The Reborn Sovereign of Ruin, Bound by His Star

Later, Enia left, but before she went, she placed Liam’s usual suppressants on the table, gave Arik one more look that contained several international warnings, and said, "Keep him near you."

Liam, already regretting having a body, looked up. "For heat reasons?"

"For heat reasons," Enia said. "And security."

Liam’s hand stilled near the small medication case.

Enia’s gaze moved between them. "George has already made you public. Felix will not ignore that. Neither will anyone who thinks hurting you will pressure Agaron, Ravenwood, or Canmore." Her red eyes returned to Liam. "So stay close to the one person in this palace whose presence makes people hesitate."

Liam hated that she was right.

He hated more that his instincts agreed before his pride could object.

"I am not a diplomatic hostage," he muttered.

"No," Enia said. "You’re a loud-mouthed opinionated security disaster."

Arik coughed once into his hand.

Liam pointed at him. "Don’t."

Enia kissed Liam’s forehead before he could dodge, brief and merciless, then left with her aides and enough contained fury to make the access wards flicker after her.

For several seconds after the door closed, neither Liam nor Arik spoke.

Then Liam looked at the medication case.

"My mother brought suppressants and threats."

"She is terrifying."

"You admire her."

"Yes."

"That is a problem."

Arik’s mouth curved. "For whom?"

Liam did not answer because the suppressants were already beginning to drag at the edges of him. The familiar formulation was better than the emergency dose he had taken before, steadier, and gentler, but his body was exhausted, and the lingering heat still sulked beneath his skin like a storm denied permission to break.

He lasted fifteen minutes pretending he was functional.

Then he sat on the sofa close to Arik’s desk, then he leaned against the armrest, and then he blinked once and noticed the room had slanted into softness around him.

Arik had returned to work.

The Crown Prince of Agaron sat behind the desk with three projection screens open, one tablet angled beneath his hand, and the look of a man quietly dismantling another nation’s administrative spine before lunch. The faint gold lines on his coat caught the ether light every time he moved.

It was unfair.

Liam pulled a blanket over himself with great irritation.

"I am not sleeping," he announced.

Arik did not look up. "Of course."

"I’m resting strategically."

"Very strategic."

"If anyone asks, I’m monitoring your work."

"I feel supervised."

"You should."

Arik’s fingers moved over the tablet. "Then I’ll try to be impressive."

Liam hummed, already half gone. "You’re always impressive. It’s annoying."

The typing stopped.

Liam sank further into the sofa, too tired to grasp the impact of his own words.

Arik’s pheromones threaded quietly through the space, keeping the remaining unease beneath Liam’s skin from rising again.

His eyes closed.

Near the desk, Arik resumed work more slowly.

Every few minutes, his gaze drifted from the treaty draft to the sofa where Liam curled under the blanket.

To the soft rise and fall of his breathing.

To the medication case Enia had left, it was like both a blessing and a warning.

Outside the windows, Wrohan glittered in the bright modern morning, all ether-lit towers, polished glass, and rot under gold.

Inside, Liam slept close enough to reach, and Arik kept working, one hand on the future of two nations and the other ready to burn the room down if anyone tried to touch him.

—

The suite stayed quiet for almost an hour.

Soft etherlight moved across the projection screens above Arik’s desk while reports shifted under his fingers in clean, precise motions. Trade routes. Energy allocation demands. Wrohan ministers attempting to disguise panic beneath bureaucratic language.

Occasionally, Arik looked toward the sofa.

Liam remained asleep.

One arm tucked beneath the blanket. Brown hair falling into his eyes. Breathing slow and steady now that the suppressants had finally stabilized him properly.

Arik had discovered something unfortunate in the last twenty-four hours.

He liked looking at Liam.

Constantly.

It was becoming a problem.

A discreet knock sounded against the suite door.

Arik’s gaze sharpened immediately as everyone entering this room now had to survive his mood.

"Enter."

The door opened carefully.

Noah stepped inside with the alert caution of a man approaching an active military device.

Which, frankly, was accurate.

Noah Claymore had spent the last three days wisely avoiding prolonged exposure to Arik while Liam’s heat, suppressants, political disaster, and increasingly obvious emotional attachment turned the crown prince into something unpredictably calm.

That calmness was what frightened Noah.

Arik in a bad mood was manageable.

Arik quietly in love was the kind of thing that destabilized nations.

Noah glanced toward the sofa first.

Saw Liam asleep and the proximity to Arik’s desk.

Then looked at Arik with the expression of a man who suddenly understood several things he absolutely did not want confirmed aloud.

"I come bearing administrative updates and absolutely no judgment," Noah said quietly.

"Wise."

Noah approached the desk slowly and lowered a small data tablet onto the surface.

"The watch sold."

Arik looked down briefly.

The platinum watch.

The one he had promised the old fortune teller in the market district after she read the cards and spoke about stars, emperors, and devils with the unsettling confidence of someone staring directly at fate and finding it entertaining.

The transfer amount blinked on the screen.

Noah folded his arms. "Do you want me to transfer the funds through the accounts department, or would you prefer to hand it over personally?"

Arik’s eyes flicked toward Liam again automatically.

The faint scent of saint’s breath lingered softly in the room beneath the warm stone of Arik’s pheromones.

Arik leaned back slightly in his chair.

"Bring her here."

Noah blinked once. "The fortune teller?"

"Yes."

"To the diplomatic palace?"

"To one of the waiting rooms."

Noah stared.

Then looked at Liam.

Then back at Arik.

Understanding dawned with terrible clarity.

"You don’t want to leave the suite."

"No."

The answer came too fast to pretend otherwise.

Noah’s mouth twitched violently.

Arik narrowed his eyes. "Be careful."

"I’m trying," Noah said with visible effort. "It’s just difficult watching the future Emperor of Agaron turn into a guard dog emotionally."

Arik looked entirely unrepentant. "Liam’s condition is still unstable."

"Mhm."

"And George publicly announced an engagement without consent."

"Also true."

"And Felix now knows Liam is politically tied to Agaron."

"Still true."

Arik spread one hand slightly as if the conclusion should now be obvious to everyone with functioning survival instincts.

Noah sighed.

"You know," he muttered, "most people spiral into emotional vulnerability with poetry or alcohol. You escalated directly into territorial security protocols."

"I am efficient."

"That is not the comforting personality trait you think it is."

Arik ignored him.

Noah looked toward the sofa again.

Liam shifted slightly in his sleep, curling deeper into the blanket at the sound of voices before settling again.

Noah went very still.

Then slowly looked back at Arik.

"Oh," he said softly.

Arik’s expression did not change.

Which confirmed everything.

Noah rubbed a hand over his face. "Gabriel and Damian are going to be unbearable about this."

"Yes."

"They’re going to look at you like they personally invented romance."

"That sounds like a punishment."

"It is."

Arik’s gaze drifted back toward Liam automatically.

The softness in it lasted less than a second.

Still long enough for Noah to see it.

Noah exhaled slowly.

"Well," he said, resigned now to living inside history’s strangest diplomatic disaster, "I’ll have the old woman escorted to a secure waiting room. Quietly."

"Good."

"And the transfer?"

Arik glanced once more at the data tablet.

Then toward the sleeping omega on the sofa.

"I’ll do it myself."

Noah’s mouth twitched again. "Of course you will."

As he turned toward the door, Arik spoke without looking away from Liam.

"And Noah?"

"Yes?"

"Make sure no one disturbs him."

Noah paused.

Then, with the exhausted dignity of a man witnessing the collapse of plausible deniability in real time, he said, "You are down catastrophically."

Arik picked up another report.

"I don’t know what you mean."

"Liar."