Chapter 197: Apology for the apology

"I know." Arik paused. "I understand."

Liam narrowed his eyes at him despite the wetness gathered there.

"Better."

"And I am hurt too," Arik admitted, so quietly Liam almost wished he had not. "Not because you are angry. You have every right to be. But because I hurt you with my own hands and then stood here and watched you apologize for bleeding on me."

Liam’s anger faltered.

Arik looked at him with a devastation that had nothing princely in it. "I am not angry that you used the bond against me. I am angry that I made you feel cornered enough to do it."

"That is not how apologies work. You do not get to apologize for my apology."

"I am very good at being impossible."

"You are very good at making me want to throw something at you."

"There are several breakable objects in the room."

"Do not tempt me."

Arik’s gaze softened, painfully. "Never."

The gentleness undid Liam more than the arguing had.

His shoulders sagged.

For a moment, he looked as young as he was, too pale beneath the ether light, too tired to keep all his dignity properly arranged, his anger still there but tangled now with understanding and regret and the brutal ache of loving someone who had hurt him because he had been afraid of being unlovable.

Arik saw the change.

He did not seize it.

He only lifted his hands slightly, palms open, a question without words.

Liam stared at them.

His body answered before his pride did, leaning half an inch forward.

Then he cursed under his breath.

"This is not forgiveness," he said.

"No."

"And I am still mad."

"Yes."

"And if you try to use holding me as a strategy, I will make Stanford remove you from my general vicinity."

"I would deserve that."

"You would."

Arik waited.

That, somehow, was what broke the last of Liam’s resistance for the moment.

Arik, who had taken thrones apart in another life, who could tear open palaces and bend men like Ray into confessions, stood still and waited for Liam to decide whether he was allowed to touch his own mate.

Liam stepped into him.

Arik’s breath shattered.

Then his arms came around Liam with such careful restraint that Liam almost became angry again.

"For gods’ sake," Liam muttered into his chest, voice thick. "Hold me properly. I did not survive Felix and your stupidity to be embraced like a diplomatic vase."

Arik made a sound that was both laughable and painful.

Then he held him properly.

One arm closed around Liam’s back, the other cradled the back of his head, and Arik bent over him as if the entire world had narrowed down to the fragile, furious weight of Liam against his chest. His warmth came through his shirt. His heartbeat was too fast. His scent was controlled with vicious discipline, but the bond felt it anyway, that ruined relief, that terror, that devotion trying not to become demand.

Liam closed his eyes.

His fingers gripped Arik’s shirt again.

He almost fell asleep from the relief of being in those strong, warm arms; even the ward Marin had placed on his chest gave a low, faint pulse, as if approving the fact that Liam’s body had finally stopped trying to survive by spite alone.

Liam growled under his breath. "You will take Marin’s fury for me not respecting his indications."

Arik lowered his face into Liam’s hair. "Gladly."

He gathered Liam in his arms and started walking to the bedroom.

"I still need to hear everything." Liam said and let his head fall onto Arik’s chest.

Arik’s arms tightened for one second, then loosened with visible effort. "You will. But first, Marin’s ward is pulsing hard enough that I can feel it through your shirt."

"It is dramatic."

"It is medical."

"It is Marin’s. Therefore, dramatic."

Arik looked down at him, and the corner of his mouth moved despite the ruin in his eyes. "I will not argue with you while carrying you."

"Wise. Late, but wise."

He carried Liam into the bedroom, where the ether lamps had been dimmed to a low amber glow. The sheets were already turned down, another humiliating proof that Arik’s household functioned with terrifying efficiency even while everyone inside it was emotionally disintegrating.

Arik set him down as if placing him on glass.

Liam frowned. "I am not breakable."

"No," Arik said softly. "You are hurt."

Liam looked away.

Arik did not press. He checked the ward first, careful fingers hovering over the pale sigil on Liam’s chest without disturbing it. The pulse had settled, slow and faint now, no longer sharp with warning.

"Better," Arik murmured.

"See? Dramatic."

"Still medical."

"Traitor."

"I am choosing Marin’s side in all matters involving your lungs, blood, ether channels, and tendency to keep standing out of spite."

Liam opened one eye. "That is an extensive betrayal."

"Yes."

Arik sat behind him on the bed, back against the headboard, and only when Liam gave an irritated little tug at his sleeve did he draw him in. Liam went because he wanted to and was exhausted, and the bond let out a painful, relieved sigh as his cheek rested against Arik’s chest.

"This is still not forgiveness," Liam mumbled.

"I understand."

"Good. Now talk."

Arik’s hand settled in his hair, slow and careful. "I woke up when I was eight."

Liam’s lashes lifted slightly.

"At a gala in Agaron. I saw Cain across the hall." Arik’s voice changed, going quieter, older. "I did not know his name then. But something in me recognized Felix through him. The memories came like fire with pain, rage I didn’t understand, and poison. The smell of blood in old halls. A child crying somewhere I could not reach."

Liam’s fingers tightened in his shirt.

"Damian and Gabriel intervened before I understood what was happening." Arik breathed out. "They gave me a choice. They could help me keep the old memories blocked until I was old enough to decide, or they could let them come."

"At eight?" Liam muttered, horrified, even half-asleep.

"Yes."

"Your parents are terrifyingly reasonable."

"They were furious at history, not at me."

Liam’s eyes closed again. "And you chose the block."

"I chose peace." Arik’s hand paused in his hair. "Or what passed for it."

"For how long?"

"Until I was eighteen."

Liam’s eyes opened again, narrowed. "You broke it."

"Yes."

"Of course you did."

"Damian and Gabriel were angry."

"As they should have been."

"They felt it when the ward cracked, and even without that, they knew their son to feel the change. I thought I had hidden it."

Liam gave a faint, humorless sound. "You are Damian and Gabriel’s son. How did you think that would work?"

"I was eighteen and arrogant."

"You are twenty-five and arrogant."

"Less successfully."

"Debatable."

Arik’s mouth touched his hair, barely there. "What came back then was different. This time I met Goliath as the ruler, emperor, conqueror and what made him discover the trial and become the ether chosen... And some questionable decisions."

"That last category sounds large."

"It is."

"Engineers?"

"A few."

"Good. Continue."

Arik obeyed, voice low under Liam’s ear. "More started returning when I met you. Your scent. Saint’s breath."

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