Arik was coordinating the meeting.
Rex was doing nothing out of the ordinary for a crown prince. He was reading reports, confirming perimeter adjustments, asking for updated household lists, and making the kind of restrained decisions expected from someone who had been raised to inherit a throne.
George had been picking a fight with him from the moment they entered the room.
Arik sat at the head of the long conference table because everyone had agreed, with varying degrees of reluctance, that Agaron's security protocols were the only reason the upcoming engagement reception had not already turned into a diplomatic liability wrapped in flowers and bloodline politics. Rex sat to his right, straight-backed, composed, one hand resting beside the briefing documents. George occupied the chair opposite him like a man who believed the table itself was insulting his authority.
