The silence after that was absolute.
Even the palace wards seemed to lower their hum.
Felix bowed his head.
To Goliath, it looked like restraint.
To Arik, it looked like a man forcing poison back behind his teeth.
"I did not mean to sound entitled," Felix said.
Goliath studied him.
Perhaps, if the day had been different, if the portrait had not been waiting, if Olivier had not passed through the chamber like a bad omen dressed in silver, if Goliath had not been one hundred and forty and exhausted by people who mistook proximity for intimacy, he might have pressed harder.
He did not.
That was the mistake.
"I know what you meant," Goliath said.
Felix's lashes lowered. "Do you?"
"Yes." Goliath's voice was quieter now. "You want to matter."
Felix went still.
"And you do," Goliath said. "But not because nobles whisper your name beside mine. Not because you believe my bed will make the Empire acknowledge you faster."
Felix's hand tightened again, then smoothed.
