The Reborn Sovereign of Ruin, Bound by His Star

"No," Arik said.

Liam waited.

Arik, predictably, did not rush to fill the silence.

That was irritating. Most men in Wrohan filled silence immediately, usually with lies, promises, excuses, or some polished little sentence meant to make the listener forget they were being moved like a piece on a board.

Arik simply stood there and let the truth sit between them as if it had no reason to be ashamed of itself.

Liam hated that too.

"That," Liam said, "requires more explanation than one syllable."

"The contracts expired after I came to Wrohan."

Liam stared at him, trying to understand if this was a man or a machine.

"The contracts."

"Yes."

"Of course they were contracts."

Arik’s mouth almost curved. "What else would they be?"

"I don’t know. Romance? Desire? A deeply unfortunate imperial hobby?"

Arik took the seat opposite Liam with a deeply handsome and irritating smile on his face.

"I had consorts only because the nobles tried to poison my father monthly at one point," he said. "They failed, but the imperial household can only execute so many noble families before civilians begin asking whether the capital is being run by governance or seasonal slaughter. So I stepped in, made a contest out of it, and gave the houses something else to obsess over. My father insisted I get rid of them, and as I’m currently away, he can handle the complaints from the noble families who didn’t get their contracts renewed."

Liam stared at him.

Then said, "Are you talking about lovers or coworkers?"

Arik’s mouth curved. "They were technically coworkers."

That was so insane Liam did not know where to stab first.

"You made a consort competition," he said slowly, "to keep the nobility from murdering your father out of boredom."

"Not boredom," Arik corrected. "Ambition."

"That is worse."

"Yes."

"And they agreed to this."

"They agreed to access. Titles nearby. Influence nearby. Visibility nearby. Nobles will endure many indignities if they can mistake proximity to power for ownership of it."

Liam leaned back and crossed his arms. "That is the least romantic thing I have ever heard."

"It was not romance."

"No," Liam said. "Apparently it was human resources."

Arik actually laughed.

Low. Brief. Entirely too pleased with himself.

Liam hated it as his heart skipped a beat every time Arik did it.

"So," he said, "your argument is that I should not be alarmed by previous consorts because they were contractual anti-poisoning coworkers."

"That is one way to phrase it."

"It is the correct way to phrase it."

Arik inclined his head as if granting a minor point in negotiation. "Then yes."

Liam looked at him for another second, then glanced toward the windows because maintaining direct eye contact with a prince saying these things in that voice felt unwise for reasons he refused to define.

"And your father," he said, "objected because he thought this was deranged."

"My father objected because he has standards."

"Which you clearly lack."

Arik’s smile deepened. "On the contrary. I have very specific standards. That is why the consorts are gone."

Liam looked at him for a long moment.

The Sun Room remained bright, polished, and offensively calm. Outside the glass, Wrohan continued pretending it was a functioning monarchy. Inside, Liam stood in front of a prince who had just admitted to wanting him, wanting Felix dead, and wanting a marriage rumor as cover for both.

Liam exhaled through his nose. "Fine."

Arik did not move.

That was somehow more suspicious than if he had smiled.

Liam crossed his arms tighter. "Do not look at me like that. I am not surrendering. I am being practical."

"I know."

"No, I don’t think you do." Liam’s red eyes narrowed. "You need access to Lab V. You need George to believe whatever version of this keeps him useful and stupid. I need Felix cornered, George overconfident, and the palace too distracted to interfere with what matters." He tilted his head. "If pretending we are headed toward some disgusting little arrangement buys us room to move, then fine."

Arik’s gaze remained on him, too steady, too interested.

’Bastard.’

Liam kept going before the silence could do anything dangerous. "Temporary," he said. "Strategic. A mutually beneficial fiction until Felix is dealt with and you are done in Wrohan."

Arik was quiet for one beat.

Then, "As you wish."

That should not have sounded the way it did.

It should have sounded like agreement, simple and tactical and cold.

Instead, it settled under Liam’s skin with the dangerous smoothness of something that had not objected because it had no intention of arguing now.

Liam noticed.

He simply chose, very intelligently and with full commitment to self-preservation, not to examine it too closely.

"Good," he said. "Then we understand each other."

Arik’s mouth curved faintly. "I do."

That answer was wrong in at least three different ways.

Liam ignored all of them on principle.

"George gets his treaty fantasy, you get your excuse for being near me, and I get to watch Felix lose his mind in stages."

"Yes."

"And when Felix is finished, you go back to Agaron and your actual life."

Arik held his gaze.

A lesser man might have lied.

A kinder man might have clarified.

Arik, apparently, preferred neither.

"My life," he said calmly, "has already become more complicated."

Liam’s brows drew together. "That was not the part you were supposed to answer like a riddle."

Arik’s expression remained infuriatingly mild. "And yet."

Liam stared at him.

No explanation came.

No correction.

No helpful statement of long-term intent.

Just that composed prince’s face and those gold eyes that kept looking at Liam as if the temporary part had been heard, filed, and very quietly rejected somewhere in a room Liam had not been invited into.

’Well. That sounds like a future problem.’

Which meant Liam would absolutely ignore it until it became fundamentally impossible.

He straightened. "Fine. Then we are agreed."

"Yes."

"Don’t sound so pleased."

"I’m not hiding it."

"That is the problem."

Arik’s smile deepened by half a degree. "Not mine."

Liam almost said something sharp enough to reopen the whole argument, but then George’s face floated helpfully into his imagination - smug, proprietary, delighted by the thought of having arranged anything at all - and irritation snapped his focus back into place.

No.

There were more urgent problems.

George. Felix. The gate.

The stupid, beautiful prince currently treating a political arrangement like he had already won something.

Liam looked toward the door. "If we’re doing this, then George needs to believe it was useful."

"He already does."

"Yes, but I want him unbearable. Confident enough to make mistakes."

Arik nodded once. "That can be arranged."

Liam’s mouth flattened. "You say that like you’ve been waiting."

"I have."

"Of course you have."

He returned his gaze to Arik and felt, with great reluctance, the shape of the thing settle into place. ’Temporary,’ he told himself. Once Felix was dead and Wrohan finished embarrassing itself, Arik would go back to Agaron, to the empire, to his proper life, and Liam would go back to Lab V and the thousand cleaner problems of steel, current, and heat.

That was reasonable.

That was sane.

That was what this was.

Arik, bastard that he was, said nothing to challenge it.

Instead, he only asked, "Will you come with me to the gate after this?"

Liam blinked once, wrong-footed by the abrupt shift and immediately irritated by how effective it was.

"The gate answered again?"

"Yes."

"To you?"

Arik only raised a brow in question.

Liam narrowed his eyes. "That is deeply offensive."

Arik’s expression turned almost thoughtful. "You’ll survive."

"That remains to be seen."

"Noted."