For one stunned second, Liam simply stared at him.
Then the first laugh broke out of him.
Small at first, almost disbelieving. Then larger, sharper, pulled out of him by exhaustion, relief, horror, and the image of Andreas receiving the news that his assistant's final visual option had been consumed by royal ether because it had failed to respect the legal sovereignty of Liam's ribs.
Liam pressed one hand to his mouth.
It did not help.
Arik watched him with open satisfaction, which made him laugh even harder.
"Do not look pleased," Liam managed, and then immediately failed again, because Arik did look pleased. Beautifully, intolerably pleased, standing there in his dark red shirt and gold cufflinks with a neat circle of ash beside him like a man who had solved diplomacy through controlled combustion.
"I am not pleased," Arik said.
Liam pointed at him blindly because his eyes had started watering. "You are extremely pleased."
"I am satisfied."
"That is worse."
