"You're serious."
George looked mildly annoyed. "Of course."
A knock sounded at the door before Liam could decide whether that answer deserved laughter or a chair thrown at the king's head.
George's irritation vanished so quickly it would have been impressive in a better man. "Enter."
The door opened.
A secretary stepped inside with the careful neutrality of someone who had worked long enough in the palace to recognize the texture of bad private meetings and had perfected the art of surviving them by becoming visually forgettable. He was middle-aged, narrow-faced, dressed in immaculate dark gray, and carrying a tablet held a little too tightly for this to be routine.
"Your Majesty," he said, bowing first to George and then, after the briefest pause, to Liam. "His Highness Crown Prince Arik of Agaron is waiting in the Sun Room."
For one beat, the room did not move.
Then Liam slowly turned his head to George.
