The Reborn Sovereign of Ruin, Bound by His Star

The silence that followed the departure of the Agaronian motorcade was not peaceful at all.

George stood on the obsidian-stone driveway of the palace, his hands clasped behind his back in a pose he hoped looked regal.

In reality, he was shaking.

The Ray-George scandal was a lead weight around his neck, and the sudden, predatory interest of the Crown Prince of Agaron had felt like the only life raft available. He had paired Liam with Arik to satisfy a diplomatic debt, to move the problem of his brilliant, difficult grandson into someone else’s hands before Felix could turn the boy into a battlefield.

Behind him, the air grew cold, smelling faintly of ozone and rotting lilies.

"That was," Felix Canmore said, his voice a silk-wrapped blade, "Singularly foolish, George."

George did not turn around immediately.

He could not.

He was too busy trying to settle the frantic rhythm of his own heart.

"I am the king, Felix," he said at last. "I made a decision for the stability of the Crown. Agaron wanted Liam, and I’m not going to lose all the power and money tied to this treaty because you couldn’t keep your hands to yourself."

The words cut into the space between them.

For a moment, Felix did not answer.

George finally turned.

Felix stood beneath the pale afternoon light with one hand on the silver head of his cane, white hair falling past his shoulders, eyes soft purple and flat with controlled rage. He looked elegant. Cold. Almost fragile in the way expensive porcelain looked fragile before it sliced skin open.

George hated that about him.

He hated that Felix could stand there, over ninety and aging too fast, with his rot showing only at the edges, and still make the palace driveway feel like a room where George had been summoned rather than a place where he ruled.

"You brought Agaron to Liam," Felix said.

"They were already looking at him."

"They were looking at many things. You gave them permission to look openly."

George’s mouth tightened. "You no longer get to lecture me about permission."

Felix’s eyes narrowed.

George had spent decades letting Felix maneuver in the shadows, letting him decide which scandal lived, which bloodline stayed buried, which house was useful, and which person had to be corrected. And what had it earned him? A public scandal. A furious Armstrong household. Ravenwood turning legal teeth toward the palace. Ray’s ancestry was dragged into every salon in the capital while courtiers pretended they had not known for years.

"You let Enia Ravenwood and Mirelle Armstrong turn the capital into a butcher’s table," George said. "You struck Liam. You left marks. Marks, Felix. On the face of a dominant omega tied to Armstrong blood, Ravenwood money, and now, apparently, Agaronian interest."

Felix’s expression did not change. "Liam should have learned obedience."

George laughed once.

It was ugly and short.

"Obedience? Liam is your grandson. Obedience is the last thing he could inherit from his bloodline."

Felix’s eyes narrowed by a fraction.

George felt the small victory of it immediately and hated how satisfying it was.

"There," George said. "You dislike hearing it said aloud."

"I dislike stupidity said confidently."

"No, you dislike mirrors." George turned fully now, anger giving his spine a steadier shape than fear had managed. "Liam has your temper, your spite, your obsessive little need to win every room by outthinking it first. He has Ray’s arrogance, my blood, Armstrong’s money, Ravenwood’s discipline, and whatever miserable spark makes him look at powerful men as if they were badly maintained equipment. And you thought you could beat obedience into him?"

Felix’s hand tightened over the head of his cane.

George smiled without warmth. "You should have known better."

"I knew enough," Felix said. "Until you decided to wave him under Agaron’s nose like a peace offering."

"You left me no choice."

"I left you several. You chose the one that made you feel like a king."

George’s smile died.

Felix stepped closer, the scent of ozone and rotting lilies sharpening between them. "Do not pretend this was strategy. You saw Arik looking at Liam and became greedy."

"Greedy?" George laughed. "Felix, my dear, we both know that we are here only because of greed. Arik wants Liam, and I want Agaron’s technology and money."

His jaw worked before he continued.

"And you are mad because this is not a punishment for Liam. Stop pretending you are noble when even your pheromones are rotting."

For one second, Felix did not move.

That was how George knew he had cut deep.

Felix could absorb insults about power. About age. About scandal. About Ray. He could even endure being called afraid if he was allowed to wrap the word in enough silence afterward to make it look like contempt.

But the pheromones?

The rot?

That struck too close to the thing Felix had spent decades perfuming over.

The air grew colder.

The scent thickened around Felix, ozone sharpening until the palace guards near the door went rigid and the floral undertone curdled into something sweet and dead.

George’s stomach recoiled.

He forced himself not to step back.

Felix smiled.

It was not beautiful anymore.

"Careful," he said.

George’s own smile was shaking, but he held it. "No. I have been careful for years, and look where that got me. Ray’s face is on every gossip sheet in the capital. Armstrong and Ravenwood are against me. Agaron is watching the palace like a butcher choosing where to cut first. And you stand here lecturing me because I used Liam before you could break him into something more convenient."

Felix’s eyes narrowed. "You think Arik wants him because he is pretty and difficult."

"I think Arik wants him because he is a dominant omega of high blood, with enough intelligence to amuse a foreign prince and enough scandal to make him useful."

"You are a fool."

"I am a king."

"You are a fool with a throne."

George’s hand curled behind his back.

Felix saw it and smiled wider.

"Hit me," Felix said softly. "Go on. You have wanted to for years."

George’s pulse thundered.

Yes. He had.

He had wanted to strike Felix a hundred times. When Felix corrected him in council chambers with a single look. When Felix kept Ray hidden and called it a necessity. When Felix blocked recognition, redirected funds, buried records, and made George feel like a guest in his own kingdom.

But George was not stupid enough to hit Felix in front of witnesses.

Not yet.

"That is your problem," George said instead. "You think violence proves ownership."

"And you think paperwork does."

"At least paperwork survives court."

"So does fear."

George grinned. "Not when you are trembling with Agaron’s crown prince in the room."