The Reborn Sovereign of Ruin, Bound by His Star

"You’re serious."

George looked mildly annoyed. "Of course."

A knock sounded at the door before Liam could decide whether that answer deserved laughter or a chair thrown at the king’s head.

George’s irritation vanished so quickly it would have been impressive in a better man. "Enter."

The door opened.

A secretary stepped inside with the careful neutrality of someone who had worked long enough in the palace to recognize the texture of bad private meetings and had perfected the art of surviving them by becoming visually forgettable. He was middle-aged, narrow-faced, dressed in immaculate dark gray, and carrying a tablet held a little too tightly for this to be routine.

"Your Majesty," he said, bowing first to George and then, after the briefest pause, to Liam. "His Highness Crown Prince Arik of Agaron is waiting in the Sun Room."

For one beat, the room did not move.

Then Liam slowly turned his head to George.

George’s face remained composed, but there was something in it now Liam had not seen ten minutes ago: haste. Calculation shifting from leisurely ugliness into urgency.

’So this is all this meeting about.’ He sneered mentally because he still had control over his mind, despite his usual behavior.

George wanted him in the same room as Arik.

Liam’s curiosity grew so fast it almost drowned out the disgust.

The secretary continued, because apparently suicide through etiquette was today’s palace theme. "His Highness stated that he would appreciate Your Majesty’s convenience."

Liam bit the inside of his cheek very carefully to avoid smiling.

’Would appreciate.’

Yes. That sounded like Arik, if one translated it correctly into the far more honest language of imperial menace.

George rose.

"Good," he said, smoothing one cuff. "Tell the Crown Prince we’ll join him at once."

The secretary bowed and withdrew without another word.

Silence followed.

Liam remained seated for exactly one second longer than was polite.

Then he stood.

George’s eyes flicked toward him. "Come."

Liam looked at him with fresh, almost scientific contempt. "Your Majesty arranged this."

George adjusted the line of his jacket. "I arranged nothing. The prince requested an audience. The timing is simply advantageous."

"That sounded like a lie in a better suit."

George’s mouth tightened. "You are not required to enjoy the process."

"No," Liam said. "Only to survive being moved through it, apparently."

George’s gaze sharpened. "You would do well to remember where you are."

Liam looked around the room, at the gold, the carved tables, and the expensive vulgarity, and then at the piano by the window, still the only object in the chamber with enough dignity to resist the décor.

"I am in a palace," he said. "The evidence has been aggressively available."

George’s jaw flexed.

Then, because he was too close to whatever goal he had in mind to waste time on open hostility, he said only, "Walk."

Liam followed him out, but mentally he was already swearing in three languages.

He still wanted to see exactly how George intended to use him.

That, more than anything, had become the interesting part.

From what Liam could tell, George still did not know he had already met Arik. The king spoke as if he were positioning an unknown commodity in front of a foreign prince, certain that first impressions still belonged to him and certain he could shape the room by controlling the order in which people entered it.

’This is going to be either funny, absurd or a war declaration.’ Liam thought.

They moved through another set of corridors, this section brighter than the last. The palace’s private wings had a way of escalating their own self-importance by light level alone. Here the walls were pale stone threaded with gold leaf in patterns that pretended to be delicate and only succeeded in being expensive. Tall windows lined the outer corridor, casting long rectangles of midday sun across the floor. Servants bowed and disappeared. Guards opened doors before George reached them, like clockwork designed by cowards.

Liam walked half a step behind the king and watched the palace breathe around him.

He could feel the load on the ether lines just from the amount of waste built into the architecture. Climate control. Decorative warding. Light arrays. Privacy screens. Imported glass that did not need to be here, except that someone with a crown had once mistaken cost for vision.

Outside the capital, people were still repairing relay damage with secondhand copper and prayer.

Inside, George had built himself a corridor bright enough to flatter his own face at noon.

"How far is this sunroom?" Liam asked at last.

George did not look back. "Does the distance offend you?"

"No," Liam said. "The building does. I was wondering whether the offense had a destination."

That earned him nothing but a colder line at the king’s shoulders.

’Fucker.’

They turned at the end of the hall.

Two royal guards stood before a pair of high glass doors veiled in white curtains that moved faintly in the warm filtered air beyond them. The room behind them was flooded with late morning light, bright enough that the space inside looked less like a chamber and more like a controlled illusion of peace.

The Sun Room.

One of the guards opened the doors.

George paused just before entering and finally looked at Liam directly.

For the first time since the secretary’s interruption, his expression was almost honest.

"Whatever private opinions you may have formed," he said, "this is now a matter of the crown."

Liam’s brow lifted. "Which crown?"

George’s face hardened, his green eyes darkening under the thick brown brows.

Liam, because he could not help himself and because self-preservation had never once in his life succeeded in becoming his best quality, added, "Yours is having a difficult week."

The king said nothing and turned away from his newly recognized grandson.

Liam didn’t get to address that part of their conversation, but there was still time, and the meeting was pointless.

’Arik likes blonde omegas,’ Liam thought with a small smile.

The king stepped through the doors.

Liam followed him into the light.