By evening, Liam woke drowsily, as if his body had sunk too deep into warmth and he did not entirely remember how to climb out.
The suite had dimmed around him, the pale afternoon brightness replaced by the soft glow of ether lamps and projection screens. Beyond the windows, Wrohan glittered under evening light, all glass towers, suspended tramlines, and gold-white ward veins, pretending the city was cleaner than it was.
Liam blinked at the ceiling.
Then at the blanket wrapped around him.
Then at Arik.
The Crown Prince of Agaron was still at the desk, because apparently sleep was something that happened to other people. His coat had been removed, his dark sleeves rolled again, and the faint gold glow of the projected reports carved his face into something focused and almost too beautiful to tolerate.
Liam stared at him for three seconds before remembering he was supposed to be irritated.
"I slept again," he muttered.
Arik looked up immediately. "You needed it."
