Chapter 215: Andreas Chooses Violence

Arik had kept his rut under control, and Liam did not know whether he resented it or was impressed.

Mostly impressed, though he preferred not to examine that too closely, because it was the morning of their engagement, two garment bags from Andreas had been placed across the sitting room sofa, and Liam had an ominous feeling about his dignity.

"Why are you so hesitant?" Arik asked while fastening the gold cufflinks he had chosen to wear until he changed again for the evening reception.

The prince was already dressed with effortless ease. Liam found it offensive in people who made beauty look like an administrative function: gray suit trousers, a black belt with gold accents, and a dark red silk shirt that made him look less like a man recovering from several days of suppressed rut and more like a state threat with too much money.

Liam stood in front of the garment bags.

He did not touch the second one.

"Experience," he said. "Andreas is competent, which makes him dangerous."

Arik crossed the room, moving with far too much grace for someone whose endocrine system had spent the week attempting to burn him alive. His scent was controlled now, held behind suppressants and discipline, but there was still warmth under it, a heavy golden edge that made Liam deeply aware of every inch between them.

"The first one?" Arik asked.

Liam unzipped the bag with the resignation of a man cooperating with court because war had not yet been declared.

Inside hung the suit he recognized from the approved fitting: deep green, almost black in shadow, with a white shirt, dark tie, and gold details worked so finely through the vest that they looked less like ornament and more like restrained violence. The shape was severe without being stiff, elegant without making him look trapped, and fitted enough that Liam still resented every person who had measured him and survived.

Arik’s gaze moved over the suit, then over Liam.

"That is beautiful."

"It is acceptable," Liam said, because surrendering entirely before breakfast felt immoral.

Arik’s mouth curved, but his attention shifted almost immediately to the second garment bag.

Liam stepped between them before thinking.

Arik’s amusement faded into attention. "That one bothers you."

"That one has bad intentions."

"Because?"

Liam looked at the bag, then away. "Because of the fitting."

The silence changed.

Arik knew pieces of that afternoon. He knew Liam had refused something. He knew Enia, Mirelle, and Stanford had defended the refusal with enough force that Andreas had survived only because he was useful and, ultimately, not cruel.

"Andreas suggested a version with internal structure," Liam said. "Defensive lining. Reinforcement along the ribs and spine. Concealed closures. Visual discipline. All the court nonsense people use when they want to make restraint sound practical."

Arik’s jaw tightened at ribs and spine, but he did not interrupt.

"I said no. Enia said no. Mirelle said no. Stanford eventually remembered his purpose in life and said no too." Liam’s mouth twisted. "Andreas listened. That should have been the end of it."

Arik looked at the second bag. "You think he sent it anyway."

"I think someone sent the ghost of a bad idea to haunt my engagement morning."

Liam reached to move the bag farther away, intending only to remove it from immediate danger range, but the side pocket caught beneath his fingers. Something glossy slipped free and fell between them.

A rendering.

Arik bent before Liam could stop him.

Of course he was faster. He was a prince, a weapon, and an unfair man at every hour of the day.

He straightened with the image in hand.

The rendering showed Liam in the forbidden version.

It was, infuriatingly, beautiful. The assistant had drawn him in deep green and dark gold, the longer vest shaped around the waist and ribs with elegant severity. The shirt was white, the trousers dark, the tie fine, and the jewel pin at his throat catching the atelier light. It was aristocratic and undeniably effective.

It was also something Liam had refused.

Arik looked at the rendering long enough for Liam’s stomach to tighten.

Then he placed it carefully on the table.

"This is the one you said no to," Arik said.

"Yes."

"And they sent it for comparison."

"Apparently."

Arik’s gaze returned to the image once more. Liam could see the moment admiration arrived; Arik was not blind, and the design had been made to flatter, to command, to place Liam in court like something sharpened and expensive. But the admiration stopped there. It did not cross into persuasion.

"You would look beautiful in it," Arik said.

Liam went still.

"But you are not wearing it," Arik continued. "You said no."

The relief came too quickly, sharp enough to embarrass him.

"I thought," Liam said, hating how quiet the words became, "that if you saw it, you would want me to wear it."

Arik’s expression changed with something close to pain. He came closer but stopped before touching, as if even comfort needed permission this morning.

"I want to see you in beautiful things," he said. "Repeatedly. Preferably in private first, so no one else survives having opinions. But I do not want you dressed in something you rejected because other people decided beauty mattered more than your body."

Liam looked away.

Arik chuckled darkly, and with an elegant snap of his fingers, his signet ring catching the morning light, ether bent around him like a prepared predator.

The second bag caught fire.

Arik’s ether, gold at the heart and blue along the edges, folding itself around the garment bag with surgical precision. The flame did not touch the sofa. It did not blacken the floor. It did not even warm the approved suit hanging safely beside Liam.

It consumed only the second bag.

The one that should not have been sent after no had already become law.

Liam stared.

The room’s fire wards flared red for half a second, assessed the source, recognized Arik’s signature, and retreated with the reluctance of technology that had decided the royal family was once again being unreasonable but authorized.

The corseted suit collapsed inward without smoke.

Gold embroidery curled.

Dark green fabric blackened.

The hidden structure along the ribs and spine glowed once, briefly visible beneath the dying cloth like the skeleton of a bad idea.

Then it was ash.

Arik lowered his hand.

"There," he said. "Visually corrected."

Liam turned his head very slowly.

For several seconds, he could not decide whether he wanted to laugh, yell, or kiss him.

That was becoming a worrying pattern.

"You burned Andreas’s work."

"I burned the violation of your preference."

"That was probably worth more than a ministry clerk’s yearly salary."

"Then Andreas will learn that expensive mistakes burn at the same temperature as cheap ones."

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