"What do you mean, poison?"
Arik's expression shifted. The teasing warmth faded from his eyes for half a second, replaced by something older. Colder.
Before Liam could press further, the suite doors opened.
Noah stepped inside carrying a tablet in one hand and the expression of a man who had accepted that this diplomatic assignment was now spiritually cursed.
He looked directly at Arik and Liam tangled together near the door.
Paused.
Then visibly chose survival.
"Your Highness," Noah said smoothly, refusing to acknowledge the entanglement with the professionalism of a man preserving his own lifespan, "Kamal Veyr is waiting in the east saloon."
Liam felt Arik go completely still behind him, just as predators do before deciding whether something is real.
Noah noticed it too.
His expression sharpened faintly.
"Kamal?" Liam repeated slowly. "Who's Kamal?"
