The Reborn Sovereign of Ruin, Bound by His Star

"After all the announcements, this is what nobles ask?" Arik asked in the tone of a man ready to fight someone.

Liam, who had just removed the fitted vest from over his sheer shirt, glanced at him through the dressing-room mirror.

The reception had ended nearly an hour earlier, Ayla and Samuel had finally been persuaded to return to their guest rooms, and the imperial wing had settled into the quieter rhythm of late evening. Beyond the tall windows, Deira glowed beneath a clear autumn sky while the palace gardens had disappeared into dark masses of copper and red leaves beneath the pathway lamps.

Arik stood behind him in the pale suit he had worn all evening, although the jacket was open now and his carefully swept-back hair had begun falling forward around his temples.

He still looked annoyed.

Liam returned the vest to the padded bench.

"Sophia asked one question."

"She asked when the nobles should expect you to produce a child."

"That is usually considered one question."

Arik’s eyes narrowed in the mirror.

Liam sighed.

"I am not saying it was appropriate."

"Good."

"I am saying you look as though you are considering executing another noble house, and that seems disproportionate."

"I am not executing anyone."

"That was reassuringly specific."

Arik walked farther into the dressing room and loosened the fastening at his throat.

"What irritates me is that they are still searching for something."

Liam turned.

Arik was no longer simply annoyed about an invasive question.

He was thinking like an emperor again.

"Something to maneuver with," Liam said.

"Exactly."

Arik took off his jacket and laid it beside Liam’s vest before leaning against the edge of the dressing table.

"They lost the assumption that they could negotiate the prime minister through parliament and old family agreements, so some tried to infiltrate my office. That ended badly. Now the election is moving whether they like it or not, and suddenly everyone wants to know when we are having a child."

Liam crossed his arms.

"You think it is connected."

"I think everything becomes political the moment enough nobles become interested in it."

That, unfortunately, was difficult to dispute.

An imperial child would not simply be a baby.

There would be questions of succession, titles, guardianship, education, household appointments, ceremonial sponsors, godparents if Nurian custom still used them, and undoubtedly several dozen noble families suddenly discovering ancient reasons why they were uniquely qualified to stand close to the future heir.

Liam’s expression flattened.

"I hate that I can see where this goes."

Arik gave him a humorless smile.

"Yes."

"They would try to place people around the child."

"Some would."

"They would recommend tutors."

"Yes."

"Physicians."

"Probably."

"Household staff."

"Definitely."

Liam rubbed one hand over his face.

"That is exhausting, and the child does not even exist."

Arik’s irritation finally softened slightly.

He reached for Liam and pulled him between his knees where he stood against the dressing table, both hands settling around his waist through the sheer black fabric.

"That is why I am annoyed."

"At Sophia?"

"At the pattern."

Liam rested his hands on Arik’s shoulders.

Sophia herself had not felt malicious. Curious, perhaps too direct, and certainly carrying a question circulating through the old houses, but Liam had not sensed a hidden scheme behind her words.

"She was not trying to corner me."

"I know."

"She even accepted the answer."

"I know that too."

Arik’s thumbs moved slowly along his waist.

"But someone asked her. Or she heard enough people discussing it that she believed it was reasonable to ask you directly."

Liam considered that.

"Probably."

"And now those people know you stopped suppressants."

Liam raised an eyebrow.

"Because I told her."

"Yes."

"You are about to tell me I overshared."

Arik hesitated.

That was enough.

Liam narrowed his eyes.

"You were the one who wanted honesty from me."

"With me."

"Oh, convenient."

Arik smiled despite himself.

"I am not angry with you."

"You are considering whether you can classify my reproductive information."

"I am considering whether Rubis can teach you to answer personal questions without providing a medical summary."

Liam pinched his shoulder.

Arik caught his hand and kissed his knuckles.

"I answered because I would rather they know we are not trying for a child than spend the next six months interpreting every missed reception as pregnancy."

"That is reasonable."

"Thank you."

"I still dislike that they asked."

"You can dislike it."

"I do."

Liam smiled faintly.

There was something almost comforting about Arik’s irritation because it was not directed at Liam’s choice.

Arik had never once treated an heir as something Liam owed Nuria.

Even tonight, his anger was not that Liam had told the nobles to wait.

It was that they had begun positioning themselves around a possibility that belonged first to the two of them.

Liam moved closer.

"You know there will eventually be politics around our child."

"Yes."

"You cannot threaten everyone who becomes interested."

"I can threaten some of them."

"Arik."

"Appropriately."

Liam laughed.

The sound finally pulled the last hard edge from Arik’s expression.

He wrapped his arms more securely around Liam and rested his forehead against his chest.

Liam looked down at the black hair falling forward again and ran his fingers through it.

"You are tired."

"I spent the last month organizing an election while nobles attempted to test whether I had inherited Goliath’s temper."

"You did inherit Goliath’s temper."

Arik looked up.

Liam smiled.

"You are Goliath."

"That argument feels unfair when you use it."

"It is technically correct."

Arik drew him closer until Liam had to brace one hand on the dressing table beside his hip.

"I also spent the evening watching people stare at you in that shirt."

Liam’s mouth curved.

"There it is."

"That did not improve my tolerance."

"For political manipulation?"

"For anyone."

Liam laughed again.

Arik’s gaze dropped briefly to the sheer fabric before returning to his face.

"You enjoyed the attention."

"I enjoyed your reaction."

"Dangerous distinction."

"I survived."

"Barely."

Liam leaned down and kissed him, brief and soft enough that Arik had no opportunity to turn it into the distraction he had clearly been imagining since the wardrobe.

When Liam pulled away, Arik looked dissatisfied.

"The nobles can wait for their heir," Liam murmured.

"Our child."

"Our child," he corrected.

Arik’s expression softened.

"When we want one."

"Yes."

"Not when parliament wants one."

"Definitely not."

"Not because some old family wants its surname attached to a nursery."

Liam smiled.

"No."

Arik seemed satisfied.

Then Liam added, "And when we eventually do have one, you are not terrifying every tutor before the interview begins."

Arik’s face became completely serious.

"That depends on the tutor."

Liam stared at him.

They did not even have a child yet, and somehow Arik was already going to be impossible.