The Reborn Sovereign of Ruin, Bound by His Star

Arik was indeed in the Sun Room.

Of course he was.

And he was dressed like the crown prince he was, which meant Wrohan’s vulgar little room had finally met someone capable of making it feel underdressed. White and gold formal tailoring, not overworked, not desperate, just expensive enough to make the palace around him appear as if it had been trying too hard for years. The fabric sat clean over his shoulders. The rings on his hands caught the light with aristocratic laziness. His black hair was brushed back. His golden eyes were steady and bright in the flood of morning sun.

He stood near the long windows as if light had been arranged for him personally and everyone else were simply making do.

At his sides stood Mezos and Noah.

Both were properly composed.

Both were also looking at Liam with expressions that immediately made him suspicious.

Noah’s face carried that particular kind of strained civility that suggested he was trying very hard not to react to something only he found hilarious. Mezos looked calm like he had already accepted that disaster was inevitable and was now judging the quality of it.

Liam stopped half a step inside the room.

George, beside him, brightened with the confidence of a man about to lie in public and call it statesmanship.

"Your Highness," the king said, all polished warmth now, "thank you for your patience. I thought it best to bring Lord Liam personally, given the matter we discussed."

Liam felt something cold and pointed move through him.

’You disgusting, ambitious little reptile.’

So George intended to make this look like his idea.

Arik turned toward them.

His expression was composed, princely, and slightly amused. The kind of expression that indicated he was either behaving well or about to become a problem in silk.

"Your Majesty," Arik said. "How efficient of you."

George smiled as if he had just been praised.

"Yes. I thought clarity would serve us all."

Mezos’s gaze flicked to Liam for a single second.

It said many things.

The loudest among them was: please do not kill the king before lunch.

Noah’s expression said something much less diplomatic and much more entertaining.

Liam, because his life was apparently committed to new levels of irritation, looked at Arik and had the immediate, deeply inconvenient thought that the prince had no right looking that good in morning light while Liam was being bartered like a strategic pressure valve.

Arik’s eyes rested on him long enough to acknowledge him. Short enough not to expose too much in front of George. Precise enough to make Liam instantly aware that whatever game George thought he was playing, Arik had likely arrived several moves earlier.

Interesting.

Infuriating.

A little relieving, which was frankly humiliating.

George stepped further into the room, already building the fiction around himself.

"A formal introduction between you two is long overdue, but Felix always found our Liam a bit troublesome."

’Our Liam.’

Liam felt something violent and immediate rise in his chest.

George turned with the smooth, proprietary pride of a man unveiling an investment he had only recently remembered to claim.

"Your Highness, may I properly present Lord Liam Sienna Canmore," he said and paused just long enough to make the next part sound chosen rather than dragged out of scandal, "my grandson."

Silence.

Liam looked at Arik and wondered whether the prince would laugh, kill someone, or do something worse and remain polite.

George, misunderstanding the room as usual, continued with calm confidence. "Dominant omega. Exceptional technical mind. Strong bloodline, as you can see. His mother is Enia Ravenwood, née Armstrong Branch, and through Ray he is of direct relevance to the crown."

’Of direct relevance.’

’Wonderful.’

’I had become from administrative inconvenience to bloodline brochure in under a week.’

Arik’s expression remained perfectly composed.

"Lord Liam Sienna Canmore," he repeated, as though testing the shape of the full name aloud.

It should not have done anything to Liam.

It did.

Because Arik, unlike George, sounded as though he were introducing a person and not arranging inventory.

George pressed on, eager now. "There were... unfortunate complications in the Canmore handling of him. But with proper support and clearer direction, I believe Liam’s better qualities could be put to excellent use."

Liam turned his head slowly toward the king.

"My better qualities?"

George smiled without looking at him. "Your intelligence. Your classification. Your potential."

"That is an offensive list."

"That is reality."

"No," Liam said. "That is sales language."

Noah looked one second away from smiling outright.

Mezos had retreated into the kind of stillness that men used when they wanted to survive without reacting visibly to stupidity.

George ignored all of them and looked at Arik again, performing sincerity with the confidence of a man who had never once been properly slapped by consequences.

"I want to be clear, Your Highness. Liam’s position has not always been... presented correctly. I regret that. Wrohan regrets that. There has been too much influence from outdated domestic interests."

’You unbelievable little rat,’ Liam thought, staring at him.

Felix had become ’outdated domestic interests.’

Violence had become ’presentation.’

Years of neglect had become a branding problem.

Arik’s gaze settled on George with that same calm precision Liam was beginning to recognize as deeply unsafe.

"And now?" Arik asked.

George smiled. "Now I would prefer transparency."

That almost made Liam laugh.

Instead, he leaned back in the chair with the loose, offensive ease of a man about to throw himself directly under the wheels of the conversation on purpose.

"I don’t think I’m the best person for this," he said.

George’s smile faltered.

Liam continued before anyone could interrupt. "I don’t know much about being a consort or whatever duties come attached to the title. I’m not especially keen on sharing my mate with someone else, and, unless the capital has suddenly suffered a collective head injury, there is fairly constant talk that His Highness has a type."

Noah’s face changed.

Mezos went completely, beautifully still

George, idiot that he was, kept his smile.

"And what type is that?" Arik asked smoothly.

Liam looked at him, very aware now that he was doing something somewhere between strategic retreat and public self-harm.

"Blond," he said. "Soft. Male omegas who look decorative in palace lighting and know how to stand quietly beside important furniture."

Noah looked away.

Mezos’s mouth twitched once and then locked down with military discipline.

Liam went on, because if he were already bleeding, he might as well do it cleanly.

"I am none of those things. I’m difficult, badly suited to silence, professionally annoying, and entirely too aware that royal households tend to treat people like me as either assets or corrections. So if this is George trying to sell you a solution, I’m informing you in advance that I am a terrible product."

George’s expression tightened with every word.

"Liam," he said warningly.