The Reborn Sovereign of Ruin, Bound by His Star

"What do you mean, poison?"

Arik’s expression shifted. The teasing warmth faded from his eyes for half a second, replaced by something older. Colder.

Before Liam could press further, the suite doors opened.

Noah stepped inside carrying a tablet in one hand and the expression of a man who had accepted that this diplomatic assignment was now spiritually cursed.

He looked directly at Arik and Liam tangled together near the door.

Paused.

Then visibly chose survival.

"Your Highness," Noah said smoothly, refusing to acknowledge the entanglement with the professionalism of a man preserving his own lifespan, "Kamal Veyr is waiting in the east saloon."

Liam felt Arik go completely still behind him, just as predators do before deciding whether something is real.

Noah noticed it too.

His expression sharpened faintly.

"Kamal?" Liam repeated slowly. "Who’s Kamal?"

Arik’s arm loosened from around Liam’s waist, though his hand remained there for one lingering second longer than necessary.

"We’ll talk later," he said quietly.

Liam narrowed his eyes immediately. "That is a deeply suspicious sentence."

"Yes."

"You can’t just say poison and then walk away into mysterious meetings."

"I can," Arik replied calmly. "You’ve met me."

Liam looked genuinely offended by the accuracy of that statement.

Noah, meanwhile, was staring at Arik with growing concern now that the prince had apparently forgotten how normal emotional reactions worked.

"Kamal Veyr?" Noah repeated carefully, testing the name aloud. "You know him?"

Arik’s gaze flicked toward him.

"Not personally."

Which, somehow, sounded worse.

Liam crossed his arms. "I hate when both of you become cryptic at the same time."

"You’ll survive."

"That remains unconfirmed."

Arik’s mouth curved faintly despite everything.

Then he looked back at Liam properly, gold eyes softer now beneath the exhaustion and whatever had settled inside him during the night.

"For the moment," he said, brushing his thumb once against Liam’s waist before finally stepping away, "eat something that wasn’t prepared by caffeine and desperation."

"For the moment," he said, brushing his thumb once against Liam’s waist before finally stepping away, "eat something that wasn’t prepared by caffeine and desperation."

"That feels targeted."

"It was."

"And you?"

"I have meetings." Arik sighed softly, already sounding annoyed by them. "Then I’ll deal with Lab V, Wrohan’s infrastructure collapse, your illegal engineering empire beneath the city, and whatever fresh disaster Felix creates before lunch."

Liam blinked once.

"You say these things too casually."

Arik picked up his coat from the chair beside the bed.

"Occupational hazard."

Noah watched the exchange with open fascination now.

"You two really do sound married already," he muttered.

Liam pointed at him instantly. "You shut up too."

Noah raised both hands in surrender while being very clearly not sorry.

Arik slid the dark imperial coat over his shoulders in one smooth movement, ether-threaded seams catching faint gold beneath the morning light.

Then he looked at Liam one last time before heading toward the door.

"Stay inside the secure floors until I return."

"That sounds like imprisonment."

"That’s because you keep trying to escape."

"I was going to my lab."

"You were going to commit infrastructure crimes unsupervised."

Liam opened his mouth.

Closed it.

Then muttered, "That is technically impossible to deny."

Arik smiled outright at that.

Warm stone and caramel brushed briefly through the room again as he passed close enough for Liam to catch the scent one last time before the prince stepped into the corridor with Noah beside him.

The doors closed softly behind them.

Silence settled over the suite.

Liam stared at the empty doorway for several long seconds.

Then narrowed his eyes toward nothing.

"Poison," he muttered darkly. "I am surrounded by emotionally compromised lunatics."

—

The east saloon of the diplomatic palace had once belonged to Wrohan’s older royal line before George renovated the wing into something aggressively modern and painfully expensive.

The ceilings still carried traces of old Nurian architecture beneath the ether-glass additions. Gold-veined marble columns. Long windows overlooking the eastern terraces. Quiet wardlines hidden beneath the floor.

Arik noticed all of it automatically.

Goliath noticed the flaws.

The realization was becoming increasingly irritating.

Mezos stood outside the doors when Arik arrived, arms folded across his chest, long red hair tied back sharply. His expression carried the exhausted calm of a man accepting that his prince had disappeared into increasingly supernatural political complications overnight.

"He insisted on checking the entire room himself," Mezos said quietly.

"Reasonable."

"He also threatened one of the Wrohan attendants for breathing too loudly."

Arik’s mouth curved faintly. "That sounds promising."

Mezos opened the doors.

The room beyond remained quiet.

Kamal stood near the windows with his hands folded behind his back.

For one suspended second, Arik forgot how to breathe.

Age had touched him carefully rather than kindly. He looked somewhere in his fifties now, though Arik knew perfectly well the alpha standing before him had survived nearly a century and a half of history refusing to die properly.

Dark golden skin.

Blue eyes.

Black hair streaked elegantly with white near the temples.

He wore a perfectly tailored dark suit threaded with faint silver ether lines along the cuffs and collar, modern enough to pass within Wrohan’s elite while still carrying the distinctive competence of someone who had once dressed emperors for war councils.

His posture was the same as Kamal’s decades ago.

The same impossible dignity Kamal had carried while informing Goliath that ministers were waiting, kingdoms were collapsing, and breakfast had been delayed.

Kamal looked at him as if he were examining a long-buried weapon.

Arik smiled faintly.

Kamal’s expression became instantly more suspicious.

Interesting.

"So," Arik said lightly as the doors closed behind him, "you’re the man who lost faith in reincarnation."

Kamal did not react immediately.

His gaze moved over Arik with quiet vigilance instead. Measuring height. Posture. Ether pressure. The rhythm of his breathing. The way he occupied space.

Searching for Goliath.

Finding too much and not enough.

Finally, Kamal spoke.

"You stand differently."

Arik raised a brow. "That’s your opening statement?"

"You stand differently," Kamal repeated calmly. "His Majesty carried his left shoulder slightly lower before the poisoning. You do not."

Ah.

There he was.

Arik felt something dangerously close to laughter stir in his chest.

"You waited over sixty years," he said softly, "and the first thing you say to me is that my posture improved."

Kamal’s eyes narrowed slightly.

Mezos, standing near the wall now, looked between them with growing concern.

"This," Mezos muttered under his breath, "feels deeply personal in a way I dislike."

Arik ignored him completely.

Kamal still had not bowed, still trying to understand who was standing in front of him.

The steward’s gaze sharpened faintly. "You smile more."

"That sounds accusatory."

"It is observational."

"I had better parents this time."