Ethan felt it in his teeth first, the way you felt a pressure change before you heard the thunder. His stomach rolled, but this time it wasn't the pregnancy. It was the pure, clean disgust of being spoken about like a contaminated object.
Sirius didn't move.
His pheromones didn't spike. If anything, they withdrew into something tighter, sharper, contained like a blade sheathed on purpose.
"Say that again," Sirius said quietly.
Caelan's eyes narrowed, irritated. "Don't be dramatic. I'm being practical."
"You're being vile," Sirius corrected, voice still low. "And you're doing it in my office."
Caelan's smile returned, thin. "In your office, in my Empire. The court will ask questions. The people will demand a story. You can't parade a mistake and call it tradition."
Ethan's hands curled at his sides before he could stop them. He hated that his body wanted to tremble. He hated more that Caelan expected him to.
Sirius stepped half a pace forward. Not threatening. Final.
