The Reborn Sovereign of Ruin, Bound by His Star Chapter 115: Less than five

’Five.’

Liam stared.

Then stared harder, narrowing his red eyes because surely the number would beco less offensive if observed with enough hostility.

It did not.

His brain, which had been built for engineering models, ether-flow analysis, structural failure prediction, and surviving Felix Canmore’s household without committing open murder, perford the intellectual equivalent of tripping down a staircase.

Five.

Five what? Five reports? Five hours? Five business days?

Liam picked up the tablet with the delicate care of a man handling unstable explosives.

’Five what?’

The answer ca imdiately, like Arik was waiting for the exact ssage.

’Minutes.’

Liam stopped functioning.

For one full second, there was nothing in his head except clean white static and the distant sensation of his own dignity collapsing sowhere in the background.

The thoughts about Arik working and assuming Liam important enough to be kept for the rest of the night, maybe tomorrow too, were a lie he told himself.

A dangerous lie.

One that had already rooted itself sowhere soft beneath his ribs and was now spreading with terrifying speed.

Liam blushed and decided there was no way back.

Fine.

If he was already dood, he could at least beco a problem about it.

His fingers moved before self-preservation recovered.

’You’d better hurry. I am not wearing anything underneath.’

He sent it.

Then imdiately froze.

The ssage appeared on the screen for less than half a second before realization struck him like a truck.

"Oh, that was catastrophic."

"Is that so?"

Liam jerked violently.

Arik’s voice brushed against his ear with a warm breath of low amusent.

Temple stone and caral flooded the air behind him so suddenly that Saint’s breath burst through the suite in one bright, startled wave.

Liam reacted entirely on instinct.

His elbow drove backward hard enough to hit solid muscle.

A sharp grunt sounded behind him.

"Oh my god—"

Liam twisted around on the sofa so quickly he nearly dropped the tablet.

Arik stood directly behind him with one hand braced against the back of the sofa, the other still hovering near Liam’s shoulder as if he had intended to lean closer before being assaulted by an oga with combat reflexes.

His expression remained composed for exactly one second.

Then the Crown Prince of Agaron started laughing, rough and helpless and startled enough that Liam stared at him in disbelief.

"You used ether," Liam accused imdiately.

Arik leaned slightly against the sofa, still laughing under his breath while rubbing one hand against his ribs.

"You threatened with nudity."

"That is not legal justification for teleportation."

"I did not teleport."

"You appeared behind like a haunted aristocrat."

Arik’s eyes glead gold beneath the warm suite lighting.

"I used a corridor fold."

"That is worse."

Liam’s face was still burning.

Arik’s gaze dropped once, briefly, toward the tablet still in Liam’s hands.

Then back to Liam’s face.

"You are not wearing anything underneath?" he asked softly.

The question hung in the air between them, destroying the last functioning remains of Liam’s composure.

He felt the heat climb higher in his cheeks, traitorous and imdiate, blooming beneath his skin as if his body had decided honesty was the evening’s primary occupation. His scent did not help. Saint’s breath curled through the room in another bright, delicate wave, entirely too pleased with itself.

Liam lifted his chin, trying his best to look in control and not fold like a damn folding chair.

"And what if I’m not?" he challenged, his voice coming out steadier than the state of his blood deserved. "Is that a problem, Your Highness?"

Arik’s smile spread slowly, with a keen warmth that made the room feel smaller and the distance between them appear impossibly thin. The amusent in his eyes dimd into sothing heavier, deeper, gold darkening beneath the soft light of the suite.

"No," he murmured.

The single word slid under Liam’s skin.

Arik leaned closer, not touching him yet, but close enough that Liam felt the warmth of his breath near his mouth.

"It is an invitation."

Liam’s thoughts scattered.

He had prepared for arrogance. For teasing. For so impossible princely answer that he could dissect and insult until the air beca safe again.

He had not prepared for that.

Unfortunately, Arik seed perfectly aware of it.

Before Liam could repair his dignity with sothing sharp and probably unfair, Arik moved. He moved closer with asured caution, giving Liam every chance to stop him.

His hand reached out for the tablet, and Liam’s fingers tightened around it on instinct.

"I’m reading this."

"You are not," Arik said softly.

The words were infuriating because they were true.

His fingers brushed Liam’s knuckles, warm and careful, and the touch made Liam’s grip weaken before pride could object. Arik eased the tablet from his grasp with a gentleness that made the act seem more dangerous than force would have.

He did not look at the screen.

He simply placed it face down on the low table beside the cocoa.

The loss of it felt imdiate, offensive almost, like losing a shield he had not admitted to holding.

Now there was nothing between them except warm air, the faint scent of cocoa, Arik’s temple-stone heat, and the bathrobe Liam was suddenly very aware had never been intended as armor.

Arik’s gaze lowered, his eyes lingering on the knot at Liam’s waist, dark gold and intent.

"Now," Arik said, his voice softer than it should have been. "About this claim you made."

Liam’s pulse struck hard against his throat.

"Arik."

It was ant to be a warning, but it ca out much closer to a question.

Arik looked up imdiately.

For one suspended second, the heat between them stilled around the place where Liam’s voice had landed. Arik did not move. Did not reach anything yet. Did not pretend not to understand.

"If you tell to stop," he said quietly, "I stop."

Liam hated him a little for that.

For restraint, honesty, and arriving in five minutes while still making permission feel necessary when Liam had given permission without words.

His fingers curled against the sofa.

He should have made a joke. Should have asked whether all Agaronian crown princes required verbal authorization before committing cris. Should have done anything except look at Arik’s mouth and forget how to speak.

Instead, Liam swallowed and said, very softly, "I didn’t tell you to stop."

Arik went still.

The gold in his eyes burned warr.

"Good," he murmured.