Chapter 446: Strawberries

Three months after Liam’s contraceptive implant had been removed, nothing had happened.

At first, neither of them had cared.

Trying had been enjoyable enough that Arik considered the entire arrangement one of Liam’s better ideas, particularly when Liam approached conception with the same unreasonable dedication he normally reserved for engineering problems and somehow managed to make Arik feel like both a husband and a highly valued research instrument.

By the third month, Liam had stopped finding the lack of results amusing.

Arik noticed before Liam said anything.

They were in bed late one evening, rain whispering against the windows while the last of the palace lights dimmed across the private courtyard. Liam lay on his back beneath the thin covers, one arm flung over his eyes, his breathing finally steady after another very enthusiastic attempt at producing an imperial heir.

Arik stretched beside him, pleasantly exhausted and entirely prepared to remain there until morning.

Liam sighed, and it wasn’t the satisfied kind.

Arik turned his head.

“Come here.”

“I’m already here.”

“You are brooding three inches away from me.”

Liam lowered his arm.

“I am not brooding.”

Arik pulled him across the mattress anyway.

Liam resisted just enough to preserve his dignity before settling against Arik’s chest, bare skin warm against his side.

Arik ran one hand slowly down his back.

Liam remained quiet.

That lasted less than a minute.

“Three months.”

Arik understood immediately.

“So?”

Liam lifted his head.

“That is your contribution?”

“It is three months.”

“I know how long three months is.”

“I would hope so.”

Liam pinched his ribs.

Arik caught his hand and kissed his fingers.

“I’m serious, Liam.”

The irritation faded slightly.

Arik brushed damp hair away from his forehead.

“We are not failing anything.”

“I didn’t say we were.”

“You were thinking it loudly.”

Liam looked away.

That was enough confirmation.

Arik rolled onto his side and brought Liam with him until they were facing each other.

“I am not interested in turning this into a race.”

Liam’s crimson eyes returned to him.

“You wanted this just as much as I did.”

“I still do.”

Arik rested one hand over Liam’s hip.

“I also want you rested, comfortable, and enjoying your life. Preferably enjoying me too.”

“That part has not been difficult.”

Arik smiled, gold eyes bright in the low light.

“Good.”

Liam’s mouth twitched despite himself.

Arik continued more quietly.

“If it takes longer, it takes longer. I am not going to measure our marriage by whether you are pregnant this month.”

Liam studied him.

The frustration was still there, but the tightness around his eyes had eased.

“I thought you would be worse.”

“About what?”

“Trying constantly.”

“I enjoy trying constantly.”

“That is not what I meant.”

Arik laughed softly.

“I know.”

His thumb moved along Liam’s side.

“I want a child with you. I do not want you becoming miserable while making one.”

Liam exhaled and let his forehead settle against Arik’s shoulder.

That was where they left it.

Liam returned to work properly.

Within days, engineering reports reappeared across their sitting room. He spent afternoons reviewing infrastructure upgrades with provincial teams, disappeared into laboratories when someone showed him a promising ether-storage system, and resumed the social obligations he had deliberately expanded after Ayla’s scandal.

Arik watched him become himself again.

They still had sex frequently.

Neither of them had ever required reproductive motivation for that.

But the calendar disappeared from Liam’s bedside table, and the books about fertility moved into a drawer instead of remaining stacked like compulsory reading.

A month later, Mezos married Rubis exactly as they had wanted.

The eastern gardens had turned green by then, new leaves soft against pale stone while climbing roses began covering the pergola. Fewer than forty guests attended. The ceremony was short enough that Arik never became restless, the meal lasted much longer, and Theron managed to restrain himself from introducing military honors into any portion of the afternoon.

Kamal looked far too pleased about that.

Rubis wore cream and deep green.

Mezos wore black without a single ceremonial decoration beyond the ring waiting in his hand.

They were happy.

By late spring, Deira had warmed properly.

The palace gardens were full, the city terraces crowded in the evenings, and Arik’s birthday had become Liam’s current problem.

Not because Arik cared.

Arik had told him several times that he would accept dinner, Liam, and perhaps a cake if someone remembered one.

That was precisely why nobody trusted him to plan his own celebration.

Liam sat in one of the western salons with Sophia and four women who collectively understood more about Nurian social life than half the court administration.

They were the sort of women who remembered which families had not spoken in twelve years, which invitations would cause offense if issued separately, which young nobles were secretly engaged, and which provincial patroness could fill a ballroom merely by mentioning that she intended to attend.

Liam respected them enormously.

He had absolutely no desire to become one of them.

Working quietly behind people suited him much better.

Sophia sat beside him with a tablet balanced across her knees, dressed in pale blue linen suitable for the warm afternoon. Lady Merova had claimed the armchair nearest the open windows, while the remaining women occupied the sofa opposite amid fabric samples, menu cards, floral sketches, and enough guest lists to frighten Rubis if he ever entered.

Liam looked at the proposed dinner arrangement.

“Too many.”

Sophia smiled.

“You said that twenty names ago.”

“Because there are still too many.”

“It is the emperor’s birthday.”

“He knows all of these people already. That does not mean he wants to eat with them.”

Lady Merova lifted her tea.

“You have become very protective of his evenings.”

“I am protective of mine.”

That earned several knowing smiles.

Liam ignored them.

A servant entered carrying another tasting tray filled with small pastries, cheeses, fruit, and chocolate.

Liam immediately reached toward the strawberries.

They looked perfect—bright red, chilled, sliced beside a bowl of lightly sweetened cream.

He picked one up.

Brought it toward his mouth.

And gagged.

The entire table went silent.

Liam froze.

Sophia slowly lowered her tablet.

Lady Merova’s cup stopped halfway to her lips.

Liam stared at the strawberry in his hand.

The smell hit him again.

His stomach turned.

He dropped it onto the plate and covered his mouth.

Sophia’s expression changed.

Liam saw it.

“No.”

Nobody had said anything.

That somehow made it worse.

Lady Merova placed her tea down very carefully.

Liam looked around the room.

Five women were now watching him with the focused attention of people who had collectively recognized something he had not.

He straightened.

“It is a bad strawberry.”

Sophia looked at the untouched bowl.

“They were delivered this morning.”

“Then it is an unusually offensive strawberry.”

One of the women coughed into her napkin.

Liam narrowed his eyes.

Nobody laughed.

He looked back at the fruit.

His stomach rolled again.

Liam slowly moved the plate farther away.

Sophia’s mouth began to curve.