Chapter 186: Forgive me.

Arik’s fingers tightened around the frame. "That is exactly what people say before causing wars."

Goliath’s smile stayed where it was, old and unbearable. "Wars are caused by men who think stolen things become theirs because enough years pass."

"Spare me the imperial poetry."

"Gladly." The portrait’s halo brightened. "Watch."

"No."

"You asked what I want."

"And you answered like a lunatic with a dead empire and a grudge."

"Yes," Goliath said. "Now watch why."

The suite tore open.

This time, Arik’s world didn’t plunge around him.

Goliath held him by the inside of the skull with the brutal precision of a commander forcing a young officer to look at the map before the enemy crossed the river.

Evening unfolded around them.

Goliath returned from battle with beast blood still beneath the clean edge of his nails.

Arik caught fragments only because Goliath allowed them: black shapes under a storm-lit sky, golden ether splitting bone and scale, and soldiers falling back when the sovereign entered the kill-zone, not because they feared death less, but because they knew Goliath would make their deaths unnecessary if they obeyed fast enough.

Then the palace.

Armor removed piece by piece.

Steam.

Hot water striking bruised skin.

A body too powerful to be fragile, but tired all the same. Not wounded enough to alarm physicians, not depleted enough to be called weakness, but worn down in the way only long battle could wear down something ancient. Ether channels expanded from use, heated, and are still humming under the skin. Reactive. Open.

Arik understood before Goliath said anything.

"So that is why he succeeded?"

"Yes."

The memory became more clear.

Goliath stood before a dark mirror in his private suite, freshly bathed, hair damp and pushed back from his face. He wore a long cream silk shirt that fell loose over matching trousers, soft shoes silent against the floor.

A steward bowed near the door. Not Kamal.

Arik noticed that too.

"Where is he?"

"Kamal had been sent to the western annex," Goliath said from inside him. "Inspection. He was to return the next day."

"You let him go?"

"I had capable people around me."

The memory agreed. There were guards outside the doors, attendants vetted through three generations, wards layered through the private wing, tasters, purification lines, food seals, and breath-screening panels hidden in the lamps.

No obvious weakness.

Which was why it had worked.

Goliath entered the private dining room.

Felix was already waiting.

He stood when Goliath came in, dressed in pale violet with silver at the cuffs, beautiful under warm lantern light and just subdued enough to look penitent rather than decorative. The table had been prepared for two, dinner already arranged beneath soft, warming wards: roasted meat, bitter greens, a clear broth, fresh bread, and wine resting unopened near Goliath’s place.

The wine seal was intact.

Arik stared at it.

"Not there?"

"Not yet."

Felix bowed. "Your Majesty."

Goliath glanced at him. "I was not told you would be here."

"I asked permission."

"From whom?"

"The household marshal."

A competent man, Arik felt. Loyal. Careful. But not Kamal.

Goliath sat because refusing would have turned the evening into a scene, and Goliath had endured beasts, storms, battlefield reports, and two hours of physicians pretending not to hover. Felix’s presence was irritating, but not dangerous.

That was the first lie the night told.

"You look tired," Felix said.

"I returned from battle."

"I heard. The southern ridge?"

Goliath lifted his spoon. "If you already heard, do not ask."

Felix smiled faintly. "I wanted to hear it from you."

"Why?"

The question was blunt enough that Felix’s smile faltered.

Arik felt Goliath’s impatience. He had no energy for games tonight. His channels still ran hot beneath his skin, and the room’s warmth pressed against him in a way that made every scent sharper than usual.

Felix’s included.

"I missed you," Felix said.

Goliath set the spoon down.

The sound was quiet. Final.

"Felix."

The omega lowered his gaze. "I know."

"Do you?"

"Yes." His voice turned thinner. "I know you do not want me to ask."

"Then do not."

"I only wanted to know if battle changed anything."

Goliath stared at him.

Felix lifted his eyes, and for a moment the mask was not perfect.

"You go out there," Felix said, "and the entire empire holds its breath. You return with blood on your armor, and everyone bows as if that means the gods have decided to let them keep you another day. And I am expected to stand outside your rooms and wait like I am no one."

"You are not no one."

"I am not yours either."

"No," Goliath said. "You are not."

Arik felt the old mind mark the silence that followed.

Felix had not flinched this time.

He had gone still.

Goliath noticed.

Arik noticed more.

"He was angry."

"Yes."

"And you still stayed."

"I was tired, not frightened."

That answer hurt because it was true.

Felix came around the table slowly enough not to alarm anyone watching through the wardline. He did not kneel this time. Perhaps he had learned that humility performed too often became insulting. Instead, he stood at a careful distance, hands folded, head lowered.

"Forgive me," he said.

Goliath leaned back. "You are exhausting."

The words struck harder than a reprimand.

Felix’s breath caught.

"I know," he whispered.

"No. I do not think you do." Goliath’s voice cooled. "Every kindness becomes a door to you. Every explanation becomes a negotiation. Every refusal becomes an injury you expect me to soothe. That is not affection, Felix. That is appetite dressed well."

Arik went still inside the memory.

Goliath had known, maybe not the extent of Felix’s greed, but he was tired enough to not pretend anymore.

Felix lowered his head further. "You are right."

The answer came too fast.

Goliath’s eyes narrowed.

Arik felt the old self hesitate.

"Look at the table," Goliath said inside him.

Arik did.

The food had been sealed. The wine was sealed. The cups were clean. The air carried nothing beyond Felix’s controlled pheromones, faint and apologetic, well below the threshold of attack or seduction.

But Goliath’s channels were open from battle.

Heat moved under the skin.

The bath had relaxed the outer channel walls.

The exhaustion had slowed rejection responses by a fraction.

Felix reached for the decanter.

"I will leave," he said quietly. "But let me pour one as an apology."

Goliath should have refused.

Arik knew that.

Goliath knew it now.

Then, he only saw an exhausted evening and a young omega finally accepting correction.

The seal broke cleanly under Felix’s hand.

The wine passed the table ward.

Harmless.

Felix poured.

Arik watched the angle of his wrist, the steadiness of his fingers, and the way his pheromones shifted by the smallest measure as the wine touched air.

Not enough to alert anything.

The glass was placed before Goliath.

Felix stepped back.

"Forgive me," he said again.

Goliath lifted the cup.

"No," Arik said.

The memory did not stop.

Goliath drank.

If you find any errors (non-standard content, ads redirect, broken links, etc..), Please let us know so we can fix it as soon as possible.