Arik smiled.
Not the polished, royal version that Liam had already grown to hate. Not the amused one either, the bastard's private little expression for when Liam said something sharp enough to deserve collection.
This one was colder. Older.
It looked wrong on a twenty-five-year-old prince and far too right on whatever had just stepped closer to the surface beneath him.
Felix recovered first, his eyes finding the most likely victim in this situation.
"I'm afraid," Felix said smoothly, "I don't know what Your Highness means."
Liam, despite the hand still firm at his waist and the deeply distracting fact that Arik had not yet let him go, almost laughed.
Of course, Felix's first reaction when confronted with something impossible was denial in a beautiful voice.
Arik's fingers tightened once, and Liam felt the message of it without needing translation.
'Stay.'
Infuriating.
