Shadow Unit Scandal: The Commander's Omega Chapter 241: Explain

"Explain," he said.

Cecil laughed once, entirely without humor. "Gladly. Gabriel offered a dically and politically sound solution to a marking issue with Frederik. Frederik then said no, because apparently our relationship remains structurally identical whether or not there is a hidden mark on his body, which is an infuriatingly sensible thing to say and therefore impossible to defeat. So now I’m angry. And since part of the reason any visible progression in this family becos a court event is because you, the imperial heir, remain romantically unprocessed and publicly unmarried, I am here to ask why you haven’t fixed that."

Arik listened to the entire thing without interruption.

Which should have been reassuring.

It was not.

By the end of it, one of his brows had lifted a fraction.

Only a fraction.

On Arik, that was practically a weather alert.

"So," he said at last, "you were denied a hidden territorial fantasy by a man with functioning judgnt, and your response was to co harass about marriage."

Cecil’s jaw tightened. "When you say it like that, you sound irritatingly like Gabriel."

"Good."

"That was not praise."

"I didn’t mistake it for any."

Arik rose.

He was taller than Cecil by enough to remain offensive about it, and the office changed when he stood. Goliath lived in that, Cecil thought. Not as a separate person. As a second gravity.

Arik crossed to the console by the windows and disabled the active wall display with one touch. The trade map vanished into black glass.

Then he turned back and said, "You are out of your mind."

"Yes," Cecil said. "I’m aware."

"No. I don’t think you are." Arik folded his arms. "Why would my marriage fix your inability to hear no with grace?"

"Because if you were properly arranged, half the court’s energy would be pointed at your dostic life instead of hovering over the rest of us like decorative vultures."

Arik looked almost impressed.

Almost.

"That," he said, "is the stupidest strategic argunt I’ve heard this month."

"This month is not over."

"Do not make that sound like a challenge."

Cecil paced once toward the windows, then back, too agitated to sit and too irritated to pretend calm. "You know what I an."

"Yes," Arik said. "I do. You want the court busy with soone else so your own life remains less observed."

"Exactly."

"And you chose ."

"You’re the heir."

"I’m aware."

"You’re also the most obvious distraction available."

Arik’s mouth moved at one corner in a way that did not qualify as amusent so much as prelude to cruelty. "That is flattering. Unfortunately, it’s still your problem."

Cecil stopped pacing. "You could at least make a gesture."

"Toward what? A crown princess?"

"Yes."

Arik looked at him in open disbelief. "You walked into my office, interrupted state work, and suggested I marry a crown princess to absorb court attention so you can mope more privately about Frederik."

"When you say it, it sounds petty."

"It is petty."

Cecil folded his arms and leaned one shoulder against the dark glass, visibly unrepentant. "I prefer to think of it as strategic redistribution."

"That," Arik said, "is the sort of sentence people invent when they know they’re wrong but want better tailoring on it."

Cecil clicked his tongue. "You could at least try to be supportive."

Arik stared at him for a mont longer, then huffed a laugh and pushed away from the console. The edge of danger in the room did not vanish, but it shifted. Less heir about to remove a problem from his office. More older brother profoundly offended that he was being dragged into this particular stupidity before lunch.

"You know," Arik said, coming back toward the desk, "the birth of our younger siblings should have been enough."

Cecil blinked once. "What?"

Arik spread one hand with the calm frustration of a man forced to explain civilization to an idiot he happened to share blood with. "The twins. Michel and Ophelia. Four-year-old imperial children. New heirs in the line. A fresh wave of succession chatter. A perfectly respectable distraction for a court with too much free ti and not enough self-control. That should have bought the rest of you at least a few years of peace."

Cecil considered that.

Then, reluctantly, "That is not completely unreasonable."

"No," Arik said. "It isn’t. And yet apparently the court continues to breathe."

"That remains one of our more serious institutional failures."

Arik’s mouth moved at one corner. "Agreed."

For a mont the office settled into a less catastrophic rhythm. The tension had not disappeared. Cecil was still angry, Arik was still being inconvenienced, and the empire still insisted on functioning around both of them. But so of the sharpest edge had gone out of it, replaced by the familiar irritation of siblings who had long since learned how to insult each other without ever mistaking that for distance.

Arik moved around the desk and sat on its edge rather than in the chair, which was sohow worse in terms of posture and much better in terms of honesty. Less imperial heir. More older brother with terrible timing and excellent teeth.

"In a year," he said, "I’ll be in Wrohan."

That sobered the room by degrees.

Not because the destination itself was surprising. Everyone in the family understood that Wrohan had not beco less inevitable just because ti had passed. Politics already leaned that way. Revenge did too. The future was clearly written for anyone with eyes.

Still, hearing Arik say it aloud made it heavier.

Cecil’s expression shifted. "I know."

Arik looked at him steadily. "Good. Then you also know I am not going to turn myself into a decorative public fiancé to entertain the court before that."

Cecil exhaled through his nose. "When you put it like that, you sound almost reasonable."

"I am reasonable."

"No," Cecil said at once. "You are sotis correct. That is not the sa thing."

"That is an extrely younger-sibling distinction."

"It is an extrely necessary one."

Arik ignored that with heir-level contempt. "After Wrohan, I’ll think about your complaint."

Cecil stared at him.

Arik stared back.

Then Cecil narrowed his eyes. "My complaint."

"Yes."

"You say that like I filed paperwork.

"You stord into my office during a eting, accused of insufficient matrimonial utility, and tried to outsource your frustration through dynastic planning. That qualifies as a complaint."

Cecil sighed and dragged a hand through his hair. "I hate this family."

"No, you don’t."

"That was imdiate."

"It was accurate."

And there it was again, the thing that made it impossible to stay properly angry with Arik for long: underneath the Goliath stillness, underneath the gold-eyed nace and the heir’s impossible gravity, he was still his brother. Still soone who found the whole thing stupid enough to enjoy at least parts of it. Still soone who had not, for all the old violence in him, lost the very human pleasure of having siblings to be irritated by.

Arik tilted his head slightly. "Also, for the record, if I ever do decide to beco useful to your private life by causing a romantic spectacle large enough to absorb the court, I expect gratitude."

"You’ll get criticism," Cecil said, "and maybe the good cognac Edward is hiding from you."