The Reborn Sovereign of Ruin, Bound by His Star

By the time Enia arrived, Liam had managed to dress like a person who had not spent the morning in another man’s bed threatening regicide over breakfast.

Mostly.

The clothes Arik’s staff brought actually fit him this time.

Dark tailored trousers, a pale high-collared shirt with discreet conductive seams, and a long green-gray coat cut with the kind of modern precision Wrohan tailors would have killed for. The fabric was light, breathable, expensive, and threaded faintly with stabilizing ether filament along the cuffs.

It matched him.

Which was suspicious.

Arik, unfortunately, was also properly dressed.

Which, in Liam’s increasingly compromised opinion, meant fucking handsome.

Black tailored trousers. A fitted dark shirt with a crisp, structured collar. A long imperial coat fastened with matte black clasps, with only faint gold ether lines worked into the cuffs and shoulders for decoration.

Modern royal authority distilled into fabric, posture, and the kind of face that made Liam briefly consider violence as emotional self-defense.

"You look smug," Liam accused, narrowing his eyes.

"I’m standing."

"You’re standing smugly."

Before Arik could answer, the suite doors opened with a soft pulse of the access wards.

Enia Ravenwood entered without waiting to be announced.

Behind her, two Ravenwood aides remained outside the threshold, their security badges glowing briefly as the diplomatic palace wards scanned them and decided, wisely, not to object.

Enia’s red eyes moved over Liam first, tracking every part of her son. The way he stood close enough to Arik indicated that his body had clearly decided that proximity was safer, even if his pride had been ignored.

Then she looked at Arik.

For a long second, no one spoke.

Liam prepared for bloodshed.

Possibly his.

"Mother," he said carefully.

Enia’s gaze returned to him. "You look better."

"I am better."

"You look like you slept."

Liam did not answer quickly enough.

Arik’s expression remained perfectly neutral.

Enia’s eyebrow lifted by a millimeter.

Liam wanted to dissolve into the floor.

Fortunately, Arik chose that moment to become useful.

His entire demeanor shifted with frightening ease, the warmth in his expression smoothing into something polished, gracious, and politically lethal. Not fake, exactly, but something worse. Charm that made ministers forget they had entered a room with objections and leave having signed three concessions.

Liam wanted to hit him on principle.

Mostly because Arik had never once wasted that version of himself on Liam.

No. Liam received smirks, devastating honesty, and borrowed pajamas.

"Lady Ravenwood," Arik said, his voice smooth enough to qualify as a diplomatic weapon, "we should move this to a better atmosphere. Your lovely son is momentarily living on fumes and spite. Let’s get him fed, and we can talk over the meal."

Liam turned his head slowly.

"Lovely son?"

Arik did not look at him.

’Coward.’

Enia studied the Crown Prince for one long, silent moment.

Then her gaze moved to Liam, taking in the faint pallor under his skin, the tension in his shoulders, and the way he was absolutely prepared to argue while clearly running on the last tragic crumbs of strength his body had left.

"Fine," she said.

Liam blinked. "Fine?"

"Yes. Unlike some people, I believe breakfast should happen before political warfare."

Arik’s mouth curved faintly.

Liam pointed at him. "Do not look vindicated."

"I wouldn’t dare." He said with a smile that implied he was doing it internally.

Enia turned without waiting for either of them and moved toward the dining area of the suite as if she had owned it for generations and the diplomatic palace of Wrohan had merely been slow to realize the fact.

A small round table had already been set near the windows, modern and elegant, with pale stone surfaces warmed by discreet ether-filaments beneath the edge. The staff had arranged breakfast with the efficiency of people who understood that royal guests, maternal rage, and recent medical incidents required both speed and aesthetic restraint.

Tea. Coffee. Warm bread. Eggs. Fruit. Soft cheese. Thin slices of smoked fish. A small pot of honey and another of jam. A second cup of hot chocolate, because apparently someone on Arik’s staff had decided Liam’s dignity was already beyond saving and might as well be hydrated with cocoa.

Liam sat because Enia looked at the chair.

Not because he was obedient.

Obviously.

Arik took the seat beside him, close enough that Liam could still feel the steadying warmth of his pheromones without either of them acknowledging it. Enia noticed that too, because mothers were terrifying and nothing escaped them.

She accepted tea from the attendant and waited until the door closed before speaking.

"Now," Enia said, setting the cup down untouched. "Explain."

Liam reached for the hot chocolate.

Arik reached for toast and placed it on Liam’s plate without asking.

Liam stared at it.

Arik looked back calmly.

Enia watched them both.

Liam picked up the toast because he did not have enough strength to fight two wars at once.

"The short version," Liam said, "is that George panicked."

"That is not an explanation. That is his natural state."

Arik’s lips twitched.

Liam continued, "After the Sun Room meeting, things escalated. Felix, Ray, the Canmore scandal, the engagement rumors, Agaron’s treaty pressure, all of it. George likely decided announcing my engagement to Arik would make it look like Wrohan still had control over the narrative."

"And over you," Enia said.

Liam’s jaw tightened. "Yes."

Arik’s voice entered smoothly. "He also assumed the announcement would force Agaron into responding carefully rather than rejecting it outright."

Enia looked at him. "Will Agaron reject it?"

The question landed cleanly.

Liam’s hand tightened around the cup.

Arik did not answer immediately.

Good.

If he had answered too quickly, Enia might have stabbed him with a butter knife for optimism.

"No," Arik said at last. "Not publicly. Rejecting it now would weaken Liam’s position here and give George room to claim confusion, miscommunication, or private consent."

Liam looked at him.

Arik’s attention remained on Enia, but his hand shifted beneath the table, resting briefly against Liam’s knee, trying to calm him down.

Liam hated how well Arik was learning him.

Enia’s eyes narrowed slightly. "So you intend to keep the announcement."

"I intend," Arik said, "to take control of it."

A pause.

Then Enia smiled.

Liam immediately felt alarmed.

"Oh no," he muttered.

Arik glanced at him. "What?"

"She liked that answer."

"I did," Enia said.

"That is bad for everyone."

"Only for George and Felix."

Arik lifted his coffee. "Then we are aligned."

Liam looked between them and felt a terrible sense of prophecy descending over breakfast.

"I don’t like this."

"You don’t have to," Enia said. "You only have to eat."

"That is emotional blackmail."

Arik placed fruit on his plate.

Liam stared at him. "You too?"

"Medical management."

"You are enjoying saying that."

"Yes."

Enia took her first sip of tea, then set it down with unnerving calm.

"Liam."

He looked at her.

Her expression changed. Not softer exactly. Enia’s softness had always been armored, built to survive rooms that mistook tenderness for weakness.

But it became quieter.

"I am relieved he did not coerce you."

Liam swallowed.

"He didn’t."

"You would tell me if he had."

"Yes."

It was almost true.

He wisely did not mention that Arik had originally said ’temporary,’ because that was not coercion and also because he had no desire to watch his mother dissect a Crown Prince over breakfast.

Enia looked at Arik anyway, as if she could hear the missing footnote.

Arik, to his credit, did not flinch.

"Good," Enia said.

Then she turned back to Liam.

"And I am not opposed to you leaving Wrohan."

Liam paused with the cup halfway to his mouth.

"What?"

Enia held his gaze.

"I have wanted you out of Wrohan for years."