Chapter 209: About him [Win-Win]

"Did they dare interrupt him?"

"Once."

"Once?"

"The minister responsible learned that His Majesty could explain the weakness of his proposed tax reform and the instability of a pressure-channel manifold at the same time, in front of witnesses."

Liam imagined it too clearly and felt a small, unwilling satisfaction. "Efficient."

"Devastating," Kamal corrected. "The minister resigned within the month."

"Because of the tax reform?"

"Because His Majesty had also corrected his handwriting."

Liam let out a quiet breath that was almost laughter.

The ward stayed calm.

Apparently, mocking dead ministers was medically acceptable.

Kamal looked pleased by that small victory, though he hid it well. "He was most himself near machines. Near systems that answered honestly when pressured. Courts lie. Nobles flatter. Treaties rot if left unattended. But an ether line fails for a reason. A resonance chamber sings true, or it does not. His Majesty respected that."

Liam looked down at his own hands.

He knew that feeling too well.

Machines did not pretend not to be broken. Systems did not smile while corroding from the inside. If something failed, it failed, and then one could curse it, disassemble it, rebuild it, and sometimes make it better.

People were much worse.

"And Felix?" Liam asked before he could stop himself.

Kamal’s expression cooled.

"Felix hated what he could not control."

"That is not an answer."

"It is the most accurate one." Kamal’s gaze lowered slightly. "He admired Goliath in the way greedy men admire locked doors. Not because they respect what is inside, but because they believe the door exists to challenge them."

Liam’s fingers tightened around the cup.

"He wanted access," Kamal continued. "To the emperor. To Nuria. To whatever His Majesty built. To the parts of him that were never offered. Felix could endure being feared. He could endure being hated. He could not endure being irrelevant."

Liam felt cold.

"That sounds like him."

"Yes."

He placed the empty cup on the table and reached for a butter scone he had taken fancy to while recovering. "Well, Arik seems to like administration better. He understands ether systems, but he is very good at managing."

Kamal hummed, earlier amusement returning. "Well, Arik had better parents and better people around him."

"Goliath didn’t?"

Kamal sat in the chair in front of Liam. "From what I heard, no. Mind you, Goliath was one hundred and forty years old when he was poisoned."

Liam almost choked with the scone. "What?"

Kamal watched him with the calm of a man who had expected that reaction and had still chosen not to soften the number.

"His Majesty was one hundred and forty years old when he was poisoned."

Liam swallowed with effort, then stared at the scone as if it had personally betrayed him by entering his throat at the wrong historical moment.

"One hundred and forty."

"Yes."

"Goliath."

"Yes."

"The man whose portrait looked like he had been carved to ruin everyone’s heart in a minute."

Kamal’s eyes warmed faintly. "That description is not inaccurate."

"He was one hundred and forty?"

"Yes."

Liam looked toward the door, then back at Kamal. "Is that normal?"

"For him, yes. For most people, no."

"That is not an answer. That is an imperial evasion wearing a polite coat."

Kamal sat in the chair across from him, his posture still immaculate but less formal now. "His Majesty had dragon blood."

Liam went still.

Then very carefully lowered the scone.

"Of course he did."

Kamal blinked once.

"Of course," Liam repeated, voice flat. "Why would the ancient emperor whose soul is now inconveniently attached to my mate be merely human? That would be too simple. Please continue. Did he also breathe fire at council meetings?"

"No."

"A missed opportunity."

"His grandfather was half dragon," Kamal said, ignoring that with practiced dignity. "The line carried unusual ether density, slower aging, and certain physical resistances as time moved differently around that blood."

Liam rubbed one hand over his face. "I need a chart."

"You need rest."

"I need a chart while resting."

Kamal did not dignify that with an answer.

Liam leaned back against the cushions, eyes narrowed in thought. "So Goliath lived longer because of dragon blood. That explains the age. It does not explain why everyone around him sounds like they were selected by a committee specializing in emotional damage."

Kamal’s expression dimmed.

That made Liam stop.

"No," Kamal said after a moment. "It does not."

The silence changed again.

Liam held the cup between both hands, waiting.

Kamal looked toward the window, but his gaze had returned to that place inside a palace that no longer stood.

"His Majesty was mostly alone because of his line," Kamal said. "Not only because he was emperor. Because of what he represented. Dragon blood. Old imperial legitimacy. The former emperor’s face living again in his son. His mother never forgave him for that."

Liam frowned. "For looking like his father?"

"Yes."

"That seems... not his fault."

"No," Kamal said. "It was not."

The answer was too quiet.

Liam’s fingers tightened around the cup.

"His mother poisoned the former emperor," Kamal continued. "Her husband. Goliath’s father."

Liam stared.

Kamal’s voice remained level, but there was no softness in it now. "She survived because Goliath was the only heir alive."

Liam slowly sat forward. "She poisoned her husband, hated her son because he resembled the man she poisoned, and everyone just... continued?"

"That is one way to summarize imperial politics."

"That is not politics. That is a historical drama series with a budget for furniture."

Kamal’s mouth moved.

Liam pointed faintly with the scone. "No, I am serious. This is exactly the sort of thing people would call unrealistic if written down. Dragon blood, poisoned emperor, resentful mother, hated heir, vanished empire."

"There was also Olivier," Kamal said.

Liam stopped.

"Olivier."

"His Majesty’s younger brother."

Liam stared at him. "Of course there was also Olivier."

Kamal inclined his head, as if acknowledging the inevitability of the disaster. "Prince Olivier was always ready to kill him."

Liam’s face went blank.

Then he leaned back very slowly. "Always."

"Yes."

"As in politically?"

"Politically. Personally. Practically, when given access to knives, poison, supporters, bored nobles, or military officers with ambition."

Liam looked at the ceiling. "This is a series. This is absolutely a series. No one has that many murder relatives by accident."

Kamal’s expression remained composed, but there was something dry in his eyes. "His Majesty kept Olivier alive."

"Why?"

"Because he had given his word."

Liam looked back at him.

Kamal’s gaze lowered. "Their mother, on her deathbed, asked Goliath to take care of his younger brother."

Liam waited.

Then his brows drew together. "How old was Olivier?"

Kamal’s silence became eloquent.

"Kamal."

"Sixty."

Liam stared.

"Sixty," he repeated.

"Yes."

"His dying mother asked Goliath to take care of his younger brother, who was sixty years old and actively trying to kill him."

"Yes."

Liam placed the scone down with great care. "That is not a death wish. That is emotional blackmail with funeral lighting."

Kamal’s eyes sharpened faintly.

"I thought so as well."

The admission sat between them, quiet but unmistakable.

Liam looked at him more carefully.

"You hated her."

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