"Do you like it?"

The voice slid into the room with all the warmth of varnished ambition.

Liam turned.

George stood in the doorway at last, brown hair touched with silver, green eyes bright with that particular satisfaction men wore when they believed a late entrance improved their value. He had changed since the public court corridors - not dramatically, but enough to suggest he had dressed for a private performance rather than formal monarchy. Dark suit. Gold at the cuffs. A ring too large for good taste. The whole effect was expensive and graceless, which meant it suited both him and the room.

Liam let his gaze rest on him for exactly as long as courtesy required and no longer.

"It’s the only object in here that doesn’t look like it was chosen by a committee of insecure jewelers," he said.

George laughed.

Not because he found anything funny, but because he thought charm could survive being attached to stupidity.

"Yes," he said, walking in with the pleased air of a man ready to be admired in his own bad museum. "It is exceptional. A token from a fallen god."

Liam’s eyes returned to the piano.

"A token," he repeated.

George moved closer, one hand brushing the polished lid with proprietary affection that immediately made Liam want to remove the hand and possibly the arm attached to it.

"One of the few things worth keeping from that era," George said. "Felix had the old collection brought in piece by piece. Archives, instruments, relics, private effects. The world forgets quickly when given permission. He was very good at that."

Liam looked at him.

"At theft?"

"At curation," George corrected smoothly.

"Ah. Of course."

George missed the jab entirely.

"He took down a great deal of dangerous mythology," he said. "Made the world forget the man attached to it. Or most of the world." His mouth curved. "Wrohan has always been good at surviving history."

Liam’s gaze went back to the piano.

A token from a fallen god.

Ridiculous phrase, tasteless even. People used this phrase to express their desire for age without understanding, power without reverence, and beauty without duty.

Still.

The words settled strangely.

"Was there a name?" Liam asked.

George stopped beside the instrument and gave a short laugh, indulgent and ugly.

"Oh, I only remember one."

Liam looked at him.

"Goliath," George said, amused by it even now. "Absurd name for a ruler, really. A stupid one. Sounds more like something a drunk soldier would shout before falling off a horse than a title fit for governance."

The room fell silent as Liam couldn’t believe someone could say something so idiotic with such confidence.

Liam’s fingers rested against his own sleeve.

"Goliath," he repeated, a name he discovered on the gate diagram Arik had inquired about.

"Yes. You see what I mean."

"No," Liam said. "I see many things. None of them are flattering to you."

George smiled as if he had been complimented.

"It was before your time," he said. "Old Nurian nonsense. The kind of dead grandeur provincial historians like to romanticize because it lets them feel connected to something they never had to survive."

Liam looked once more at the piano.

Black lacquer. Clean line. Ivory keys. Stillness under bad light.

It did not feel like nonsense.

It certainly did not feel like George.

"You kept it," Liam said.

George spread one hand. "Naturally. Beauty should belong to whoever wins."

The whole philosophy of George and Felix’s lives in one sentence.

Liam almost thanked him for making it so tidy.

Instead, he said, "And here I thought possession required taste."

George’s smile thinned by half a degree.

Better. At least one nerve still worked.

"You have always had an unfortunate way of speaking," George said, his fake smile dimming.

"And you have always had an unfortunate way of existing, yet here we both are."

The king studied him for a moment, perhaps remembering too late that summoning Liam privately did not automatically transform him into agreeable company.

Then George’s expression smoothed.

He moved toward the seating area with the confidence of a man retreating into furniture designed to support his illusions. "Come," he said. "Sit. We have serious matters to discuss."

Liam followed at a measured pace and took the chair opposite him without invitation because if George wanted ceremonial obedience, he should have arrived on time to his own summons.

The king settled back with the ease of a man who believed upholstery improved his authority.

For a moment, he only looked at Liam, as if weighing how much truth could be mixed into a transaction before it stopped being useful.

Then he said, "The Crown Prince of Agaron is in search of a dominant omega from Wrohan."

Liam did not move.

George continued, pleased with the effect he imagined he was having. "Not merely a passing court companion. A true pair. A consort. Someone politically and personally suitable."

Liam looked at him for one slow second.

Then another.

Then he asked, "Is this a punishment for my mother policing the documents on Ray’s origin?"

George laughed amusedly, as if Liam had somehow missed the point of his own life.

"No," George said. "If anything, your mother only accelerated a matter that should have been handled properly years ago."

That made Liam still.

George leaned back farther. "Felix fought the release because he hates disorder and because he has always confused concealment with strength. I did not share that view."

"No?" Liam asked flatly.

"No." George’s green eyes sharpened with proprietary satisfaction. "Ray is mine. He always was. Publicly or not. Felix opposed the documents because he dislikes being reminded that bloodline is not the same thing as ownership."

Liam stared at him in shock as George confirmed what he already knew: possession.

George wanted Ray publicly because George liked things named correctly when they belonged to him.

Felix, apparently, was the only one truly furious about it.

That was almost funny.

"So," Liam said, "this is not revenge."

"Don’t be dramatic."

"Then why the marriage proposal for me and Rex?" Liam asked, curiosity getting the better of him despite everything. "That seemed like an extraordinary amount of paperwork for a man who dislikes sincerity." 𝒻𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘸ℯ𝒷𝘯𝘰𝑣ℯ𝑙.𝘤𝑜𝘮

George made a thoughtful sound, as though revisiting an unpleasant but faintly amusing administrative file.

"That was Felix," he said. "Punishment. Pressure. An attempt to make you more pliable."

Liam’s eyes narrowed.

"There was never any real intention of seeing it through," George added.

For one second, Liam only stared at him.

Then he laughed.

Not because it was funny.

Because sometimes the body, when faced with enough concentrated filth, chose laughter over nausea out of self-defense.

"You’re serious."

George looked mildly annoyed. "Of course."