Chapter 200: The gate

Liam woke because something warm and solid moved beneath his cheek.

For one confused second, he thought he had fallen asleep on a heated workbench, which said unpleasant things about both his career and his survival instincts.

Then the steady rhythm under his ear came again.

A heartbeat.

Arik’s heartbeat.

Liam opened his eyes slowly.

The room was bright in the wrong way. Light filtered through the curtains in long afternoon lines, spilling over the bed, the nightstand, the untouched tray Marin had clearly sent with military judgment, and Arik’s sleeping face beneath him.

Liam blinked.

Arik was asleep.

Not the elegant, controlled kind of sleep a prince might pretend to have while remaining aware of every assassination route in the building. No. Arik Lyon, Crown Prince of Agaron, reincarnated disaster of a dead emperor, had been knocked unconscious by exhaustion so thoroughly that one arm was still wrapped around Liam’s back, and his head had fallen slightly to the side, black hair messy against the pillow.

He looked incredibly handsome. Arik had long black eyelashes resting around his cheeks, a straight nose, and full, soft lips.

That was unfair.

Liam stared at him for a long moment, too tired to be properly angry and too awake to pretend last night had been a fever dream.

An old household built from grief and trust, destroyed because Felix could not stand anything loved outside himself.

Liam’s stomach twisted.

He pressed his palm against Arik’s chest, over the heartbeat he had fallen asleep to, and waited for the horror to rearrange itself into something that changed the man beneath him.

It did not.

That annoyed him.

It should have changed something. The truth had been ugly enough, intimate enough, and violent enough to crack the room around them. It should have made Arik feel different in the bond, should have made Liam recoil from the old presence tucked behind him, from the shadow of Goliath that had apparently been there all along.

But that was the problem.

It had been there all along.

Liam had felt it from the beginning, that weight behind Arik’s eyes, that impossible stillness under the arrogance, that ancient thing standing just behind the prince and looking at the world as if it had once belonged to him and might again if provoked badly enough.

Liam had loved Arik with that already there.

He had chosen him with that already there.

The knowledge did not make the bond monstrous.

It only gave a name to a figure that Liam’s soul had recognized before his mind had caught up.

"That is inconvenient," Liam whispered.

Arik did not stir.

Liam narrowed his eyes at him.

"You do not get to look peaceful after ruining my entire historical framework."

Still nothing.

Marin’s ward gave a faint pulse against Liam’s chest, less warning than dry commentary.

Liam glanced down. "Do not start. I am thinking."

The ward, traitorous and silent, pulsed again.

Liam pushed himself up slightly, wincing at the stiffness in his body. His limbs felt heavy, his throat dry, his chest tender beneath the ward’s careful pressure. Marin had probably left instructions in some aggressively clear order, and Liam had already violated at least three of them by thinking too hard.

He reached blindly for the glass on the nightstand, drank half of it, then froze.

Goliath.

The name did not sit in his head like a revelation anymore.

It clicked.

Liam’s brows pulled together.

Goliath.

He knew that name.

His mind stumbled backward through blueprints, old notations, ridiculous fragments of inherited Wrohan archives that George had not cared enough to understand, and the Gate blueprint that Felix kept under protection in his damned mansion.

The Gate.

Liam stopped breathing.

His hand tightened around the glass.

Goliath.

Liam’s heart kicked so hard the ward flared.

Arik’s arm tightened reflexively around his waist, but he did not wake.

Liam stared at him.

Then the thought finished forming.

THE FUCKING GATE.

"Oh, gods," Liam whispered.

Arik remained asleep.

Liam grabbed his shoulder and shook him.

"Arik."

Nothing.

Liam shook harder, which was probably forbidden by Marin, common sense, and the bond, but all three could file a complaint later.

"Arik."

Arik woke like a weapon pulled from a sheath.

One second, he was unconscious beneath him; the next, his eyes snapped open, gold, bright, and sharp, arm locking around Liam as he twisted half upright. The room’s wards gave a low warning pulse in answer to his sudden ether surge.

"What happened?" Arik demanded, his voice rough with sleep and immediate violence. "Are you hurt?"

"No. Well, yes, but that is not the point."

Arik’s gaze swept him, the ward, the room, the windows, the door, the tray, and the shadows beneath the curtains and then returned to Liam with terrifying focus. "What is the point?"

"The Gate."

Arik went still.

Liam saw the change before Arik could hide it.

Good.

Excellent.

Wonderful.

His anger, which had been half asleep and sulking somewhere under his ribs, opened one eye.

"The Gate," Liam repeated, slower. "The old blueprints. The ones in Felix’s mansion that Mezos and your Shadows were planning to get from Canmore Mansion at our engagement party."

Arik’s face lost color.

Liam’s eyes narrowed. "You know."

"Liam, my love... my eshara..."

"You..." Liam narrowed his eyes further until only a thin line of crimson remained visible. "Do not use affection like insulation foam."

Arik exhaled with the solemn despair of a man who had realized too late that his mate was awake, intelligent, and personally offended by every hidden archive in existence.

"First of all," he said carefully, "I do not remember engineering blueprints and documents. I do remember events, but not what Goliath considered everyday life."

Liam’s face fell in disappointment in real time.

Arik watched it happen.

He watched Liam, pale, poisoned, barely recovered, sitting above him with Marin’s ward still pulsing faintly beneath his shirt, look at the returned soul of an ancient emperor and conclude, with visible sorrow, that the memories were significantly less useful without the engineering parts.

"That," Arik said, wounded, "was a cruel expression."

"I did not say anything."

"You did not have to. Your face just called my reincarnated soul academically useless."

Liam opened his mouth, closed it, and looked guilty for exactly half a second before the disappointment returned. "I am sure your memories are emotionally valuable."

"That made it worse."

"Historically valuable."

"Liam."

"Strategically valuable."

"You are digging."

"And yet, no blueprints."

Arik stared at him.

Then he gave up and let himself fall back into the pillows, one arm still loosely around Liam’s waist because even defeat had limits. "I told you last night that I was sorry. I did not realize I also needed to apologize for not reincarnating with an indexed technical archive."

"You should have considered it."

"I will do better in the next life."

"There had better not be a next life with more hidden imperial engineering."

Arik sighed and pointed at him. "Second of all, engagement. The party. We should talk about that."

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