Liam should have said something sharper.
Something about timing, or public ceremonies, or the fact that Arik had apparently decided to ambush him with private rings while he was sitting in his lap in a moving royal car, which was an unacceptable combination of intimacy, politics, and upholstery.
Instead, he looked at the ring.
Then at Arik.
Then, because his hands were only slightly steadier than his breathing, he let Arik take it from the case.
Arik did not rush.
He held Liam's hand as if the entire convoy, the palace, Wrohan, Agaron, Felix, George's debts, and every armed Shadow outside the vehicle had all been reduced to weather. His thumb brushed once over Liam's knuckles, warm and careful, before he slid the ring onto his finger.
It fit perfectly.
Liam stared at it. "You had my measurements."
"I am observant."
"You are a liar."
"I had help."
"From whom?"
Arik's mouth curved. "Your mother."
Liam closed his eyes. "Of course."
"And Mirelle."
"Of course."
