The route back to the diplomatic palace was peaceful.

That was, of course, if Liam chose to ignore several important details.

First, Arik was far busier than he had allowed Liam to notice over the past few days. The moment they entered the armored car, secured behind tinted glass, layered silence wards, and enough Shadow surveillance to make the city outside irrelevant, the prince opened three projection screens with the ease of a man who had been holding back an entire government by force of will.

Second, he was working with only one hand.

Because the other was locked around Liam’s waist.

And third, Liam was in his lap.

Not metaphorically.

Not in any polite diplomatic sense that could be explained away by seating constraints or security arrangements.

Arik had sat down first, drawn Liam after him with such unwavering confidence that arguing would have required more energy than Liam currently possessed, and settled him across his thighs as if this was a completely reasonable post-lab transportation arrangement for a crown prince and his extremely unofficial fiancée.

Liam had objected.

Briefly.

With dignity.

Arik had listened, hummed once, and tightened his arm around him.

That had been the entire negotiation.

Now the city moved past the dark glass in lines of blue etherlight and muted gold reflections while Arik reviewed security updates, medical requests, diplomatic route revisions, and what appeared to be a draft message to Marin that looked polite enough to be a formal summons and sharp enough to qualify as a warning.

Liam should have been irritated.

He was irritated.

Somewhere.

Probably.

Unfortunately, Arik was warm.

The scent of warm temple stone surrounded him, steadier now than it had been inside the Vanguard chamber, no longer sharpened by the Gate’s gold pulse or the edge of Arik’s restraint fraying too close to violence. The faint undertone of caramel lingered beneath it, softer in the quiet interior of the car, threaded through the lingering clean bite of white ether still clinging to Arik’s skin.

Liam liked it.

That was becoming a problem.

He liked the warmth, the weight of Arik’s arm around him, and the safety of being held without being handled like something fragile. He liked the way Arik worked around him rather than moving him aside, as if Liam being there was not an inconvenience but a condition the rest of the world needed to adapt around.

There was more to it, of course.

There was the memory of Arik’s mouth against his.

The railing cold beneath him.

Arik’s hands steady at his waist.

The press of his body.

The roughness of his voice when he said Liam’s name like it had become dangerous.

That memory did not leave simply because they had gotten into a car and Arik had returned to administrative murder through paperwork.

Liam was aroused too.

His mind kept returning to the same details with the discipline of a machine designed specifically to ruin him: Arik going still when Liam touched him first. Arik lifting him onto the rail without breaking the kiss. Arik stopping anyway, waiting anyway, even when his entire body had been wound tight with want.

Arik, who had said he wanted Liam clearheaded when he chose him.

Liam shifted slightly.

Arik’s hand at his waist tightened at once.

Liam looked at the nearest projection and pretended the movement had been caused by interest in medical logistics.

It was not.

Arik did not look away from the report he was reading.

"Careful," he said quietly.

"I didn’t do anything," Liam said a little too fast, while still shifting in Arik’s lap with a wicked kind of intention that made the statement collapse on contact with reality.

Arik’s hand stopped moving over the projection, only for a second, and then he closed the file with a single precise gesture.

One screen vanished.

Then the second.

Then the third.

The inside of the car dimmed without the blue-white glow of diplomatic reports, leaving only the muted gold reflections of Alexandria sliding over the tinted glass.

Liam looked at the empty air where the projections had been.

"Oh," he said. "That was important."

"It was."

"You closed it."

"I did."

"That seems irresponsible."

Arik finally turned his head.

The look he gave Liam was slow, heated, and controlled enough to be far more dangerous than impatience.

"You were pressing yourself against me while pretending to review medical logistics."

Liam blinked with theatrical innocence.

"I was adjusting my position."

"You adjusted it three times."

"The seat is inconvenient."

"You are in my lap."

"Exactly. Poor design."

Arik’s arm tightened around his waist, just enough to stop the next deliberate movement before it fully began.

Liam’s pulse jumped.

Arik noticed.

The faintest smile touched Arik’s mouth, but his eyes had darkened, gold sharpened by the low interior light. The scent of warm temple stone thickened around Liam, the caramel beneath it turning richer, warmer, and far less polite.

Liam swallowed.

He had started this.

Unfortunately, Arik seemed inclined to finish the argument properly.

His hand moved from Liam’s waist to his hip, slow enough that Liam could have objected and firm enough to make it clear Arik did not expect him to. With one smooth motion, Arik shifted him, lifting and turning him until Liam was no longer seated sideways across his lap.

He was straddling him.

Liam’s breath caught. his mind going numb for a minute.

The armored car was still moving through Alexandria beneath layers of wards and tinted glass. Arik’s projections still hovered in the dim air, half-collapsed and waiting. Somewhere outside, Shadows were coordinating routes, palace security was tightening around Amara’s temporary wing, and Marin was likely composing medically violent threats.

None of that mattered.

Not with Liam settled over Arik’s thighs, one knee on either side of him, hands braced against the prince’s shoulders as the car’s quiet motion pressed them closer by degrees.

Arik’s arm came around his waist immediately, holding him steady.

"This," Liam said, voice lower than he intended, "is not a work-appropriate seating arrangement."

Arik’s gaze moved over his face with slow, unbearable attention.

"No."

"You were very busy."

"I remain very busy."

"And yet?"

Arik’s hand slid up the line of Liam’s back, long fingers spreading over his shirt, stopping between his shoulder blades.

"And yet," he said quietly, "you kept moving."

Liam’s face warmed.

Arik’s mouth curved faintly, but the amusement did not soften the look in his eyes. The gold there had gone deep and intent, fixed entirely on Liam as though the rest of the world had become decorative.

Liam shifted despite himself, his weight pressing down on the prince’s lap.

Arik’s arm tightened.

A flicker of satisfaction moved through Liam before he could stop it.

Arik’s expression changed, the warmth thinning into something sharper, more serious. His hand rose to Liam’s jaw, thumb brushing once beneath his cheekbone before sliding lower, toward the side of his throat.

Not touching the scent gland.

Close enough for Liam’s pulse to jump beneath his skin.

"Liam."

The way he said his name stripped the smile from Liam’s mouth.

"What?"

"If you keep going," Arik said softly, "I need you to understand where this ends."