A knock sounded at the door.

Liam did not even try to hide the violence in his face.

"There," he said flatly. "Your miracle of timing has returned."

Arik’s mouth curved. "Our audience."

"That is a generous word for George."

"Not George."

The door opened before Liam could ask what that meant.

Of course it was George.

He entered with the smooth satisfaction of a man who believed he had engineered destiny by leaving two people alone in a sunlit room for half an hour. His expression carried the bright, proprietary smugness of someone already rearranging treaty clauses in his head and congratulating himself for the elegance of it.

’Insupportable. Absolutely insupportable.’

"Your Highness," George said, smiling first at Arik and then at Liam with the revolting warmth of a man who had decided both were now useful in matching ways. "I trust the conversation was productive."

Liam’s mouth opened.

Arik answered first.

"Yes."

George practically glowed.

Liam hated that instantly.

The king’s eyes moved between them, reading whatever he wanted to read and none of what was actually there. "Excellent," he said. "I was certain clarity would benefit everyone."

’You little diseased lizard.’

Liam rose from his chair before the room could become any more offensive than it already was. "Wonderful. Since Your Majesty has had the productivity he wanted, I’ll be leaving."

George turned to him at once, surprise flickering across his face before smoothing into royal patience. "So soon?"

"Yes," Liam said. "I have already exceeded my weekly tolerance for crowns."

George looked displeased.

’You deserve it, you waste of good air.’

Then Arik stood.

That, for reasons Liam found deeply irritating, changed the room again. The sunroom was still flooded with light, still lined in expensive nonsense, still carrying George’s vulgar idea of taste in every surface. But Arik standing made even George hesitate for a beat.

"Not yet," Arik said, his low voice filling the large room.

Liam looked at him.

"No?"

"No."

That tone again. Calm, low, and built like a command pretending not to be one.

Liam’s eyes narrowed. "Your Highness, don’t you have a schedule? Usually a packed one?"

Arik’s mouth curved faintly. "I do."

"And?"

"I’ve decided you’re more urgent."

That was such a deeply unacceptable answer that Liam had to pause for a full second and decide whether homicide in a sunroom counted as treason if the victim was technically asking for it.

George, idiot that he was, looked delighted.

He heard urgency and likely translated it into treaty clauses, dynastic alignment, and the sort of royal nonsense that made old men feel accomplished while everyone else paid for it in blood or paperwork.

Liam heard it and wanted to strangle both of them for entirely different reasons.

"That," he said, "is an astonishingly inconvenient sentence."

Arik looked unmoved. "Yes."

"You say yes to alarming things far too easily."

"I find it saves time."

"That is not a redeeming feature."

"No," Arik agreed. "Not for you."

Liam stared at him, then glanced toward the door as if escape might still be possible if he moved fast enough and ignored dignity completely.

Unfortunately, the gate existed.

And the gate, traitor that it was, remained a stronger argument than self-respect.

So he folded his arms tighter and said, "Fine. Then be urgent somewhere useful."

Arik’s eyes brightened.

George positively glowed.

Liam wanted to hit them both in order of emotional offense. Arik first. George harder.

"We’re leaving," Liam said flatly. "Before His Majesty starts smiling like he arranged destiny again."

George’s smile did not even have the decency to fade.

Arik stepped to Liam’s side and placed one hand lightly against the small of his back, testing for a line that didn’t show up yet.

Liam did not even flinch.

That surprised him.

Not because he expected easy acceptance. Quite the opposite. Liam was acutely aware of closeness and even more so of people being touchy. In Lab V, after the displacement, Liam had pushed, snapped, bristled, and treated contact like an offense he might litigate personally. Arik had expected resistance now too. A glare. A cold shoulder. At minimum, one cutting sentence about princely entitlement and the misuse of hands in diplomatic spaces.

Arik kept his palm exactly where it was without moving.

Right there, between Liam’s shoulder blades, over the fine fabric of his coat, close enough to feel the slight heat of him and the tension that moved beneath his calm.

Liam’s eyes cut sideways to him.

"Are you escorting me," he asked, his voice silked over with violence, "or testing the durability of your fingers?"

George made a small sound that might have been amusement if he had possessed the moral right to enjoy anything.

Arik grinned.

"Both," he said.

Liam stared at him.

George, idiot, looked delighted. As if this was all unfolding according to some elegant royal script in which he had thoughtfully placed two valuable people in a room and watched destiny bloom like a well-funded garden.

Liam wanted to hit him.

Arik’s hand remained exactly where it was. Warm through the coat, steady, infuriating, and, this was the worst part, apparently tolerated.

Liam noticed that too.

So did Arik.

The bastard looked entirely too pleased with his own experiment.

"Your Highness," Liam said, voice still smooth and one insult away from criminal, "if that hand moves in a direction I dislike, I will remove it."

Arik’s eyes held his. "Noted."

It did not move, and Liam was left with the deeply undignified fact that he had not objected to the original placement. He could feel the contact. Could have stepped away. Could have made a scene. Could have said something cutting enough to peel paint.

He had done none of those things.

This was becoming unacceptable in new and creative ways.

George smoothed one cuff and smiled again, the smug, proprietary smile of a man who believed he was witnessing the successful implementation of his own cleverness.

"I’m pleased," he said, "that you’ve both found immediate understanding."

Liam did not even look at him.

"That is a bold interpretation of what is happening."

Arik’s hand finally moved, not away, but down a little, just enough to lead Liam to the door without making it look like he was leading him.

George began walking ahead of them, which was perhaps the only tolerable thing he had done all morning.

Liam let himself be steered for exactly three steps before muttering, only for Arik, "You are enjoying this far too much."

"That’s because your reaction are so delicious."