The next morning, Liam was escorted to the palace by a royal security team that behaved with the excessive politeness usually reserved for explosives and politically inconvenient relatives.
He disliked it immediately.
Not the escort itself. That part was expected. George had summoned him as king, privately and mandatorily, which meant the route, the guards, and the little theater of discretion were all part of the performance. What Liam disliked was the care with which everyone pretended this was courtesy rather than containment.
Two guards traveled in the front vehicle. Two in the rear. One rode beside him in silence with the expression of a man who had been told Lord Liam Canmore was either a dominant omega, a national complication, or some combination of both and had wisely decided not to form personal opinions before lunch.
Liam sat by the window and watched Alexandria go by.
