The Golden Court did not look like a place meant to welcome anyone.
It rose at the center of Deira’s parliamentary district in a wide circle of black stone, gold glass, and suspended balconies, its twelve administrative wings stretching outward like blades arranged around a sun. Ether lines ran through the outer walls in deliberate patterns that were neither decorative nor hidden enough to be purely functional. It was power displayed as procedure, authority wrapped in law instead of simple posturing.
Arik disliked it immediately.
Severin noticed.
"You built it," he said.
"Goliath built it."
"Are we ignoring the fact that you are a version of him? Plus, Cassian approved it."
"Yes, we are, while Cassian approving it explains the hostility of the building."
Severin’s mouth curved faintly as they crossed the covered entrance, where guards in dark parliamentary uniforms bowed low enough that several of them nearly lost the rhythm of their formation. Their eyes followed Arik’s bandaged hands first, then the Nurian crest at his waist, then his face.
Most of them avoided his eyes.
The doors closed behind him with a deep hum of warded metal, muting the crowd outside until the silence became heavy enough to feel arranged. Beyond the entrance hall, the Golden Court unfolded in layers of polished stone, administrative desks, high archways, and suspended screens of pale gold light carrying live notices in precise columns. Staff moved quickly through the corridors, each holding a tablet, seal case, legal folio, or message slate, their movements too urgent to be normal and too disciplined to be panicked.
At the center of that controlled storm stood Cassian.
His formal coat was deep gray edged with old silver, stern enough to make every person around him appear underdressed by comparison, and his silver hair had been tied back with a clasp that had clearly lost a battle against haste. Three administrative aides stood to his left, two to his right, and another slightly behind him with a stack of translucent slates floating in front of her, while a young official nearly twice Arik’s age held a half-open folder as though afraid Cassian might decide to execute it.
Cassian was reading three things at once.
"No," he said, without lifting his eyes.
One aide froze. "Prime Minister?"
"No to the emergency procedural witness request, no to the motion for immediate sovereign verification in the guest wing, and absolutely no to Councillor Veyr’s demand that the bonded consort be produced before the chamber for public classification."
Arik stopped walking.
Severin stopped beside him.
The air around them changed, although Cassian’s staff seemed too preoccupied with surviving the prime minister to notice.
Cassian signed one slate with a sharp motion of his finger. "If Councillor Veyr uses the phrase ’public reassurance’ again, inform him that I will reassure the public by removing his speaking privileges for six months."
The aide swallowed. "Yes, Prime Minister."
Another staff member stepped forward. "The Eastern Bloc insists that without direct visual confirmation, the office opening may still be a system error or unauthorized echo response."
Cassian’s eyes finally lifted.
The temperature of the hall seemed to drop.
"The imperial office has not produced a system error in three hundred and twelve years."
"Yes, Prime Minister."
"And if they wish to accuse the sovereign core of being confused, they may do so in writing, with their names attached, so that historians can properly preserve the depth of their stupidity."
The aide’s face went pale. "I will relay that in... moderated language."
"Do not moderate it too much."
Cassian signed another slate, dismissed two messages with a flick of his wrist, and only then looked fully toward Arik.
For a moment, the exhaustion beneath his authority was visible.
The kind that came from holding a room full of desperate people away from a door behind which their dead emperor might be breathing again.
"Your Highness," Cassian said.
Arik inclined his head. "Prime Minister."
Several aides reacted to the title with small, badly hidden flinches.
Cassian noticed but did not bother to explain why he was using that title.
Instead, he handed the signed slate to the nearest aide. "Deliver that to the chamber secretary. No one enters the guest wing without my authorization, physician clearance, and Severin’s approval."
Severin’s brows lifted. "My approval?"
"You seem unlikely to be intimidated by counselors."
"I am not."
"There. Useful at last."
Severin looked faintly offended, which Arik considered an improvement in the day.
The aides dispersed in different directions, leaving only three staff members behind, each of them maintaining enough distance to pretend they were not listening while clearly listening with the desperation of people who understood they were witnessing history and administrative collapse at the same time.
Cassian gestured toward a quieter side corridor. "Walk with me."
Arik followed.
Severin remained half a step behind, silent as a shadow and significantly more irritating than one.
"You look tired," Arik said.
Cassian did not glance at him. "You opened an imperial office after midnight, revealed that Felix’s previous Gate infiltration may be connected to the current crisis, arrived bonded to a recovering victim of Felix Canmore’s poison, and then allowed the office wards to announce your recognition across half the capital. I have had a busy morning."
"I did not allow the office to announce anything. The bells already did the job when my ether flared." Arik shrugged like he wasn’t going to accept the blame for the announcement.
Cassian looked at him.
The expression was calm enough to be dangerous.
"The bells announced sovereign recognition," he said. "The office announced active access restoration to three administrative sectors, four military archives, the inner court notification network, and every legal officer attached to the continuity procedure."
Arik paused.
"That was not intentional."
"No," Cassian said. "That is why I am still speaking to you instead of submitting a formal accusation of reckless sovereign activation."
Severin, half a step behind Arik, did not comment.
That was answer enough.
Cassian resumed walking, and Arik followed him down the quieter corridor leading toward the chamber access hall. Staff passed on either side with tablets, folios, and sealed legal slates, each of them pretending not to stare while failing to different degrees.
"The chamber is divided into five immediate positions," Cassian said. "The Central Continuity Bloc wants immediate public acknowledgment of sovereign return. No delay, no qualification, no verification period."
"They want Goliath."
"They want the waiting to end."
That was a more difficult answer.
Arik said nothing.
"The Eastern Bloc wants formal verification," Cassian continued. "They do not deny the office opening, but they want witness statements, system confirmation, and controlled access to everyone who crossed the Gate."
"Everyone?"
Cassian’s mouth tightened. "Especially Lord Liam."