Chapter 406: Four Names
Arik had been grinning for eleven minutes.
Liam knew because he had checked the clock twice and considered murder at least once.
Morning light spilled through the partially open curtains in long golden bands, catching on rumpled sheets, discarded clothing, and the pale jacket Arik had apparently abandoned somewhere between the dressing room and the bed the previous night. Liam lay facedown beneath the blankets with one arm under his pillow, his hair completely beyond repair and his patience deteriorating every time he felt Arik looking at him.
"Stop."
Arik’s grin widened.
"I am doing nothing."
"You have been smiling at me since I woke up."
"I like you."
"That expression does not mean you like me. It means you are remembering something."
Arik rolled onto his side, black hair disordered enough that yesterday’s careful styling had become irrelevant.
"I remember many things."
Liam lifted his head.
"I can have you removed from this bedroom."
"It is also my bedroom."
"I am Empress Consort."
"I am emperor."
"That argument cannot solve every marital dispute."
"It has an excellent success rate."
Liam reached for the nearest pillow.
The bedroom door opened.
Rubis entered, took one look at Liam holding a pillow like a weapon and Arik lying beside him with the expression of a man enjoying his own impending death, and continued inside without comment.
Liam lowered the pillow.
"Thank you."
"I have done nothing yet."
"You interrupted him."
Rubis approached the foot of the bed carrying a tablet and wearing a dark green suit that suggested he had already been awake for several hours.
"You may thank me less enthusiastically after hearing today’s schedule."
Arik’s smile disappeared.
Liam immediately felt better.
Rubis opened the schedule projection.
"Breakfast in thirty minutes. Candidate brief at nine. The first prime minister candidate arrives at nine thirty, followed by the remaining three at hourly intervals. Lunch has been moved to one thirty. You both have an election commission review at three, and His Majesty has a defense briefing at five."
Arik sat up.
"Four candidates?"
"The final eligibility review concluded last night."
Liam pushed himself upright, pulling the blanket around his waist.
"Only four survived?"
"Twenty-three completed registration. Eleven failed the signature distribution requirement, five withdrew after financial disclosures became mandatory, and three failed background or eligibility checks."
Arik looked pleased.
"Financial transparency continues to perform miracles."
Rubis ignored him.
"The remaining four have all been formally approved. You are meeting them today because whichever one wins will need to work directly with both of you."
Liam rubbed sleep from his eyes.
"So this is not an interview."
"No."
Arik swung his legs from the bed.
"Good. I am not choosing them."
"The candidates have been informed of that repeatedly."
Rubis paused.
"Several times."
Liam glanced at Arik.
"They are going to try to impress you anyway."
"Then they will waste their time."
Rubis’s expression suggested he expected precisely that.
—
The first candidate arrived exactly on time.
Dr. Mireya Soren had spent eighteen years in provincial administration, beginning as a public-health physician before moving into regional government when an epidemic exposed enough failures in medical logistics to make her angry.
Liam liked her within five minutes. Not because she tried to make him like her, but because she disagreed with Arik.
"The emperor should not have emergency authority over provincial medical budgets indefinitely."
Arik leaned back in his chair.
The meeting room had been deliberately chosen for neutrality rather than ceremony: no throne, no imperial dais, only a long oval table overlooking the autumn gardens.
"Even during a national emergency?"
"During an emergency, yes. Indefinitely, no."
"And who decides when the emergency ends?"
"Parliament under defined statutory conditions."
Arik nodded.
"Reasonable."
Mireya blinked.
"You expected me to argue?"
"I expected you to defend your position."
She relaxed slightly.
Liam smiled.
One candidate survived.
The second was Lord Evander Rosch.
A noble.
An actual one.
He was in his late forties, had served three terms in the restored parliament, managed several agricultural holdings, and had somehow convinced enough ordinary citizens to sign his candidacy despite half the country assuming noble families would dominate the election automatically.
Evander was polished, but not oily.
"I know what people assume when they see my title," he said.
Liam tilted his head.
"What do they assume?"
"That I believe I deserve the position."
"Do you?"
Evander smiled faintly.
"I believe I deserve the opportunity to convince them."
Arik’s mouth curved.
The third candidate was Hana Cerel, former mayor of one of the southern industrial cities and currently director of a cooperative reconstruction authority.
She arrived wearing practical gray rather than court dress, brought handwritten notes despite having an ether tablet, and spent fifteen minutes explaining why Deira received too much infrastructure attention compared with secondary cities.
Liam nearly adopted her on principle.
Arik noticed.
"You are enjoying this."
"She has numbers."
"I saw."
"Good numbers."
Hana looked between them.
"I was told these meetings were not endorsements."
"They are not," Liam said.
Arik added, "My husband becomes emotionally attached to competent spreadsheets."
Hana laughed.
Liam kicked him beneath the table.
Then the fourth candidate arrived.
Cyran Solvere.
He was younger than the others, perhaps thirty-six, with dark blond hair and gray eyes, and the kind of composed face that could seem warm or severe, depending entirely on the angle of his attention. He had no noble title, though his family had been comfortably wealthy before the Gate. His career had moved through constitutional law, parliamentary advisory work, and eventually the national commission overseeing the reintegration of old provincial statutes into the restored imperial framework.
On paper, he was exceptional.
In person, he was better.
That interested Arik immediately.
Cyran greeted Liam first.
Then he greeted Arik with the same degree of respect.
They sat.
Cyran did not waste time discussing his résumé.
Instead, he said, "I assume the purpose of this meeting is to establish whether we can work together if I win."
Arik folded his hands.
"Yes."
"Then I have a question."
"Ask."
"What happens when the elected prime minister disagrees with the emperor?"
Liam looked at him.
Arik’s expression remained neutral.
"That depends on the subject."
"Domestic policy."
"You govern within the powers of your office."
"And if you believe I am wrong?"
"I tell you."
"And if I proceed anyway?"
"If it remains constitutionally yours to decide, you proceed."
Cyran nodded slowly.
"Good."
Liam leaned back.
"You expected another answer?"
"I hoped not to receive one."
"What answer?"
"That the election matters only until the winner becomes inconvenient."