Claudius releases a breath he didn't know he was holding, that frozen, fearful moment replaced by a feeling like pride. Laertes knows what he's doing, knows what he's done, from the moment he let that mask of careful, retreating deference slip for familiarity in grief. Later, he thinks, he'll kiss Laertes for his cleverness and his deftness, and -- apologize, all the same. This isn't a test he should have had to take.

"Take care with that name," Claudius says at last, to the others in the room. "She can sense it being said. I'm rather confident in it." Magnus's experience, Lan Wangji's words, and now the avouch of his own eyes.