Chapter 218: Five Minutes

Liam should have said something sharper.

Something about timing, or public ceremonies, or the fact that Arik had apparently decided to ambush him with private rings while he was sitting in his lap in a moving royal car, which was an unacceptable combination of intimacy, politics, and upholstery.

Instead, he looked at the ring.

Then at Arik.

Then, because his hands were only slightly steadier than his breathing, he let Arik take it from the case.

Arik did not rush.

He held Liam’s hand as if the entire convoy, the palace, Wrohan, Agaron, Felix, George’s debts, and every armed Shadow outside the vehicle had all been reduced to weather. His thumb brushed once over Liam’s knuckles, warm and careful, before he slid the ring onto his finger.

It fit perfectly.

Liam stared at it. "You had my measurements."

"I am observant."

"You are a liar."

"I had help."

"From whom?"

Arik’s mouth curved. "Your mother."

Liam closed his eyes. "Of course."

"And Mirelle."

"Of course."

"And Stanford."

Liam opened his eyes. "Stanford is moving down the line again."

Arik laughed softly, then handed him the darker ring.

Liam looked at it.

The old part of him, the sensible part, the engineer who understood systems and tolerances and why one did not make permanent decisions while recovering from poison and sleep deprivation, tried to raise several concerns.

The rest of him took Arik’s hand.

The prince went still.

Liam slid the ring onto his finger.

Dark gold against Arik’s skin, severe and beautiful, the worked ether-lines caught once in the filtered light before settling like something that belonged there.

"There," Liam said, his voice quieter than he intended. "Now you can be impossible officially."

Arik’s eyes lifted to his.

For a second, the restraint between them thinned enough that Liam felt the heat of him, the rut leashed beneath medicine, the hunger held behind obedience, and the impossible devotion that had burned a garment bag and then waited for permission to touch.

Arik leaned in slowly.

Liam met him halfway.

The kiss was meant to be brief.

A sensible acknowledgment.

A private seal before the public one.

It failed immediately.

Arik’s mouth was warm and careful for the first breath, then deeper when Liam’s fingers tightened in his shirt. Liam heard himself make a small sound and decided, very firmly, to blame the rings. Or the car. Or possibly national instability.

Arik’s hand settled at his back, its heat bleeding through layers of material. The approved suit did not wrinkle, probably because Arik was using ether as promised, which was absurd enough that Liam laughed against his mouth.

The car stopped.

Neither of them moved.

Outside the ether glass, through the dim tint, Mezos appeared beside the door.

He stood perfectly straight, hands folded behind his back, face neutral.

Professionally neutral.

Catastrophically neutral.

It was the expression of a man communicating, with no visible movement whatsoever: If they do not get out in five minutes, I will break the door and drag them to the ceremony.

Liam saw him first.

He broke the kiss with a breath that was almost a laugh.

Arik followed his gaze and sighed.

"He is threatening us silently," Liam said.

"Yes."

"He looks very calm."

"That is how you know he means it."

Mezos lifted one brow from outside the car.

Liam immediately understood why governments feared Shadows.

Arik opened the door before Mezos could prove the point.

"Five minutes?" Arik asked.

Mezos looked at him. "Four now, Your Highness."

Liam, still in Arik’s lap, muttered, "Professional traitor."

Mezos’s gaze shifted briefly to their joined hands, to the rings, then back to their faces.

For a moment, his neutrality softened into something almost warm.

Then it vanished.

"The ceremony is waiting," he said. "And so is every person who should not be allowed to imagine what delayed you."

Liam got out of the car first.

Arik followed, his ring catching the morning light.

Mezos looked at the untouched suit, then at Liam. "No wrinkles. Impressive."

Liam pointed at Arik. "Ether."

Mezos nodded gravely. "Agaron’s finest military technology, at last put to meaningful use."

Arik smiled.

Liam hated them both.

But he did not let go of Arik’s hand.

—

They entered through the eastern gallery because Mezos had opinions about sightlines, and everyone else had learned that arguing with him before a royal ceremony only made the corridors more heavily guarded.

The room waiting for them was not the grand reception hall.

Liam had refused that.

He had refused the balcony, the broadcast, the assembled court, the extended noble families, and three separate suggestions that the legal engagement should be "visible enough to reassure the country." The reception could be public. The reception could have flowers, music, suspicious relatives, and every predator in Wrohan pretending they had not spent the last decade feeding from George’s treasury.

The ceremony itself was his.

Some of the Ravenwoods and Armstrongs had objected, of course. Liam had received three careful messages about tradition, two about optics, and one very long paragraph about historic family unity from an elderly Ravenwood cousin who had apparently mistaken age for authority.

Liam had answered once.

If you want to see me kiss Arik and say yes, come to the wedding.

No one had replied after that.

Arik had read the message, gone very still, and then spent several minutes looking at Liam as if the message had done something unacceptable to his ability to breathe.

Liam had pretended not to notice.

Now, as they entered the private ceremonial room, the herald announced them with polished restraint.

"His Imperial Highness Crown Prince Arik Lyon of Agaron and Lord Liam Sienna Canmore of Ravenwood and Armstrong."

The words moved through the chamber like a line being drawn across history.

Not Canmore alone. Not George’s court object.

Ravenwood and Armstrong.

Liam felt Arik’s hand tighten once around his, not enough for anyone else to see, only enough for Liam to know he had heard it too.

The room was smaller than the court wanted and larger than Liam would have preferred. High windows let the night sky of Alexandria be admired, with flowers and tasteful arrangements ornamenting the room. A handful of witnesses stood arranged by rank and family power rather than comfort.

Rex was closest.

He wore black and silver, severe enough to look like mourning if one was generous and like a threat if one was honest. Liam suspected Rex had chosen it deliberately.

His gaze dropped at once to their joined hands.

Then to the rings.

Then back to Liam’s face.

A smile pulled at his mouth. "You two started without the state."

Liam lifted his hand slightly, letting the green-gold ring catch the light. "The state was late."

Arik’s mouth curved beside him.

Rex laughed under his breath and stepped forward, clasping Arik’s forearm first, then Liam’s, the gesture formal enough for the room and warm enough beneath it to count as private.

"Good," Rex said, quieter. "Very good."

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