Liam sat.
Not because Felix had earned obedience.
Because men like Felix always mistook stillness for surrender, and sometimes it was useful to let them.
The chair was too soft. The office too warm. His face hurt in two distinct, throbbing waves that seemed determined to keep time with his pulse. He could still taste blood. He sat anyway, back straight, one ankle crossing over the other with enough deliberate care to make the act look almost elegant.
Across from him, Felix rested one hand over the head of his cane and regarded him with the composure of a saint painted by a liar.
"The Crown Prince of Agaron has arrived," Felix said.
Liam said nothing.
Felix's gaze sharpened, as if checking whether the name alone would produce any useful reaction.
"He has already broken protocol," Felix continued, each word measured and clean. "Twice, in fact. Once on the train. Once again upon entry into the city. We have therefore adjusted the diplomatic restrictions accordingly."
Ray shifted almost imperceptibly behind the desk. Cain did not move at all.
Liam looked from one to the other, then back to Felix.
"Adjusted," he repeated.
Felix smiled.
"The diplomatic corps is now permitted ether access only once every few days," he said. "A brief allowance. Regulated. Supervised. Otherwise, nothing."
Liam did not react outwardly.
Inside, however, something cold and technical aligned.
For most foreign dignitaries, it would be inconvenient. Humiliating, perhaps. For people from Agaron, raised on ether systems so integrated into daily existence that deprivation became physical, neurological, instinctive, it was torture refined into bureaucracy. Not enough to kill. Not enough to provoke open war. Just enough to remind them whose city they had entered.
Felix knew that.
Felix had done it because he knew that.
Petty, Liam thought distantly, was too small a word for cruelty when it wore a government seal.
He said none of that.
At present, his own problems had greater claim to urgency.
Felix watched him in silence for a moment, perhaps disappointed that Liam had not volunteered outrage, pity, or patriotism.
Then he moved on.
"There will be a reception in three nights," Felix said. "Private. Select. The prince will attend, along with the principal diplomatic escort, local ministries, a limited number of heirs, and invited houses."
Liam felt the trap before the sentence finished forming.
"You want me there."
It was not a question.
Felix inclined his head slightly, as though pleased that Liam had managed to keep up despite the obvious burden of having been hit in the face twice.
"Yes."
Liam let the word sit between them.
Ray's eyes remained on the desk. Cain's on Liam.
"And why," Liam asked at last, "would I ruin such a charming evening?"
Felix's expression did not change.
"Because," he said, "you will attend as instructed, dressed properly, speak when spoken to, and stand where I place you."
Liam leaned back a fraction, ignoring the pull in his split mouth.
"I see."
"No," Felix said mildly. "You suspect. Seeing would require discipline."
Liam's gaze stayed on him.
Felix continued.
"There will be three other dominant omegas present," he said. "Selected from houses still capable of producing something other than decorative incompetence."
That made Liam's stomach turn, though his expression did not move.
Liam understood all at once why Felix had wanted him attentive.
He was not being invited to a party.
He was being arranged within one.
Felix went on in the same tone one might have used to discuss glassware.
"You will observe them carefully," he said. "How they speak. How they move. How they receive attention without reducing themselves to irritation and machinery. It is past time you learned the difference between being rare and being useful."
Liam had known, in broad ugly strokes, that Felix wanted him at that reception for some purpose beyond family appearances. Still, hearing it laid out with such casual contempt did something unpleasant beneath his ribs.
He knew Felix did not mean to offer him to the Crown Prince directly. Felix never made a move without seven layers between action and intention. Seduction was too crude, too obvious, too dependent on variables Felix could not fully control.
And Liam…
Liam would rather have put a knife through his own throat than flirt on command for the benefit of that room.
Felix knew that too.
Which meant this was something else.
Liam's fingers tightened once against the armrest.
He loosened them immediately.
"So," he said, voice level despite the pulse of pain in his face, "I am there to admire the breeding stock."
Ray flinched.
Cain's eyes narrowed slightly.
Felix only smiled again.
"Your vulgarity does not make you inaccurate," he said.
That, more than the slap, almost made Liam laugh.
He looked at Ray.
His father still had not met his eyes.
Of course not.
"You approve of this?" Liam asked him.
Ray's jaw tightened. "This is not about approval."
"No," Liam said. "Clearly not. That would have required a spine."
Cain's mouth moved this time, not quite a smile and not quite disapproval either. Ray looked up at last, and for one brief moment something almost like anger passed through his face.
It vanished too quickly to be useful.
"Watch your tone," Ray said.
Liam turned back to Felix.
"Or what?" he asked softly. "He'll let you hit me a third time?"
Ray went very still.
Felix, however, looked faintly delighted by the escalation, the way some men enjoyed a storm once they were sure the glass was thick enough.
"The prince is not the point," Felix said, reclaiming control with infuriating ease. "Do not flatter yourself into irrelevance. Agaron's heir matters, certainly. Their empire has the deeply irritating habit of producing competent rulers, so he will be attended by those who better suit his tastes." His pale gaze rested on Liam with quiet, deliberate malice. "You will have your part in the night. Don't worry. I have not forgotten to make use of you."