to feel sharp. They spoke of preferences because Arik had asked for them, and somehow the questions had not felt shallow. They felt like measurements taken for a room someone intended to build properly.

Favorite food.

Favorite scent.

What Liam disliked in the morning.

Whether he preferred quiet or conversation after waking.

Whether Arik slept lightly.

Whether Liam kicked people out of bed.

"Only if they deserve it," Liam had said.

Arik had looked at him with a warmth that made the answer feel less threatening than it should have.

Now Liam lay in Arik’s bed, and the strange, easy rhythm of dinner had been replaced by something far more difficult to categorize.

The bed was too comfortable.

That was the first offense.

The second was Arik.

The man had pulled him close with no visible concern for dignity, arranged him against his chest as if Liam were something soft and expensive that might be misplaced if not held properly, and settled one arm around his waist with the contented possessiveness of a large predator given a favorite toy.

A very cherished toy.

A very warm toy.

A toy who had opinions and could bite.

Liam stared at the dark glass beyond the bedroom, where Alexandria shone in distant blue lines through the partially dimmed privacy field. The suite had gone into night mode, with all gold lights dimmed to a low amber glow along the floor and wall panels. The air smelled faintly of clean linen, Arik’s skin, and whatever subtle ether filtration the Agaronian delegation employed to make diplomatic rooms feel less foreign.

Behind him, Arik breathed evenly.

Not asleep.

Liam could tell.

The bond gave him away.

Warm. Amused. Watchful.

Liam narrowed his eyes. "You are enjoying this."

Arik’s voice came from behind him, low and close enough to brush over the back of his neck. "Yes."

"At least deny it."

"No."

Liam shifted slightly, mostly to test the grip around his waist.

Arik’s arm tightened just enough to make it very clear that Arik had no intention of surrendering his newly reacquired pillow.

Liam paused.

A strange sense of déjà vu brushed across his skin, but he refused to think about it.

He loved the warmth of Arik in bed with him.

Liam frowned.

Arik’s thumb moved once over his stomach, slow and lazy through the thin sleeping set Kamal had somehow provided without ever discussing sizes.

"You are thinking loudly," Arik murmured.

"I am thinking privately."

"No, you are thinking directly into the bond with the emotional force of a factory alarm."

Liam turned his head slightly. "That is a terrible comparison."

"You would know."

He could hear the smile in Arik’s voice.

He did not turn around fully because that would put their faces too close, and then he would have to make decisions about that.

Which led to the third problem.

Arik had not tried anything.

Anything, in this case, meant sex.

Dinner had ended. They had washed up. Arik had handed him the set with all the composure in the world, then looked away while Liam changed, which had been both respectful and suspiciously disappointing. Then he had guided him to bed, pulled him close, kissed the back of his head once, and settled down as though sleep were the agreed agenda.

No hands wandering.

No teasing.

No smug alpha confidence turning into heat.

Nothing.

Liam had expected restraint.

He had not expected this much restraint.

It was unsettling.

He moved again.

Arik’s arm tightened again.

Liam said, carefully, "Are we sleeping?"

"Yes."

The answer came too smoothly.

Liam turned enough to look at him over his shoulder.

Arik was lying on his side behind him, black hair slightly loose from its earlier perfection, golden eyes half-lidded, mouth curved in a faint expression that could only be called satisfaction. Without the coat, without the suit, with his shirt open at the throat and sleeves gone entirely now, he looked unfairly comfortable.

And entertained.

That was unacceptable.

Liam narrowed his eyes. "You are having fun."

"Yes."

"At my expense."

"Partly."

"Arik."

Arik’s smile deepened by the smallest degree. "You are confused because I have not tried to seduce you."