Chapter 235: Spatially Offensive

"Oh, no."

Liam’s crimson eyes had widened in panic.

"Oh, noooo!"

He said it again as Arik’s arm circled his waist and dragged him away from the hidden room and the looming double doors.

Liam’s fingers caught the doorframe.

"Liam, let it go," Arik said in a low, authoritative voice.

"No."

Arik went still.

It was not the answer he wanted.

It was also, regrettably, the answer everyone had expected.

Liam’s fingers tightened around the edge of the ancient black frame while Arik held him around the waist with enough control not to hurt him and enough intent to make it very clear he was seconds away from carrying him out like unreasonable cargo.

"Liam."

"If I let go, it may close."

"Good."

"That is not good. That is the opposite of good. That is the equivalent of a confession."

Mezos stepped closer, his eyes were on the double doors, then the floor, then the wall that had opened for Liam’s blood and swallowed his own ether without effort.

"Your Highness," Mezos said carefully, "Lord Liam may have a point."

Arik turned his head slowly.

Mezos looked, for the first time that morning, as if he regretted having a functioning mouth. "A small one."

Liam glared at him. "It is an important point."

"You are clinging to a cursed doorframe."

"I am preserving evidence."

"You are one bad decision away from becoming evidence," Mezos replied.

Arik’s arm tightened around Liam’s waist, dragging him back another inch.

Liam’s fingers held firm.

"Liam," Arik said, and his voice dropped into something low enough to make the Shadows near the door stop breathing too loudly. "My love. My eshara. Explain to me why the fuck I would let you near that cursed twin Gate when I am the crown prince of an empire and have enough staff to investigate it without my mate touching anything."

Liam finally turned his head toward him.

His crimson eyes were too bright, interested, and a little frightened, though he would rather die than admit that part first.

"Is that you," Liam asked, "or Goliath talking?"

Arik’s expression went still.

The question landed in the room like a blade dropped point-first into stone.

Mezos’s face changed at once, amusement dying cleanly.

Arik’s gaze darkened. "Do not use him to get out of safety."

"So Goliath."

"No," Arik said, sharper now. "Me. Arik. Your fiancé. The man currently holding you because you are attached to a doorframe leading to an impossible Gate hidden inside Felix’s private wall."

"That was a very specific description."

"It is a very specific problem."

"You are avoiding the question."

"I am answering the relevant one."

Liam’s fingers tightened again on the frame. "If this is the same Gate as Lab V—"

"You are not touching it."

"If this is a second access point—"

"You are not touching it."

"If Felix had a private route to it—"

"Then Mezos will investigate it."

"If it opened to my blood—"

Arik’s face showed the deep worry about Liam.

Liam’s blood, accepted by something that had no right to know him.

Arik leaned closer, his mouth near Liam’s ear, his voice quieter and infinitely worse. "That is exactly why you are not touching it."

Liam swallowed.

—

Three days later, Liam had tried almost everything to make Arik reconsider the authoritative decision of removing him from Canmore Palace and returning him to their mansion.

Honestly?

Liam found himself a little too interested in that side of Arik. Aroused and very much ready to pin down the man to the nearest horizontal surface.

Unfortunately, that was not the point.

The point was the Gate.

The hidden access point in Felix’s private wing.

The blood lock that had opened for him.

And Arik, with infuriating consistency, refused to allow Liam anywhere near it.

Liam began with sincere thanks.

He waited until breakfast, looked Arik directly in the eyes, and said, "Thank you for worrying about me. I know it comes from love."

Arik went still.

For two seconds, Liam thought he had found a weakness.

Then Arik leaned across the table, kissed his knuckles, and said, "You are welcome, my eshara."

Kamal, standing near the sideboard, watched all of this in silence.

Judging.

Liam escalated.

By afternoon, Arik’s sitting room had acquired an alarming amount of decorative pillows. Deep green, gold, cream, white, one terrible lavender one Liam had personally approved because it offended the eye. Arik entered, stared at them, removed exactly one from his chair, sat down, and began reading reports with Liam’s newest crime scene arranged around him.

Kamal passed by the doorway, stopped, observed the pillows, observed Liam, observed Arik not reacting, and continued walking with the heavy silence of a man witnessing imperial decline.

Liam escalated again.

Dinner involved spoons.

Odd spoons.

Tiny spoons. Long spoons. One shallow spoon that made soup impossible to eat without breaking something out of irritation. One spoon with a handle shaped like a lily, which Liam had selected because psychological warfare required artistry.

Arik looked at the spoon.

Looked at Liam.

Then picked up the bowl and drank the soup directly from it.

Kamal closed his eyes.

Liam accepted defeat with dignity.

Meaning he went to Lab V and locked himself into work.

The machine in front of him had a damaged pressure regulator and a misaligned insulation collar. Both were simple problems, which was offensive, so Liam made them more complicated by refusing to take a break.

Across the chamber, the Gate stood behind three fresh ward lines, twenty meters away and impossible to ignore.

Liam’s eyes drifted toward it once.

Twice.

Five times.

Alexander coughed.

Liam did not look at him. "Do not start."

"I have not spoken, my lord."

"You are working for Arik full-time now."

"I was hired for security."

"Traitor."

"Yes, my lord."

Mara stood near the diagnostic console, pretending to review listener logs while clearly watching him.

"I can feel you monitoring my mood," Liam said.

"I am monitoring the machine."

"The machine is less handsome than I am."

"That is true, my lord."

"Then your eyes should be on the machine."

Mara lowered her gaze at once.

For seventeen seconds.

Then looked back up.

Liam gave up.

Fine. Let them think he was sulking.

He was not sulking.

He was concentrating aggressively.

The regulator resisted alignment. Liam adjusted the inner ring, recalibrated the flow channel, rerouted the secondary control line, and ignored the slow ache gathering between his shoulders. His ward remained quiet. His hands were steady. His thoughts narrowed until there was only metal, pressure, heat, and the clean relief of a problem that did not bleed when touched.

Then footsteps sounded on the metallic bridge above the work floor.

One of the Shadows, probably. Coming to tell him Arik had sent another message, or Marin had reviewed his work hours, or Alexander had reported him for existing too intensely near a machine.

Liam did not look up.

"I know," he said, tightening the final regulator screw. "I have to leave."

The footsteps stopped.

Silence followed.

Liam raised his head.

A pair of purple eyes looked down at him from the bridge.

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