"You believe Empress Gabriel is silent."

"In the proper moments, surely." George hesitated, then added, with the confidence of a man who had mistaken a ceremonial portrait for a personality file, "One does not remain beside a man like Emperor Damian without understanding obedience."

Mezos’s forehead touched two fingers.

Arik stared at George.

The silence was exquisite.

Then Arik smiled.

"Oh," he said. "You are very brave."

George blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

"No, truly." Arik leaned forward, elbows resting lightly on the arms of his chair. "That is the bravest assessment of my father I have heard in years."

George’s smile returned, uncertain but flattered. "I only speak from observation."

"From pictures and ceremony footage, I assume." Arik spoke, his golden eyes twinkling with the cruel amusement of a man watching another dig his own tumb.

"And diplomatic broadcasts."

"Of course."

"Empress Gabriel is admired in Wrohan."

"I am sure he will be thrilled."

Mezos made another sound, this time so strangled that George finally glanced at him.

"Is your man ill?"

"My man," Arik repeated.

Mezos looked at the ceiling.

The gods, if present, refused to help.

Arik’s smile sharpened. "Chief Mezos is merely moved by your insight."

George nodded. "Agaron’s court discipline is admirable."

"It is." Arik’s voice turned velvet-soft. "For instance, if someone in Agaron publicly described Empress Gabriel as decorative, silent, obedient, or properly shelved, the court would remain extremely disciplined."

George appeared relieved, his entire body slumping in relief. "Precisely."

Mezos whispered, "Gods."

Arik continued, "No screaming. No vulgar outrage. No loss of composure."

"That is refinement."

"Exactly. The offender would simply disappear from every guest list, trade corridor, banking privilege, border permit, and social registry before dessert."

George’s smile froze.

"And that," Arik said, still pleasant, "would be if Gabriel handled it."

Mezos pressed his lips together so hard it looked painful. His hands clasped so tightly behind his back that his wrist turned white.

George swallowed. "If... Empress Gabriel handled it."

"Yes. My other father has a less administrative temperament." Arik said with such a sweet smile that Mezos didn’t know if he should start believing in a god or consider Arik one.

The king’s green eyes flickered at last.

A small, delayed survival instinct.

Arik let it bloom.

Then he leaned back again, effortless and cruelly amused. "But please. Continue. You were explaining that Liam Canmore is nothing like the decorative, obedient Empress of Agaron."

George’s mouth opened.

Closed.

Mezos turned his head just enough for Arik to see the corner of his mouth twitch.

Arik looked perfectly serene.

Like a saint.

Like an executioner.

Like a brat who had just found the stupidest man in Wrohan and decided to make him perform for free.

George cleared his throat. "Perhaps I phrased that poorly."

"No," Arik said. "You phrased it beautifully."

"Did I?"

"Exceptionally."

Mezos whispered, "Historically, even."

George looked even more uncertain.

Arik’s smile did not move.

"Now," he said, "what do you want to receive from me for your nephew?"

George froze.

"My...?"

"Your nephew," Arik said mildly. "Ray Canmore is Felix’s son. Felix is not king. You are. The genealogy is inconvenient, but not difficult."

George’s face drained of confidence.

Mezos looked toward the window because George’s expression was becoming dangerous to his composure.

"I’m not sure where Your Highness heard such a ridiculous rumor," George said, his eyes widening so much that Mezos could see the limited gears inside trying to process what was happening.

"I did not ask where I heard it. I asked what you want."

George’s first instinct was offense, but greed strangled it quickly.

"If Agaron’s interest in Liam is sincere," George said carefully, "then naturally the matter could affect current negotiations."

"Naturally."

"The treaty between Agaron and Wrohan has suffered from unnecessary obstruction."

"Felix’s old-fashioned ideas," Arik said.

George’s eyes flashed with a momentary offense, but he recovered fast. "Felix is a loyal servant of Wrohan, but he is... cautious. He does not always understand the value of modern alignment."

"Meaning he does not want the treaty."

"He fears Agaron’s influence."

"How provincial." Arik spoke with a bad imitation of Wrohan’s aristocratic accent.

"Exactly," George said, relieved to hear agreement and too stupid to hear the mockery beneath it. "Wrohan needs this treaty. Ether storage access. Technical exchange. Stabilized trade routes. Agaron’s recognition would shift several internal balances."

"And you want those balances shifted away from Felix."

George smiled thinly. "I want Wrohan to stop being held hostage by old men who believe fear is a governing method."

Mezos’s eyes moved slowly toward him.

The hypocrisy entered the room, sat down, and made itself comfortable.

Arik’s expression remained pleasant. "How noble."

George missed that too.

"I am a practical man, Your Highness."

"Tragically evident."

George nodded, as if complimented. "If your interest in Liam is genuine, I would be willing to facilitate matters."

"Facilitate."

"Yes. The boy is difficult, but his position can be clarified. His father can be managed. Felix can be overruled if royal necessity is properly invoked."

"Royal necessity."

"It is a flexible instrument."

"I am learning so much about Wrohan law."

Mezos’s shoulders moved once.

George leaned forward, eyes bright now, green and shallow and greedy. "In return, Agaron ensures the treaty passes without delay. No extended technical review. No conditional access clauses that Felix can use to stall the process. Wrohan receives the first-stage storage agreement and diplomatic confirmation before the summit closes."

Arik said nothing.

George took that as encouragement.

"We can also provide a public introduction through the Crown Council rather than the Canmore household. That would make Liam appear as a royal-backed candidate, not merely Felix’s troublesome relative. Cleaner for everyone."

Mezos looked at the carpet, wondering if his clenched hands would recover after this day.

Arik smiled.

"Cleaner," he repeated.

"Yes. Liam’s mother may object, but Ravenwood can be pressured through court protocol. Armstrong noise can be handled. They are loud, but not sovereign."

Arik’s gaze sharpened by the smallest degree.

George did not notice.

"And Liam?"

George blinked. "What about him?"

"His agreement."

George stared at him as though Arik had asked whether the furniture approved of the room.

Then he gave a short, indulgent laugh. "Your Highness, Liam is an omega of high blood in a kingdom that still understands duty. He may complain. He always does. But if the agreement is properly structured, he will comply."

Mezos turned his face fully away, not to hide laughter now, but murder.

Arik leaned back.

The silence that followed was smooth enough to feel expensive.

"So," he said softly, "for the treaty, you would overrule Felix, manage Ray, pressure Ravenwood, silence Armstrong, and deliver Liam through royal protocol."

George hesitated.

Perhaps even he heard something wrong when the facts were placed in a line.

But greed was a loyal disease.

"If it secured Agaron’s commitment," he said, "yes."

Arik looked at him for one long moment.

Then his cold mocking smile widened.

"Thank you, Your Majesty."

George’s expression shifted. "Then we have an understanding?"

"Oh, yes," Arik said. "A complete one."

Mezos finally looked back at George.

There was no laughter left on his face.

Only the polished calm of a man who had just watched a king sign his own indictment in conversation.

George seemed to sense the change at last. "Your Highness?"

Arik rose, stepped toward the door, and Mezos opened it before he reached it.

At the threshold, Arik paused and glanced back.

"One more thing, Your Majesty."

George stood rigid beside the untouched tea.

"If you intend to offer a man to Agaron," Arik said, his voice soft enough to be almost kind, "learn first whether Agaron considers him merchandise."

George said nothing.

Arik’s gold eyes held him in place.

"I do not."

The door shut behind them with a soft diplomatic click.

Arik did not slow.

"Send the medical record on Liam Canmore to Enia Ravenwood. Now."

Mezos matched his pace without a flicker of surprise. "The full report?"

"The physician’s notes. The photographs. The injury timeline. The correlation with Ray’s summons, Felix’s presence, and Cain’s witness probability."

"That will start a war inside Wrohan."

Arik’s mouth curved faintly, but there was no amusement in it. "No. Felix started it when he put his hand on Liam. I’m just supplying weapons to the side I like."