A few days later, Cecil decided that if he could not meaningfully punish politics, biology, or Frederik's infuriating reasonableness, he would instead punish the nearest available symbol of older-brotherly uselessness.
Which was how he ended up stalking down the eastern executive corridor of the imperial administrative tower with murder in his posture, two guards half a step behind out of pure instinct, and enough offended energy in his pheromones to make three junior aides flatten themselves against the ether-glass wall before he even reached the heir's floor.
Frederik had said no with that maddening, measured certitude that made refusal sound like structural integrity rather than rejection.
'A hidden mark changes nothing important between us.'
That had been the problem.
