Contents

Once Upon a Time

Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Epilogue
From the Author
Calluvia's Royalty series
 Once Upon a Time

(Book #3 in Calluvia’s Royalty series)

Alessandra Hazard

Other books in the series:

Book #1 That Alien Feeling
Book #2 That Irresistible Poison

Copyright © 2019 Alessandra Hazard

Editor: Elizabeth Balmanno

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any
manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief
quotations in a book review. This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and events are the
product of the author’s imagination.

www.alessandrahazard.com

Warning: This book contains explicit MM sex and graphic language.

 Prologue

“I want a story, Mommy!”

Shayla suppressed a sigh, looking at her daughter’s eager little face.
Her five-year-old adored fairy tales and wanted a new story every night, but
she absolutely detested repetition.
Shayla looked around, looking for inspiration, and her gaze stopped on
the glossy magazine on her nightstand. Gossip magazines on the royals of
the Inner Core planets were a bit of a guilty pleasure for her, something
Shayla couldn’t really afford but couldn’t resist buying. Maybe they would
finally be useful for something.
Shayla picked up the magazine and stared at the man on the
cover. “Once upon a time, there was a beautiful prince,” she said
wistfully. “He was so beautiful that the tales of his beauty spread even to
the Fringe planets of the Union. It was said that one look at the prince stole
people’s breaths away—so beautiful he was.” Shayla might have been
exaggerating a little for the sake of the story, but the prince in question
really was breathtakingly handsome.
Her daughter perked up. “What did he look like?”
Shayla smiled. “He was tall, strong, and graceful, with the kind of face
that was impossible to look away from. He had wavy brown hair, deep
green eyes, and skin that was so fair and perfect it seemed to almost glow.”
Shayla decided not to mention that the prince had a sensual, red bow of a
mouth that made her think very naughty and non-fairy-tale appropriate
thoughts. Her daughter didn’t need to know that.
“He sounds very pretty,” Nina said.
Shayla smiled at her daughter. “He was.”
Nina looked excited now. “What happened then?”
“The prince was betrothed to another child from a noble family when
he was even younger than you. They eventually got married and were very
happy together. They were considered the most beautiful couple in the
galaxy.” Shayla smiled wistfully, remembering the articles about the couple,
how good they looked together. Although the prince-consort had been no
match for the prince’s beauty—no one really was, maybe except for the
prince’s younger brother—they made a gorgeous couple. They had been the
Couple, the relationship lowborn nobodies like Shayla aspired to have.
Shayla used to collect all the articles she could find about the Calluvian
royal couple, adoring them together despite never even seeing them in
person. Calluvia was a planet of the Inner Core, very far away from the
rural bumfuck of a planet Shayla lived on.
“Did they live happily ever after?” Nina said.
Shayla’s smile faded. “No. Years after the royal wedding, the prince-
consort was killed by the rebels—very bad people.” It was still hard to
believe, even months later. Truth be told, Shayla felt a little bit heartbroken
about it, as if part of her childhood had died too. She swallowed. “And it
was said that the prince never smiled again after that, his heart freezing
over.”
Her little daughter frowned. “It’s a sad story, Mommy! I don’t like it.”
Shayla kissed her on the forehead gently. “I know, sweetie. But not all
stories have a happy ending. They’re still worth telling.”
Nina pouted. “Can’t the prince fall in love again and be happy?”
Shayla stared at her. “No, of course not,” she said faintly. The mere
idea of the prince falling in love with someone else just seemed…
preposterous. Wrong.
 “Why not?” her daughter said.
Shayla frowned, not sure what to say. She could hardly say that she had
been too invested in the relationship of two people she didn’t even know,
and that was why she didn’t want the prince to fall in in love again.
Maybe it was selfish of her, but Shayla was a strong believer that
people could only love once, and she was sure there was no man who could
ever eclipse the prince-consort in the prince’s heart.
Shayla looked down at the glossy magazine, at the ice in the prince’s
once-warm eyes.
Prince Jamil’s heart really seemed to have frozen. It would take a
miracle to melt the ice again.
Or fire.
 Chapter 1

Jamil couldn’t sleep.

He tossed and turned in his huge, empty bed for what felt like forever,
but sleep evaded him, no matter how tired he was. Of course it also didn’t
help that he had a splitting headache.
Sighing, Jamil sat up. He squeezed his eyes shut and reached mentally
to the remnants of his marriage bond. If he concentrated hard enough, he
could almost feel Mehmer at the other end. He knew it was just a delusion.
The High Adept had checked his mind and confirmed that Jamil’s bond was
torn completely. He’d said that it was normal for a widower to imagine that
they could feel their deceased bondmate. The phenomenon was widely
known, and he urged Jamil to block off the bond.
The pain will soon fade, the mind adept had said. All you will feel is
absence.
Jamil had almost laughed in his face, because it didn’t exactly sound
comforting. But then again, it wasn’t like the mind adept would know. The
monks of the High Hronthar were the only people on the planet who didn’t
have to be bonded. They didn’t know what it felt like to share a telepathic
bond with another person since early childhood. They couldn’t even
imagine what it felt like to have such a cherished bond and then lose it.
They had no clue. Sometimes Jamil envied them that.
 Sighing, Jamil got out of his bed. If he wasn’t going to get any sleep
tonight, he might as well go for a walk.
Or a ride. Yes, a ride might be exactly what he needed. Perhaps it
would distract him from his headache and do something to the restless
tension under his skin.
Feeling a little better at the prospect of a ride, Jamil slipped out of his
rooms and headed toward the royal stables.
The palace was quiet at night. His mothers were likely already asleep
in their wing, his sister was visiting a friend on another planet, and Seyn
was likely still sulking in his rooms over his latest fight with his betrothed.
The only people Jamil came across were the guards and the occasional
servant. They bowed to him hastily, hiding the surprise in their eyes.
Glancing down at his white nightwear, Jamil wondered if he should
have changed into more appropriate clothes. It might be night, but he was
still the Crown Prince. But fuck it; if he couldn’t be less than perfect in his
own home in the middle of the night, he would go insane.
The night was a little chilly but nice.
The two moons, high in the sky, illuminated the grounds with their
pale, bluish-silver glow.
Shivering slightly in his thin shirt, Jamil strode toward the stables.
That part of the palace was definitely not quiet. He could hear the
sounds of the animals even from afar. The stables of the Third Royal House
were one of the largest on Calluvia, and their zywerns were famous across
the Union of Planets for their impeccable breeding and grace. The stables
had always been Jamil’s pride and joy. Whenever he had free time, which
wasn’t often, he came here to watch his zywerns or take one for a spin over
the palace grounds.
He hadn’t been here since before his husband’s death, too deep in grief
to even think about something that brought him joy. Maybe he was finally
healing, a little.
 The sound of a zywern’s cry made him snap his head toward the
training enclosure nearby.
Jamil’s eyes widened.
There, behind the standard security force field fence, designed to hold
back wild animals, a magnificent black zywern was bucking wildly, trying
to shake off its rider. The sight was a little unnerving. A zywern wasn’t easy
to ride even when it was already tamed. A wild one was a nightmare to
handle. Jamil had tried to break an untamed zywern when he was an
adolescent and had ended up with a back injury. The Queen had been
beyond furious. You could have died, she had told him. Jamil knew she was
right. It had been reckless of him. Even professional trainers struggled
taming these beasts; his teenage self stood no chance.
Jamil looked from the zywern to its trainer. The lights around the
training enclosure were bright enough, but from the distance, he didn’t
recognize the man. Whoever he was, he was a hell of a rider. His seat was
perfect, confident and steady despite the wild bucking of the powerful
animal under him. As Jamil watched, the zywern’s bucking gradually
lessened as it got tired. Finally, it seemed to give up trying to dislodge the
man on its back.
The rider leaned down and murmured something into the zywern’s ear,
stroking its quivering side. To Jamil’s astonishment, the man released the
gravitational bindings on the zywern’s wings. Was he suicidal?
Immediately, the zywern bucked, sensing freedom, and took flight.
Jamil was sure the man would be thrown off in an instant and break his
neck. But, to his utter surprise, the rider managed to hold on as the zywern
started trying to shake him off its back, flying erratically over the training
enclosure, the force field the only thing preventing it from flying away.
Even despite his concern, Jamil had to admit the sight was awe-
inspiring: a huge black beast with magnificent wings and a rider, also all in
black, holding on stubbornly against all odds. Twin moons shone brightly in
the night sky, illuminating the battle of wills between a man and a beast.
The man won.
 Jamil watched in amazement as the man managed to make the zywern
land, the animal breathing heavily and shaking but allowing the rider to get
off its back without attempting to attack him.
He’d never seen anything like that. Taming wild zywerns took ages,
not—not this. Professional trainers waited months between getting a
zywern to stop bucking under its rider and attempting to fly it. It just wasn’t
done.
Who was this man?
Frowning, Jamil strode toward the training enclosure. “Do you have a
death wish?” he said as he approached the fence.
The man was kneeling, stroking the zywern’s quivering belly, his back
to Jamil.
“Go away,” he said in a low, commanding voice.
Jamil stared at him in astonishment. No one dared talk to him in that
kind of tone, much less his employees. This man likely didn’t know who he
was talking to, or he wouldn’t dare.
“You just ignored at least a dozen safety protocols,” Jamil said, almost
glad for the opportunity to dress someone down. His head was throbbing,
the headache from his torn bond almost unbearable at this time of the night,
and the frustration in him was building, wanting an outlet.
“I said get the fuck out of here,” the man said, irritation creeping into
his voice. “You’re making him agitated.”
Jamil’s concern and mild annoyance turned into anger. “Do you even
know who you are talking to?”
“I can put two and two together,” the man said, his large, brown hand
still stroking the zywern’s quivering belly. “Such a posh voice can’t belong
to a lowly servant—not to mention that a servant would have more fucking
sense than to interrupt me while I’m working.”
Jamil flushed. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been
reprimanded by anyone in such a way. He glowered at the man’s back,
searching for something to say, something that wouldn’t sound petulant.
Jamil didn’t do petulant, dammit. His younger brother was the one prone to
throwing a fit like a spoiled brat if he didn’t get his way. Jamil was the
responsible one.
Except at the moment, he didn’t feel like being responsible. He wanted
to put that man in his place. How dare this brute speak to him that way?
“Look at me when I’m speaking to you,” Jamil ordered, straightening
himself to his full height. He usually didn’t like using his height to
intimidate someone, but something in him itched to make sure this man
knew that Jamil was his better. It was a ridiculous feeling, something
primitive and territorial, but he couldn’t quite control it.
Slowly, the man got to his feet.
Jamil felt a little disappointed, because the other man was about the
same height as him, which wasn’t an easy feat. There wasn’t a hint of fat in
the man’s body, his shoulders wide and his body rippling with muscle.
Unlike Jamil’s gym-toned physique, this man’s muscles were clearly the
result of hard manual work—there was a restrained strength about him,
something lethal, precise, and perfectly in control.
The man enabled the gravitational bindings on the zywern again before
finally turning around.
The harsh reprimand died on Jamil’s lips the moment his gaze met the
man’s black eyes. They were sharp and unnaturally intense, impossible to
look away from. Something at the back of Jamil’s mind lurched, craving,
his breath leaving his lungs in a gasp.
The man’s gaze darkened, his nostrils flaring.
As though in a trance, Jamil felt the man approach him—he
literally felt it, the heady, hungry feeling at the back of his mind increasing
the closer the man got.
“What the…?” the man bit out, glaring at him with wild, half-crazed
eyes, before shoving his face against Jamil’s bare throat and breathing.
Jamil shuddered, a whine leaving his lips as the stranger’s nose pressed
below his ear, against his telepathic point. The touch made his telepathy
go wild, a weird kind of pleasure, unlike anything he’d ever felt, spreading
through his mind. He felt intoxicated, gasping for breath as the stranger
shoved his face tighter against his skin, breathing shakily.
“What the fuck?” the man gritted out before ripping himself away.
They stared at each other, wide-eyed, bewildered, and angry.
Jamil tried to speak, but nothing came out. He was shaking so badly he
didn’t know what he was feeling: a weird mix of revulsion, need, and
something else.
So he did the responsible, princely thing: he turned and fled.
 Chapter 2

“Is something the matter, Your Highness?”

Jamil flinched and looked at his Master of the Household. “No, Weyrn.
Please continue.”
Weyrn shot him an uncertain look and resumed giving his monthly
report.
Jamil tried to keep his expression attentive. He didn’t try to be attentive
—he knew it was futile—but he couldn’t give his employees a reason to
think there was anything amiss about his behavior. Gossip spread among
the servants very fast, especially when it came to the royals’ affairs.
It was just… He couldn’t get that man—that incident—out of his mind.
Everything about it was so bizarre. Only after returning to his room from
the stables had Jamil realized that the persistent headache caused by his torn
marriage bond was miraculously absent. Instead, his mind—his entire being
—ached with yearning so strong that Jamil shook with it for a long while.
Of course, the headache returned a few hours later, and returned with a
vengeance, as if punishing him for feeling good. Jamil had hardly needed
the extra punishment besides the guilt churning his stomach. How could he
feel good with some stranger—some rude, low-bred brute—touching his
telepathic point? The mere memory made him cringe, his mortification and
self-disgust making it hard to breathe. His husband had been gone for five
months. He had no business feeling anything but pain.
 And yet, no matter what he told himself, his mind kept going back to
that weird, crippling pleasure-need-right feeling that he’d felt for a few
sick, blissful moments.
At long last, tired of his own distracted state, Jamil dismissed Weyrn,
citing a headache, which was genuine enough.
Once he was alone in his office, Jamil finally gave in and accessed the
Calluvian database.

Four hours later, Jamil sat back, staring at the holotext in front of him.
As the Crown Prince and second highest-ranking person in the Third
Grand Clan, he had the highest clearance for the Calluvian database. He
could access the most obscure, classified information with a single
command. The research had still been incredibly frustrating.
It had been thousands of years since Calluvians had started practicing
childhood telepathic bonds. Any information on any other type of telepathic
connection was sparse and frustratingly vague. Several ancient texts alluded
to the existence of perfect telepathic compatibility, which allegedly led to
two people being inexplicably drawn to each other. That would explain why
one look into a total stranger’s eyes might provoke such a strong,
strange, sickening reaction.
Except it didn’t make sense.
Every lawful citizen on the planet was bonded. Even widowers like
Jamil weren’t completely bondless: they still had a torn marriage bond,
which, theoretically, should prevent Jamil from forming any kind of
telepathic connection again. Even if the stranger was a widower himself,
they shouldn’t have reacted to each other the way they had: two broken
bonds didn’t make a whole one.
There was another possibility, however, and that possibility made
Jamil’s blood go cold.
Not all Calluvians were bonded, after all. But the only people who
didn’t get bonded were the monks of the High Hronthar—and the rebels.
Since it was pretty safe to say that the rude man wasn’t a monk, he could be
a rebel. Nothing else made any sense given the way they reacted to each
other.
Jamil had to suppress the urge to call for security. He reminded himself
that he had no proof. He could hardly tell the Captain of his Guard that a
stableman he didn’t even know the name of was a rebel. His Captain would
think him mad, and he would be right. All palace employees were
thoroughly vetted, their backgrounds checked and double-checked. It was
highly unlikely that a rebel would infiltrate the palace.
But it wasn’t impossible.
Pursing his lips, Jamil closed the ancient text and brought up the
database on the palace employees.
He paused when he was offered to filter the search.
What did he even know about that man? Jamil could remember very
little except for those black, bottomless eyes. The man’s skin was brown, he
recalled after a moment, thinking of those dark hands stroking the animal’s
quivering side. That was a little strange. The Third Grand Clan was famous
for its people’s very fair skin. Although it was possible that the stranger
belonged to one of the other eleven grand clans, it was rare that the royal
palace employed outsiders. The man also had a slight accent.
Feeling more mystified than ever, Jamil brought up the list of
employees working in the royal stables—forty-six individuals—and started
scrolling, looking for any men with remotely brown skin.
He frowned when the list ended and he still hadn’t found
anyone. “Omer, please get me the security footage of the stables—training
enclosure three, I think. Date: the eleventh of Raavenys, a little after
midnight.”
It took the palace AI just a few moments to load the relevant security
footage. “Do you require anything else, Your Highness?”
Jamil leaned forward, watching the footage of that man trying to tame
the zywern. The footage started before Jamil’s appearance and it was shot
from a different angle than the one Jamil had watched them from.
 He zoomed in on the rider’s face and stopped the footage, eyeing the
man and taking in the details he’d missed the other night. Chiseled jaw,
straight nose, honey-brown skin, closely cropped black hair, and those black
eyes… The top of the stranger’s muscular chest was visible through his
half-unbuttoned black shirt, and Jamil pursed his lips at such a complete
disregard of the employee dress code.
“Omer, run the facial recognition program,” he said.
“One moment, Your Highness. One result is found.”
An employee profile appeared in front of Jamil.
Jamil frowned as he read the sparse information in it.

Name: Rohan di’Lehr.

Age: Thirty-five standard years.
Origin: Colony Tai’Lehr of the Third Grand Clan.
Occupation: Certified zywern trainer.
Bondmate: Camirynn Seg’bez

Apparently, that man wasn’t a permanent palace employee, but a

zywern trainer contracted for just three months.
Jamil frowned and racked his brain for everything he knew about
Tai’Lehr. It was about one hundred and eighty light-years away from
Calluvia, a fringe industrial colony that specialized in mining the invaluable
deposits of korviu and breeding a rare breed of zywerns. Although the
colony was technically part of Jamil’s grand clan, it was independent in all
but name. Transgalactic teleportation to Tai’Lehr was impossible because of
the unique magnetic field around the planet caused by its large korviu
reserves, and that sector of space was too dangerous to get to on spaceships
because of the ongoing war between two neighboring planets.
As a result of these circumstances, the colony had been essentially cut
off from Calluvia for centuries, the communication between them sporadic
and space travel to the planet long and dangerous. The colony still managed
to transport their goods via independent trading companies willing to travel
into a war zone. It was part of the reason Tai’Lehrian zywerns were so
expensive and so sought-after. Come to think of it, the magnificent black
zywern from the other night must have been from Tai’Lehr. Black zywerns
were extremely rare, bred only on a few planets, Tai’Lehr among them.
It still didn’t explain why Rohan di’Lehr had been employed by Jamil’s
stable master. Running a thorough background check on a Tai’Lehrian
citizen was obviously problematic given the circumstances, so Rohan
di’Lehr presented a huge security risk.
“Omer, do we have an up-to-date database on Tai’Lehr’s citizens?”
Jamil wasn’t sure, since the Queen was the one who dealt with their clan’s
colonies.
“None that are in my memory storage, Your Highness,” the AI replied.
Jamil suppressed a sigh. At times like this, their palace AI was next to
useless. He wished Omer were as advanced as the Second Royal House’s
AI, Borg’gorn, who was one of the most powerful artificial intelligences in
the galaxy. Compared to him, Omer was just a glorified butler.
“Do you want me to ask the Queen, Your Highness?”
“No,” Jamil said. His sudden interest in Tai’Lehr would seem strange
and right now he didn’t want his mother’s scrutiny.
Jamil looked at the man’s profile again. Rohan di’Lehr. Rohan. It
meant ‘black’ in one of the Calluvian dialects. The simplicity of the name
indicated that its owner wasn’t of noble blood. The fact that the man just
carried the name of the colony indicated that he was an orphan without any
lineage to attach to. It explained why there was no information on his
family. As for the fact that Rohan supposedly had a bondmate… it just
confused Jamil. A bonded man should have never reacted to him the way
Rohan had the other night. It just wasn’t possible.
He was thinking in circles.
Sighing, Jamil pinched the bridge of his nose. Clearly he wasn’t going
to figure anything out without asking his stable master why Rohan di’Lehr
had been hired and why his employee profile was so incomplete. Except
such interest from him would look very strange: the Crown Prince didn’t
involve himself in hiring servants. Although he didn’t have to explain his
actions to his staff, such uncharacteristic behavior would make servants
gossip and Jamil would rather avoid that.
He could also confront the man himself.
Jamil’s stomach clenched at the thought. He didn’t want to do it.
Liar.
Jamil bit the inside of his cheek. All right, he might be lying, a little.
He did want to see that man. Part of him itched to see him again.
That was the problem.
 Chapter 3

Jamil finally gave in and headed to the stables after dinner. He’d spent
an hour meditating, reinforcing his mental shields to prevent himself from
reacting to that man in such an unacceptable way. He felt confident that it
wouldn’t happen again. He’d just been startled, unprepared, his mental
shields down; that was it. He would feel nothing now.
Jamil found Rohan in the zywern stables. He was with the same
zywern, feeding him raw meat.
He was wearing only a pair of gray work pants.
Jamil stared at him, vaguely embarrassed but reluctantly fascinated. He
had never seen a man who wasn’t his husband in such a state of undress.
Men of high society didn’t go out without a cravat or at least a simple
necktie, much less without a shirt. Not only was that improper, but Rohan
was also breaking a number of safety protocols by not wearing the trainer
uniform with its included personal force field. Not that a personal force
field would save him if the zywern chose to attack him, but still. Safety
protocols were there for a reason.
Jamil averted his gaze from Rohan’s back and frowned at the intricate
black patterns on his left arm. Tattoos, he identified them absentmindedly.
Jamil had never seen such things before, but he knew they were popular on
some planets, especially among the lower classes.
 “Do you always ignore safety protocols?” Jamil said. His voice came
out curious rather than scathing.
Rohan went still, the muscles in his back stiffening, before he resumed
the feeding. He said nothing, as if Jamil wasn’t even there.
“I’m speaking to you,” Jamil said sharply. Heavens, he couldn’t
remember the last time anyone pissed him off so much so fast without
even saying anything.
“Have you not been told that you should never interrupt a zywern’s
feeding, Highness?”
Jamil glared at his back, incensed by the mocking undertone in
Rohan’s voice.
“Your Highness,” he ground out. “You will address me as Your
Highness.”
Rohan muttered something under his breath.
Jamil flushed. “What did you just say?”
“I said you have strange priorities if you’re more concerned about my
manners than about the hungry, mostly untamed zywern approaching his rut
a few steps away from you. Get out of the stall, Your Highness. You’re
making him agitated.”
Jamil stared at him, kind of unable to believe that his employee dared
to talk to his prince about an animal’s rut. It was nothing short of
scandalous.
But he did take a few steps back, eyeing the zywern warily. Untamed
zywerns really were dangerous, and untamed zywerns in rut were doubly
so.
“If he’s approaching his—his mating season, you’re breaking safety
protocols even more,” Jamil said as calmly as he could manage. He could
be calm and rational. He was nothing but calm and rational. He didn’t know
why this man made him behave so unlike himself. “You’re never supposed
to feed a wild zywern by hand, no exceptions. You’re supposed to use
teleporters to transport food to him.”
 “I’m building his trust in me,” Rohan said. “How do you expect me to
tame him if his only positive relationship is with a teleporter?”
“Other trainers somehow manage it without breaking safety protocols
—they’re there for a reason. Zywerns can eat grown men, you arrogant
berk!”
“Which is precisely why I told you to get out of the stall, Highness,”
Rohan said in an infuriatingly calm voice. “You’re starting to look very
tasty to him.”
The zywern’s violet eyes were really fixed on Jamil and they didn’t
exactly look friendly.
“And you are not?” Jamil said, pushing back his unease.
“If you bothered to pay attention, you would have noticed that I’m
covered in a scent-blocker. To him, I don’t smell like anything, but you
smell like a very good, tasty piece of meat.”
Jamil fought a blush. Now that he looked beyond Rohan’s scandalizing
state of undress, he could see a thin layer of what looked like dirt on his
skin and pants, which somewhat explained his state of undress.
“You’re still breaking safety protocols,” Jamil said, stepping out of the
stall to get behind the safety of the force field. “Other trainers—”
“Other trainers don’t have such a short time to work with,” Rohan
said. “I don’t have half a year for taming one zywern, so traditional
methods ain’t gonna cut it.”
This was a great opening if there was one.
“Then why did my stable master employ you for just three months?”
“I don’t take longer contracts than I need,” Rohan said,
shrugging. “Three months is sufficient.”
“We rarely employ new staff. Why you?”
“Why don’t you ask your stable master?”
 Jamil took in a deep, calming breath. He counted to ten before slowly
exhaling the air from his lungs, trying to push out the frustration as
well. “I’m asking you, and I’m ordering you to answer.”
Rohan snorted. “You can’t order me to answer. We live in a democratic
world.”
“I can. I’m your employer. You will answer my questions if you don’t
want to get fired.”
“Fired?” Rohan murmured, something like amusement in his voice. “I
don’t precisely need this job. If I lose it, I have more than a dozen others
lined up. There aren’t many zywern trainers who can tame a zywern within
a few months, much less tame a zywern approaching its rut. Your stable
master needs me.”
Jamil’s frown disappeared as the pieces finally clicked together. It
looked like his stable master had bought a zywern that was approaching its
rut and needed to tame it, and fast, until the rut hit. Zywern’s rut happened
once in eight standard years and was the only time they could reproduce.
Zywerns were one of the few creatures that couldn’t be reproduced by
artificial means: they released a mix of hormones that were needed for
successful reproduction, and the scientists were still struggling to recreate
those hormones artificially. That was why a zywern in rut was so prized for
breeding purposes. But an untamed zywern in rut was extremely dangerous.
It was no wonder that Jamil’s stable master had employed Rohan di’Lehr if
the man really could tame a zywern in such a short time.
“My stable master knows I’ve wanted a black zywern for ages,” Jamil
said, wincing a little. His stable master was a good, loyal man. He probably
wanted to cheer him up after Mehmer’s death. The thought made Jamil
more than a little uncomfortable. It appeared he wasn’t as good at hiding his
emotions as he’d thought.
Rohan snorted and muttered something under his breath.
Jamil narrowed his eyes. “I didn’t quite catch that, care to say it
louder?”
“This beast isn’t exactly suited for promenades in Skyline Lane.”
 Jamil’s fists clenched. Skyline Lane was a fashionable hover park in
central Calluvia, one of the few places on the planet that allowed zywern
flights and catered to rich and powerful. It was very popular with high
society, used by members of aristocracy to show off their zywerns to each
other and engage in idle gossip. Serious zywern riders didn’t go to Skyline
Lane, because it was too overcrowded for real flight. Rohan di’Lehr clearly
thought he was nothing but an empty-headed social butterfly, that his
interest in zywerns was that shallow and superficial—that Jamil was that
shallow and superficial.
Jamil glared at his back. “At least look me in the eye when you’re
insulting me.”
Rohan let out a laugh. “Do you think it’s a good idea?”
“I don’t know whatever you could possibly mean,” Jamil said, his heart
beating faster.
Rohan snorted. “Don’t play stupid, Highness.”
“Your Highness,” Jamil corrected him again, irritated by this man’s
apparent inability to remember the proper form of address. “And I really
don’t know what you mean. Last time… there was just a telepathic bleed-
through because my mental shields weren’t fully raised. That is all.”
Rohan fed the last piece of meat to the zywern. “Telepathic bleed-
through,” he repeated. “You shouldn’t talk about things you know nothing
about.”
“And you do?” Jamil said. “Please enlighten me. And while you’re at
it, please explain why you had such a curious reaction to me the other night
if you have a bondmate.”
Rohan’s shoulders stiffened, his lazy stance disappearing in an
instant. “Are you stalking me?”
“Checking an employee’s file is hardly stalking.”
Rohan breathed out loudly. “Look, Your Highness. You should get your
royal behind back in the palace and stop sticking your pretty nose where it
doesn’t belong.”
 For a moment, Jamil could only stare at him, absolutely speechless. No
one talked to him like that. He couldn’t remember the last time someone
talked to him as though he was an empty-headed, irresponsible princeling
with two brain cells. He was thirty-three-year-old. As the Crown Prince, he
shouldered the financial and day-to-day managing of one of the largest
grand clans on Calluvia. People called him Prince Responsible for a reason,
no matter how much that moniker exasperated him.
“Pardon?” he said at last, his voice cold as ice.
Rohan sighed, and Jamil could feel a wave of frustration roll off him.
“I meant no offense,” Rohan said gruffly, probably aware that he’d
crossed the line. “I’m sorry if I offended you, Your Highness. I’m a lowly,
ill-mannered peasant, after all.”
Jamil looked at him suspiciously. Was he detecting sarcasm?
“I’m tired of speaking to your back,” he said. “I order you to turn
around.”
Rohan seemed to become ever tenser, the muscles of his back going
rigid. “I’d rather not.”
“Why?”
“Because it was no damn telepathic bleed-through.”
Jamil felt a twinge of unease. “Then what do you think it was?”
Rohan shrugged, stroking the zywern’s dark mane with steady,
confident strokes. The animal looked at the trainer balefully, but, to Jamil’s
amazement, actually let him do it.
“I don’t know,” Rohan said at last before adding in a rather clipped
voice, “Whatever it was, I’m not eager for a repeat experience.”
Jamil wasn’t either, but that was beside the point. “Aren’t you
curious?”
“No.”
“That can’t be true. Anyone would be at least a bit curious.”
 “I guess I’m not anyone.”
“Or perhaps you just have something to hide,” Jamil said, cocking his
head. “You didn’t tell me how it’s possible for you to react to me that way if
you have a bondmate.”
Rohan bit out, “Look, do you want me all over your personal space
again? Let it go.”
His cheeks warm, Jamil glared at him. “Don’t tell me what to do.”
Rohan turned around, his face contorted in exasperation. Whatever he
was going to say died in his throat as their eyes locked.
For the past three days, Jamil had kept telling himself that he
misremembered it—this absolutely gut-wrenching, sickening feeling
of rightness, the gravity that pulled him into those black eyes—that all of it
couldn’t have possibly been as intense as he remembered it.
But it was. It was, in fact, worse.
Jamil swayed on his feet, barely resisting the urge to move forward, to
be closer. It was like fighting gravity.
Rohan swore elaborately, a sour, pinched expression twisting his
face. “Get the fuck out of here,” he bit out, looking positively
murderous. “Telepathic bleed-through, my ass.”
Jamil couldn’t even find it in himself to reprimand Rohan for his
inappropriate attitude. He could barely make himself move. Every step that
he took away from the stall—from that man—made something in him twist
and ache.
Finally, Jamil reached his rooms and collapsed onto his bed, breathing
heavily, as though he’d just swum against the tide for hours.
Fuck. What the fuck.
Only after a long while, when he managed to think in something other
than expletives, did Jamil come to the realization that this experience wasn’t
the same as last time. It hadn’t been this bad last time. Whatever this thing
was, either it was getting worse, or something was different about this time.
 And something was, Jamil realized. He and that man hadn’t touched.
Last time, Rohan had touched his telepathic point. There had been a
physical contact that was absent this time. Perhaps that was why it had been
so much harder to walk away this time.
Not that it mattered. He would never see that man again.
He was just going to avoid the stables for the next few months, and
then everything would go back to normal—as normal as a life without
Mehmer could ever be.
 Chapter 4

“Darling, may I come in?”

Jamil flinched and hastily straightened in his chair. “Mother,” he said
with a faint smile, hoping his mother didn’t see him staring into nothing
instead of working. “Of course you may. You don’t have to ask.”
Queen Janesh of the Third Grand Clan smiled at him and glided into
his office. She was a tall, graceful woman, still splendidly beautiful despite
her age. All three of her children had taken after her, inheriting her
impeccable bone structure and green eyes. Jamil’s younger brother looked
like her the most, down to her silver-white hair, while Jamil had inherited
the Queen’s height and full lips. Their sister, Gynesh, looked more like the
Queen-Consort than the Queen, but she had the Queen’s grace.
“Am I interrupting?” his mother said, glancing at the reports in front of
him.
“It’s nothing that can’t wait,” Jamil said, trying to gauge why his
mother was here. Although they lived under the same roof, his mothers
lived in another wing of the palace and didn’t like constricting their
children’s freedom in any way. Jamil couldn’t remember the last time the
Queen had come to his office; he usually went to hers. “Is something the
matter?”
Queen Janesh sat down and studied him. “How are you, Jamil?”
 He looked at his hands, at the black mourning bracelet on his left
wrist. “I’m well, Mother. Is something the matter?”
The Queen was silent for a long moment. He could feel her gaze on
him, but he couldn’t bring himself to look at her.
“I didn’t want to broach this subject,” she said at last. “But my advisers
have been bringing it up lately, and I couldn’t continue putting it off without
making you appear unfit to rule.”
Jamil stiffened, his gaze snapping to his mother’s, green meeting
green. “What are you talking about, Your Majesty?” Clearly she was here in
her official capacity.
Queen Janesh sighed. “It has been brought to my attention that our line
of succession is in danger while you don’t have an heir.”
Jamil swallowed.
He couldn’t say he was surprised. He had been expecting this
conversation for some time.
As the Crown Prince, one of his duties was providing the throne with
the heir, a duty he still hadn’t fulfilled. The Queen was thankfully in perfect
health, but it was natural that their people would start worrying that there
was a danger to the line of succession. Jamil might have a younger sister
and brother, but neither of them could ascend to the throne if something
happened to Jamil: his sister, Gynesh, was going to marry the King of the
Eighth Grand Clan later this year, while his younger brother Seyn was
betrothed to the Crown Prince of the Second Grand Clan. Since the law
prohibited the same person to be a consort of a monarch and another grand
clan’s monarch, Jamil couldn’t count on his younger siblings to continue the
line of succession. The responsibility of providing the heir lay entirely on
him.
Except he was a widower, and in their society, widowers didn’t
remarry. Normally, even being a widower wouldn’t be a problem: it was
custom for members of the royal family to use their late spouse’s
preserved genetic material to have an heir if there was none. Jamil could
have used Mehmer’s preserved sperm—and his own—to create the much
needed heir in any of the numerous genetic centers of the planet. After all,
artificial wombs had been invented for a reason.
The problem was, Mehmer had never bothered to preserve his genetic
material.
“I’m afraid it isn’t possible, Mother,” Jamil said, folding his hands on
his lap and clenching them where his mother couldn’t see. The subject was
still… rather painful. Just months ago, he and Mehmer had been talking
about it, finally ready for a child. Just months ago, Mehmer had still been
alive.
The Queen’s elegant brows furrowed. “Darling,” she said gently. “I
know your husband is gone, but you can still have his child—”
“I can’t,” Jamil said. “You know how he was. He didn’t like the idea of
making a baby in a lab. We were going to…” He bit his lip, blushing
slightly. No matter how old he was, it was still awkward as hell to talk
about sex with his mother. How could he tell the Queen that Mehmer had
liked the idea of making a child—gathering their sperm—during actual sex
instead of just masturbating into a lab container?
Thankfully, the Queen seemed to understand what he couldn’t say.
“Oh,” she said faintly, frowning. “That’s something of a handicap, I
admit.”
Jamil stared at her incredulously. “Something of a handicap?”
Queen Janesh looked at him steadily. “You can still have a child with
another man. If we can find a man willing to donate his genetic material, no
one has to know that the baby isn’t your husband’s.”
Speechless, Jamil opened his mouth and closed it. What his mother was
proposing seemed… unthinkable. He didn’t want a child with some
stranger.
“I can’t do it, Mother,” he finally managed. “I won’t.”
The Queen’s expression was compassionate but unmoved. “I
understand that the timing is unfortunate, but we have little choice, Jamil. It
is our duty to continue the line of the House of Veighli. If the direct line
ends, our grand clan will fall into civil unrest.”
Jamil would like to say that she was exaggerating, but there were
plenty of examples of it. Calluvian royal houses had a long history of civil
wars, betrayals and assassinations, even in modern times.
“You’re still young,” he said. “You and Mother can have another child
yet. I will make them my heir.”
The Queen’s lips twitched. “I may not look it, but I’m sixty-seven,
Jamil. I’m not of reproductive age, and I long ago stopped preserving my
egg cells.”
Jamil deflated, his mind searching frantically for another solution.
Queen Janesh sighed. “Jamil, even if I could have another heir, I
wouldn’t. Your other mother and I have raised three wonderful children,
and we have no desire for more.” Her gaze softened. “I want you to have
children, too. I know you will be a wonderful parent, and this is your only
chance at parenthood, darling.”
Jamil’s stomach clenched uncomfortably. The worst part was, he knew
she was right. He would die childless if he refused to do his duty. No matter
how much his entire being rejected the idea of having some stranger’s child,
he would never have any children at all if he refused to do what his mother
was suggesting.
“I’m not going to force you,” the Queen said, looking at him with a
sad, wistful expression on her beautiful face. “Being a parent is an
enormous responsibility. But it’s also a great source of joy. I do believe it is
the best solution. You know Mehmer would have approved. He wouldn’t
want you to die childless and alone.”
Jamil almost laughed. For all of the Queen’s insistence that she wasn’t
forcing him, she sure knew how to push the right buttons to get what she
wanted. It was something he’d always admired about his mother—admired
and hated.
“Fine,” he said, and he didn’t recognize his own voice. “I’ll trust you to
find a sperm donor, then.”
 His mother smiled, relief flickering across her face. “Of course. Let me
handle it, darling. No one will know that the child isn’t Mehmer’s.”
Jamil cringed internally.
Heavens, the mere idea of having another man’s child felt so
damn wrong. Jamil had always thought his children would be Mehmer’s,
that they would look like his husband, not some stranger.
But he really didn’t have a choice. Their clan needed an
heir. Everyone expected Jamil to provide them with the heir. People didn’t
care that it had been just five months since the death of his husband and that
having a child was the last thing on Jamil’s mind. Truth be told, he didn’t
think he could be a very good parent in his current state of mind. He
wouldn’t call himself depressed, but… He wasn’t fine. There were still days
it was a struggle to get up in the morning and go about his duties as if
nothing happened. Sometimes he forgot and reached to the back of his
mind, to the remnants of his marriage bond—before remembering that his
best friend was gone.
But it didn’t matter, did it? If he turned out to be a failure of a parent, it
wasn’t as though there weren’t hundreds of servants in the palace that could
look after his child. Not to mention that Jamil’s mothers would dote on their
first grandchild, so his kid wouldn’t grow unloved.
And maybe, just maybe, a child would give him a new reason to get up
in the mornings. A purpose. Jamil wasn’t sure it would work, especially
since the child wouldn’t be Mehmer’s, but he loved children. Surely he
would love his own flesh and blood? Anything would be better than this
empty life that consisted of nothing but duties and responsibilities.
In any case, it wasn’t a matter of want; it was a matter of need. He
really needed an heir.
“Well, then,” his mother said, standing up. “I’ll inform you when I find
a good donor.”
Jamil watched her turn gracefully toward the door.
“Mother, could you give me up-to-date information on Tai’Lehr?”
 The Queen turned back, looking puzzled by such a strange change of
subject. Of course she was puzzled: the colonies and protectorate worlds of
their grand clan had always been under her purview while Jamil, as the
Crown Prince, handled their mainland territories on Calluvia.
“Tai’Lehr?” she said.
“Yes,” Jamil said, not feeling particularly bad for the lie he was about
to tell her. It was a necessary lie. His mother could be like a dog with a bone
if she started suspecting something. “I’ve been putting together an
amendment to Section 4 of the Immigration Law that I want to propose to
the Council. I’ve been able to find the information on all colonies of
Calluvia—every colony but Tai’Lehr. I’d rather not present incomplete
information to the Council, so your help would be appreciated.”
His mother stared at him for a moment before shaking her head. “I’m
sorry, Jamil, but I cannot give you up-to-date information on the colony. We
do not possess it.”
Jamil frowned. “What? Why?”
Queen Janesh was frowning, too. “As you well know, Tai’Lehr has
been basically cut off Calluvia by the Shibal-Kuvasi war zone for centuries.
But…” She shook her head. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you about the
colony for ages, actually, but it kept slipping my mind, and then Mehmer
—” She cut herself off. “No matter. My point is, I think the war zone isn’t
the sole reason the colony has been keeping their distance. Although the
korviu deposits prevent the use of the TNIT and long-range communicators,
Tai’Lehr still has access to our virtual clouds, and yet they have neglected
to supply us with up-to-date information on the colony for the past few
years. Granted, they still manage to send to us the annual quota of korviu
crystals on cargo ships, which is no small feat, considering the war in that
sector of space. So technically we have no reason to complain, but I’m not
pleased by their lack of communication. The ambassadors that I have sent
on independent trader ships willing to go into the war zone reported that the
colony was prospering and nothing was amiss, but I don’t know… I don’t
like how separate the colony has become.” She sighed, her frown
deepening. “There’s something amiss. It’s just a feeling, and perhaps I’m
wrong about it, but I don’t like it.”
 Jamil considered it. “Perhaps they want independence? They wouldn’t
be the first distant colony to want it.”
“Perhaps,” Queen Janesh said slowly. “Truth be told, I won’t blame
them if they do. We’ve been little help to them for centuries, offering very
little protection. Not that it is our fault: our military ships can’t cross the
war zone without breaking the Thulun Convention, so our hands are tied. I
still wouldn’t be surprised if Tai’Lehrians resent that they have to share
their profits with us in exchange for nothing.”
“You think there was civil unrest?”
The Queen looked thoughtful. “I do not know. Last time Lord Tai’Lehr
was at the court, he assured me that everything was well in the colony, but
it’s been years and the situation might have changed. I wish I could travel
there myself, but my advisers are very much against it.” She made a face
and said with exaggerated disapproval, “A war zone is no place for Her
Majesty.”
“It really isn’t,” Jamil said. “I think your concern is premature. Your
ambassadors did report that there was nothing amiss, after all. Don’t you
trust them?”
The Queen nodded with a crooked smile. “I do.” She sighed. “You’re
right. Perhaps I’m getting paranoid in my old age.”
“You’re not old, Mother,” Jamil said with an exasperated huff.
Chuckling, the Queen turned toward the door. “That’s what
one’s children always think.”
Jamil was still smiling faintly as the door closed behind the Queen.
But soon, his smile dropped.
He frowned, not knowing what to think.
He had more questions than answers now.
 Chapter 5

Rohan was washing the zywern when the back of his neck tingled, his
senses sharpening abruptly. He stiffened, this time recognizing the signs and
reinforcing his mental shields. Not that it had done him much good the past
few times he’d had an encounter with Prince Jamil.
Fucking hell. Having a nosy prince poking his nose into his business
would be bad enough even if said prince didn’t make Rohan’s higher brain
function go out the window the moment they locked eyes.
Rohan almost laughed, thinking of the prince’s stubborn insistence that
it had been just a telepathic bleed-through. On Tai’Lehr, that wasn’t what
they called it. At least he was pretty sure it was what he thought it was—not
that he’d ever experienced a Fit that was so strong and hard to resist. In the
past, when he had a pretty good Fit with a woman, Rohan’s natural reaction
was to merge with her and screw her into the mattress until the urge for
intimacy passed. He obviously couldn’t do it now—not with that toplofty,
prim prince who would probably call for guards if he knew that the “lowly,
ill-mannered brute” wanted his filthy paws all over his perfect, royal skin.
Rohan’s lips twisted into a wry smile. Prince Jamil’s thoughts on him
were kind of amusing, considering everything, except he didn’t feel much
amusement in a situation like this. Not only was it a distraction he didn’t
need, but the Crown Prince of the Third Grand Clan taking interest in him
could potentially endanger his task, too. His background would not hold up
under a closer scrutiny. He needed to find a way to get Prince Jamil off his
back. Of course, there was always the option of messing with the prince’s
mind and wiping his memories of Rohan, but it was too risky now. He
should have acted sooner, after their first encounter. Now the prince’s
memories would be too difficult to tamper with without being caught, given
the fact that members of Calluvian royalty were usually trained to recognize
the signs of telepathic tampering. By now the prince likely had too many
memories of thinking about the strange man in the stables, and thoughts
were always harder to erase than memories.
“I want to speak to you,” the familiar, lovely voice said from behind. “I
have questions.”
Rohan considered how to handle this situation. Maybe he should just
scare the prince away, act like the ill-mannered, crass brute His Highness
expected him to be.
Rohan put the hose away and walked out of the stall, past the prince,
without saying anything.
“Did you hear me?” the prince said, his aura darkening with anger as
he followed him.
“Yes.” Rohan strode away.
“You will stop when I’m speaking to you,” Jamil said, sounding
absolutely incensed as he grabbed Rohan’s arm and spun him around.
Rohan slammed his shields up, higher than they had ever been, but it
helped very little. He still felt that sickening lurch the moment his gaze
locked with those green eyes framed by ridiculously long, dark eyelashes.
But it wasn’t Prince Jamil’s beauty that captured his attention. Rohan
had met and slept with a lot of gorgeous people in his life. He was
indifferent toward men anyway, no matter how handsome they were. If it
weren’t for the way their telepathy reached for each other, eager and
hungry, Rohan wouldn’t have spared Prince Jamil a second glance, though
it wasn’t for his lack of beauty.
Objectively, Prince Jamil’ngh’veighli was a handsome man. People
said he was the most handsome man on Calluvia, and Rohan had to agree
that they could be right. The prince had exquisite facial features, and his
mouth… the bow of his mouth was kind of obscene, his lips red against his
milk-white skin. His shoulder-length hair was shiny and wavy. Prince Jamil
looked like he stepped out of a fairy tale.
It still wasn’t his looks that made Rohan’s heart beat faster. It was
something invisible to the eye, a quality that made his hindbrain go a little
crazy and his fingers itch with the urge to touch. The urge wasn’t sexual.
Rohan was heterosexual, which was pretty rare in modern times,
considering that eighty percent of the population of the Union of Planets
identified as bisexual. His heterosexuality had nothing to do with him being
old-fashioned and everything to do with not being into flat chests and cock.
That was why the overwhelming urge to touch this prince was so damn
disconcerting. With women, a good Fit usually just meant great sex with a
mentally compatible person. Here the urge to touch was just fucking weird,
because his cock didn’t harden, but he still wanted to paw all over the
prince’s skin and then merge their minds together until he couldn’t tell
where his mind ended and Prince Jamil’s began.
Rohan closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath, trying to
clear his mind. Control. He was in control. He wasn’t an animal. He was a
grown man. He wasn’t going to let his instincts rule him. He was the one in
control, his instincts be damned.
He opened his eyes and said, “What do you want? Make it quick,
Highness.” He intentionally kept his tone rude and disrespectful, wanting to
infuriate the prince into leaving and never coming back.
But Prince Jamil raised his eyebrows, crossing his arms over his chest,
and met his gaze steadily. The only thing that betrayed that he wasn’t as
composed as he seemed was the flush on his pale cheeks—and maybe the
slight tremor to his lips as he spoke. “I want to know the situation on
Tai’Lehr.”
Rohan struggled to keep his face blank. This wasn’t the question he’d
expected.
He shrugged. “What do you mean? If you’re asking about politics or
economy, a zywern trainer would hardly know much.”
 “Is there unrest?”
Rohan stared at him. He was tempted to delve into the prince’s mind to
find out why he was asking such questions, but he knew better than to let
their minds touch. He was barely controlling himself as it was. Any
telepathic contact would be just plain stupid.
“Unrest?” he said neutrally. “As far as I know, no. Why the sudden
interest?”
“I’m the one asking questions here.”
“We live in modern times, Highness. You can no longer behead your
subjects for daring to ask uncomfortable questions.”
“You—you—” Jamil spluttered like a little boy, which was kind of
amusing, considering he had the reputation of an unflappable, highly
rational man. Finally, he seemed to get control of himself and said
stiffly, “There’s nothing strange about my interest. Tai’Lehr is a colony of
the Third Grand Clan—my clan, if you haven’t noticed. It’s only natural
that I would be interested in the situation on Tai’Lehr.”
“There’s no situation on Tai’Lehr,” Rohan said. “And we pay the
annual tribute to Calluvia on time, so no, you actually have no reason to
take interest in Tai’Lehr.”
The prince stepped forward, his green eyes narrowed. “You
just said that a zywern trainer would know nothing about the colony’s
politics and economy.”
Rohan swore on the inside. He blamed his mistake on the fact that he
had been too distracted by the annoyingly enticing pull of the prince’s mind
—he’d never wanted to get inside of someone so damn badly, including the
times his cock was actually interested in the proceedings.
“The fact that we give Calluvia a good chunk of what we extract is
hardly a top secret,” he said. “On Tai’Lehr, even kids know that.”
The prince lifted his eyebrows. “Do I detect resentment in your voice?”
he said. “Our cut is very reasonable. Tai’Lehr is a Calluvian colony. It
belongs to Calluvia.”
 Rohan pressed his lips together to prevent himself from saying
something he shouldn’t. “You weren’t interested in the colony last time we
talked. What prompted this sudden interest?”
The prince seemed to think for a moment before speaking again. “I just
find it very strange that the communication with the colony has been so
sporadic. One might suspect the colony of entertaining treasonous ideas.”
“Nothing strange about it,” Rohan said curtly, careful not to let his face
betray anything. “Long-range communicators don’t work around Tai’Lehr
—unless you expect our people to risk their lives in the war zone just to
give you pretty quarterly reports.”
The prince studied him. “How did you get here, for that matter? You
said yourself that you didn’t need this job. It’s insane to risk traveling
through a war zone for a job you don’t need.”
“I was already in the area,” Rohan said. “And it isn’t impossible for a
single traveler to leave the war zone on small smuggler ships—risky, but
not impossible.”
The prince gave him a suspicious look. “And yet the governor’s people
couldn’t do it to give us those pretty quarterly reports?”
Rohan shrugged. “What would a zywern trainer know about such
things? Besides, dozen of ships get caught every day in the crossfire around
Tai’Lehr. The governor’s messengers might have never gotten out of the
war zone, for all I know.”
“Don’t you find it strange that—What do you think you’re doing?”
Rohan went rigid, looking down at his brown fingers wrapped around
the prince’s pale wrist. He hadn’t even noticed himself moving closer.
“Let go,” Jamil said, his voice a little shaky.
Rohan tried to.
But it was as though his limbs were made from lead, refusing to move,
his mind foggy and his eyes zeroed in on the spot below the prince’s left
ear. The call of the prince’s mind was fucking intoxicating. He wanted to
plunge inside, wanted to sink his teeth into the skin covering the prince’s
telepathic center and feel his pulsing core under his lips.
“You should,” Rohan said hoarsely. “You should pull away. I can’t.”
The prince swallowed, his pale throat moving, his green eyes wide and
dazed. His shields were failing, and Rohan clenched his jaw, feeling how
needy the prince’s core was, starved for touch, for a complete bond. It was
both repulsive and addictive.
Rohan couldn’t help it: he pressed his thumb below the prince’s ear and
pushed in. A moan left Jamil’s lips, his pupils blowing. He could feel the
prince’s core pulsing with need under his thumb, urging him to get deeper,
to stroke Jamil’s core from the inside. He wanted to. Fuck, did he want to.
But he couldn’t. For the first time in his adult life, Rohan wasn’t sure of his
control. A telepathic merge was too intimate a thing, more intimate than
sex. There was always the risk of revealing something he shouldn’t,
especially when he wanted to merge with someone this badly. Even this
shallow contact of their minds felt almost overwhelming.
Control. He was in control. Structure, balance, focus, control. He was
in control. He was in control, dammit.
With a curse, Rohan wrenched himself away and curled his hand into a
fist. His fingers were fucking shaking. Shaking.
Prince Jamil sagged against the stall, looking flushed and dazed. He
was panting, his lips parted and his pupils blown.
Rohan wanted to get the hell away from him. He nearly did. But he
liked to think he was a decent person. He couldn’t leave the prince in this
state. Prince Jamil was still riding a high, the kind of high that was usually
achieved only through a deep merge. But their unique, freakish
compatibility had fucked everything up, making the shallow contact of their
minds feel better than the deepest telepathic merge Rohan had ever
indulged in. Coupled with the fact that the prince was recently widowed, his
mind hungry for any mental touch, it was understandable that he would be
in such a state.
“Look at me,” he said, not unkindly, taking the prince’s wrist again and
stroking it lightly. Rohan was reluctant to touch him, still not trusting his
self-control, but there was little choice. Crashing down after a merge could
be absolutely brutal and disorienting if the person wasn’t brought back
down gently. “Look at me, Highness.”
Slowly, he watched the prince’s gaze focus on him. “Your Highness,”
he corrected automatically, still sounding a little breathless.
Rohan almost laughed. “Go back to the palace, Your Highness,” he
said, dropping his hand and trying to pretend his hand didn’t feel
empty. “Go back and don’t come back here.”
Jamil didn’t move.
He stared at Rohan for a long moment before saying,
“Who are you?”
 Chapter 6

For a long moment, there was only silence.

Rohan eyed the prince and opened his senses, trying to determine the
extent of the prince’s suspicions. Physically, Jamil felt better than he’d felt
in forever, the aftershocks of pleasure making his whole body feel
wonderfully loose. But the suspicion that was forming at the back of the
prince’s mind was making him more alert by the moment.
Rohan still tried. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Your file says you’re bonded, but I know it’s a lie. Your mind doesn’t
feel like that of a bonded person. You don’t feel like a widower, either. So
that means your file is a lie.”
Rohan’s jaw clenched.
He gave Jamil a sardonic look. “I don’t think you were in any
condition to judge the state of my bond when you were begging me to get
deeper in you, Highness.”
The insinuation in his words was unmistakable and the prince flushed,
his temper predictably flaring.
“How dare you, you brutish, mannerless cad—” He cut himself off, his
eyes narrowing in suspicion. “You’re doing this on purpose. You’re trying
to distract me.”
 Dammit.
“Who are you?” the prince repeated, his face pale. “If you don’t have a
bond, you must be… you must be a rebel.” He spat the word out as if it was
dirty, something vile and unthinkable.
Rohan gave him a pinched look. He was perfectly aware where the
prince’s hatred for the rebels originated—that was the reason he was here,
after all—but he still felt cornered, at a loss what to do, and he didn’t care
for the feeling. This wasn’t the plan. He’d never planned to have a
conversation with the Crown Prince of the Third Grand Clan, much less
expected to get caught in such an idiotic manner.
Rohan glanced around, looking for security cameras, but thankfully,
there were none in this part of the royal stables. Thank fuck for small
mercies.
Looking Jamil in the eye, Rohan pushed his will and said, “You will
walk with me, calmly and without attracting anyone’s attention.” He felt the
prince’s will buckle, trying to fight off the compulsion and almost
succeeding. Almost. Rohan felt a reluctant twinge of admiration—Rohan
was a very strong telepath, with a particular gift for compulsion, and few
could resist him when he chose to use it. Rohan wasn’t exactly proud of this
talent, but it was useful. He couldn’t afford getting caught. The fact that
Jamil had almost managed to throw off the compulsion spoke volumes
about his willpower—and the innate strength of his telepathy, considering
that the remnants of his marriage bond were still limiting the prince’s
abilities.
But it wasn’t relevant now. He needed to get them somewhere they
could talk freely before Prince Jamil managed to throw off the compulsion.
The prince was still fighting it, even though he was following Rohan
obediently enough.
Finally, Rohan reached his room at the back of the stables, let the
prince inside, and locked the door. “Sit down on the bed.”
The prince did as instructed, his movements wooden and jerky.
Finding a few cravats, Rohan bound Jamil’s hands behind his back
and gagged him.
 He took the compulsion off and the prince immediately sprang to his
feet, his eyes burning with fury.
“We didn’t kill your husband,” Rohan said.
The prince went very still, his eyes wide.
There was still hostility and distrust in them, but he was listening.
“Sit down,” Rohan said. “Please, Your Highness. I’ll explain. And I’ll
take the gag off when you calm down.”
After a moment that felt like forever, Prince Jamil sat down on the edge
of the bed, his eyes burning holes into him.
Even now, despite the seriousness of the situation, despite the hostility
in those eyes, Rohan felt the same unnerving, sickening pull toward this
man, the urge to touch and merge almost maddening. It was frustratingly
hard to focus.
Clasping his hands behind his back, Rohan fixed his gaze at some point
a little to the right from the prince’s eyes and said, “You’re right: I’m what
you would call a ‘rebel,’ though we don’t call ourselves that. Most of the
stuff you Calluvians say about us is a lie. We don’t attack civilians. We
weren’t the ones who killed your husband.”
Prince Jamil mumbled something through his gag, giving him a
demanding look. It didn’t take a genius to guess what he wanted.
Rohan eyed him warily before untying his hands and taking the gag
off. He knew it was a gamble, and he was relieved to find that it had paid
off: Jamil seemed too distracted by his statement to call for help.
“Prove it,” the prince bit off, not quite meeting his eyes. He likely
didn’t want to get caught by the pull between them, either.
“I can’t prove it,” Rohan said. “That’s why I’m here. We need proof
that we didn’t do it, that we didn’t commit any of the crimes we’re accused
of.”
Jamil gave him a distrustful look. “Even if what you’re saying is true,
your people are still renegades. Your stance against the Bonding Law makes
all of you criminals.”
 Rohan chuckled. “We didn’t do anything wrong. Every sentient being
should have the right to refuse the bond the Council has enforced on
Calluvians for thousands of years. Refusing to bind our children’s telepathy
shouldn’t make us outlaws. But we’ll always be outlaws while we’re being
accused of crimes we didn’t commit.”
The prince frowned. “Are you actually implying that someone is
intentionally trying to make the rebels look bad?”
Rohan gave a clipped nod. “I know it seems unbelievable, but it’s
true.”
“Why would anyone do that?”
Rohan hesitated.
“Years ago, our people saved an important person who was about to be
murdered,” he said at last, choosing his words carefully. “The assassins
were hired by a very powerful political figure on Calluvia. Years later, they
are still trying to finish the job. We thwarted their every attempt so far,
though the one last month was uncomfortably close.”
“What does that have to do with anything?” the prince said, but his
voice was significantly less hostile. It sounded almost curious.
Rohan sighed. “To be honest, we don’t know for sure. We only know
that we have a very powerful enemy we’ve managed to royally piss off for
years. Maybe that person thinks if they discredit us enough, we’ll give up
the person we are protecting. It’s also likely that they’re afraid that the
person in our protection might come forward and tell everyone the truth. If
it happens, the rebels would be their only witnesses, so discrediting us
makes sense. But this is all a bit of a stretch. Killing your husband just to
discredit us is definitely too much of a stretch. That’s why I’m here: to find
out if the murder of your husband is completely unrelated. Even if it’s
unrelated, I still need to find proof that Tai’Lehrians didn’t do it.”
The prince stared at him incredulously. “Do you expect me to believe
you just like that?” He frowned. “Wait. Tai’Lehrians? What does the entire
colony have to do with the rebels? The colony is governed by Lord
Tai’Lehr, who is a lord-vassal of my House. Are you saying the rebels
seized control of the colony?”
 Rohan grimaced, annoyed with himself for the slip. In his defense, he
wasn’t used to speaking of their people as “rebels” or “renegades”— the
terms Calluvians used for them. It also didn’t help that he was still
incredibly distracted by the mental pull he felt toward the prince. It wasn’t
as bad as it had been before their pseudo-merge, but it still distracted him
more than it should.
“We didn’t seize control of anything,” Rohan said. “We aren’t violent.
There was no uprising.”
“Then how?”
Sighing, Rohan sat down next to the prince. “It happened gradually,
over the centuries,” he said. “The first ‘renegades’ that left their clans
thousands of years ago were really hiding in the Kavalchi Mountains, as the
rumors say. But it wasn’t safe there, so they decided to relocate to another
planet. They chose an uninhabited planet relatively far from Calluvia and
established a settlement there. They couldn’t know that in a few decades the
Third Grand Clan of Calluvia would discover enormous deposits of korviu
there and send Lord Tai’Lehr to establish a colony.”
“Are you saying the rebels were on the planet first? That our colonists
didn’t notice their settlement? How is that even possible?”
Rohan watched the prince’s hand move closer to his. He didn’t think it
was intentional—Prince Jamil didn’t seem aware of what he was doing—
and he wondered if he should pull away before their hands touched. He
ought to. He knew that.
He didn’t move.
“The unique magnetic field around Tai’Lehr prevents scanners and
satellites from working well, just like it interferes with teleporters and long-
range communicators,” Rohan heard himself say, watching the prince’s
milky-white, smooth hand settle next to his brown, calloused one. Their
knuckles brushed and Rohan almost hissed from the sensation, losing his
train of thought for a moment.
The prince snatched his hand away and clenched it into a fist, avoiding
Rohan’s eyes. The tips of his ears were red, as red as Jamil’s pursed lips.
 It took an incredible effort to remember what they were talking about.
Rohan cleared his throat and continued, as if nothing had happened. “The
first contact between the two settlements happened only after most of the
Calluvian military ships departed. It wasn’t violent. Lord Tai’Lehr
thankfully wasn’t an idiot. He realized that his people were far outnumbered
and very disadvantaged by the fact that the rebels’ telepathic abilities were
much stronger. So he agreed to keep the rebels’ settlement secret under the
condition that they would do no harm to the colony, either. For decades, the
two settlements existed separately, but little by little, they started mixing.
Eventually, the Calluvian colonists stopped bonding their children, since
they saw how much stronger the unbonded rebels’ telepathy was. They
didn’t want to be at a disadvantage. You can probably guess the rest.”
“They became one colony,” the prince said pensively. “And now all of
its citizens are unbonded. Outlaws.”
“Technically, yes. But it should be our right to make our own choices
instead of having the Council do it for us when we’re infants. Is wanting
freedom a crime, Your Highness?”
Prince Jamil was quiet for a long time, looking blankly in front of him,
his hands gripping the bedspread tightly. “I’ve been bonded since I was two
years old,” he said at last, his voice toneless. “I never felt as though I wasn’t
free. I was happy for thirty years as a bonded person. Your views are
insulting to me.”
Rohan bit back a scornful remark and reminded himself that he was
dealing with a recently widowed man. He had to tread carefully. He
couldn’t antagonize the prince if he wanted to get his cooperation.
“My condolences for your loss,” he said.
His lack of sincerity must have been obvious, because the prince just
scoffed in response.
Rohan grimaced. “Look, I’m sorry if I don’t seem very sorry—it must
be a cultural difference.”
“You’re a Calluvian, too.”
 “Biologically, yes,” Rohan said. “Culturally, Tai’Lehr couldn’t be more
different from Calluvia. We despise childhood bonds. Sorry, I know it must
be offensive to you, but we see childhood bonds as unnatural, little different
from slave bonds.”
Prince Jamil’s head whipped to him. “Slave bonds?” he said, glowering
at him. “Don’t speak about things you know nothing about!”
Rohan put his hands up in a placating gesture. “Different culture,
remember?”
The prince pursed his plush lips, studying him. “Don’t people get
bonded on Tai’Lehr? When they get married?”
Rohan shrugged. “If they want to. It’s always their choice, unlike the
way things are done on Calluvia. People don’t have to be artificially bonded
to each other to be happy. If people are a Fit, eventually a bond will form
naturally.”
“A Fit?” Jamil repeated.
“Mentally compatible,” Rohan clarified, avoiding the prince’s
gaze. “But a Fit isn’t necessary for a relationship or marriage. It’s just… a
nice bonus.” Rohan could hardly tell this very proper prince that even a
decent Fit made sex mind-blowing.
When Prince Jamil was silent too long, Rohan looked at him. The
prince was chewing on his lip, a pinched expression on his face. “Is…” The
prince paused and grimaced slightly before continuing. “Is this…?” He
gestured vaguely between them.
Rohan almost laughed at his discomfort. “Yes,” he said. “We’re a
pretty good Fit, Your Highness.” That was the understatement of the
century. He’d never felt a Fit so strong before. “Not that it means anything,”
he added when the prince’s discomfort spiked.
At Jamil’s puzzled glance, Rohan clarified. “A good Fit is just a
possibility, nothing more. It doesn’t make people enter into a relationship if
they don’t want to. It doesn’t influence people if they don’t allow it to.”
But instead of seeming relieved, Prince Jamil frowned and shot Rohan
a suspicious look. “You’re lying,” he said. “This thing is definitely
influencing me, because—” He cut himself off, averting his gaze.
Rohan tried not to smirk, amused despite himself. “Attraction is just an
inconvenient side effect, Your Highness.”
The prince shot him a withering look. “I’m not attracted to you!”
Rohan grinned, unable to suppress his amusement anymore. “I don’t
mean sexual attraction. A Fit is a mental attraction. It can heighten physical
attraction; it can’t create it. So you can relax, Highness. I’m not going to
jump you. I’m not interested in men, even ones as pretty as you.”
Prince Jamil blinked, suddenly looking so young it was hard to believe
he was in his thirties. But then again, Rohan mused, the House of Veighli
was famous for its daughters’ and sons’ everlasting beauty and youth. The
Queen was still an incredible beauty despite being in her sixties, and all her
children apparently took after her.
“I’m not pretty,” Jamil said with a small, puzzled frown. “My younger
brother is. I’m handsome.”
Rohan almost laughed. Part of him couldn’t believe they really were
having this conversation. “Prince Seyn just looks like a smaller, washed out
version of you,” he said, thinking of the other prince. “He’s pretty, but so
are you, for a man. I’m not into either of you, so my opinion is as impartial
as it gets.”
The prince’s mouth opened and closed uncertainly.
It made Rohan wonder if anyone had even called him pretty before. He
was beginning to doubt it. Now that he thought about it, he’d heard a lot of
monikers that described the Crown Prince of the Third Grand Clan and they
all seemed rather intimidating: Prince Responsible, Prince Perfect, Ice
Prince, and so on and so forth. Even when the prince’s looks were
described, he was usually referred to as intimidatingly handsome. No one
had ever called him pretty, which was fucking strange, in Rohan’s opinion.
Prince Jamil was ridiculously pretty, for a man.
The prince pursed his lips, still looking a little off-balance. “Let’s
return to the subject at hand,” he said. “If what you’re saying is true, why
are you here, in my stables? Why are you pretending to be a zywern
trainer?”
“I’m not pretending. I am a certified zywern trainer.”
“But it’s not your primary occupation.”
“No,” Rohan admitted. “On Tai’Lehr, having the certificate is like an
equivalent of having a piloting license on Calluvia. We use zywerns for
transportation, because aircrafts and t-chambers don’t work on most of the
planet.”
The prince’s skeptical expression cleared up. “Oh, right. Because of the
planet’s magnetic field.”
“Yes.
“You still didn’t answer why you’re here, in my stables.”
“I already told you: your husband’s murder is by far the most high-
profile crime pinned on us. We will never be able to be anything but
criminals if we’re blamed for killing the prince-consort of the Third Grand
Clan. We need proof that we didn’t do it. So here I am. To find proof.”
He watched the prince closely, but he didn’t seem upset by the subject
of his husband’s death. The fact that he was leaning subconsciously into
Rohan’s space probably had something to do with it. Rohan considered
pulling away, but he wasn’t above using every advantage at his disposal.
This idiotic Fit had gotten him caught; now it was time for it to be useful.
Rohan felt a little bad for manipulating the prince in such a way— but not
bad enough not to do it. It might be cynical of him, but there was more at
stake than the hurt feelings of one Calluvian prince.
“What could you possibly learn here?” Jamil said.
“Because the case is so high-profile, its details aren’t available to the
public. We don’t know how your people came to the conclusion that Prince-
Consort Mehmer was killed by us. Everyone just knows that the case was
investigated and then sealed by the Third Royal House. So I’m here to find
out what kind of proof you have.”
 The prince’s eyebrows drew together. Rohan stared at him in bemused
fascination. Everything about this prince was so refined and pretty, even the
arch of his eyebrows seemed ridiculously elegant. It made Rohan’s fingers
itch with the strange urge to mess him up.
“Mehmer’s death was investigated by the Captain of the Royal Guard,”
Jamil said, his voice toneless. “I don’t know any details… The Queen was
the one who oversaw it. I didn’t—I didn’t ask.”
A wave of foreign grief made Rohan wince and tighten his mental
shields, with mixed results. Dammit, this… compatibility was a double-
edged sword. He didn’t want to be affected by the prince’s emotions, but it
was unavoidable when they were this close.
“We suspected as much,” Rohan said. “I’ve been waiting for an
opportunity to get information from your captain, but I haven’t had a
chance to get him alone so far.”
Jamil shot him a somewhat suspicious, somewhat amused look. “What
do you mean by ‘getting information,’ exactly?”
Rohan’s lips twitched. “What do you think? I could hardly walk up to
him and ask him to spill classified information.”
Jamil glared at him, but it seemed half-hearted at best. “Manipulating
someone’s mind is despicable.”
Rohan shrugged. “Maybe. But I do what I must.”
“Are all rebels such strong telepaths?” Jamil said. He seemed disturbed
—disturbed and morbidly fascinated. “I know that childhood bonds
somewhat weaken our telepathy, but is the difference really that big?”
Rohan shook his head. “Not really. Over fifty percent of our people are
Class 2 telepaths, roughly thirty percent are Class 3.”
The prince looked him in the eye. “And you?”
Rohan intended to lie. He really did.
He should have.
Instead, he found himself saying, “Class 5.”
 Jamil’s eyes widened. He stared at Rohan wordlessly, but he
wasn’t afraid. It was the Fit: it made them feel closer than they really were.
It was convenient now—Rohan didn’t need the prince to be afraid of him—
but it was inconvenient too, since it went both ways. The natural, cozy way
their bodies seemed to want to be around each other coated everything in a
confusing and frustrating warmth, which constantly derailed his train of
thought and made him tell the prince things he definitely shouldn’t have. It
wasn’t trust, not exactly, but his instincts insisted that the prince couldn’t
possibly betray him. It was fucking ridiculous. Ridiculous and annoying.
Jamil swallowed. “Are you the strongest telepath on Tai’Lehr? Is that
why they sent you?”
Rohan pressed his lips together, determined to lie, just to prove to
himself that he could. But looking into the prince’s wide green eyes,
everything in him rebelled against lying. It was incredibly frustrating—
frustrating and irritating. “No,” he found himself saying honestly. “There
are a few telepaths stronger than me. But I have a rather unique talent for…
persuasion.”
Jamil gave him a flat look. “You mean compulsion.”
Rohan met his gaze steadily. “Look, I’m sorry for doing it to you. I had
little choice. I don’t particularly like using compulsion, but it’s a useful
gift.”
“I’m sure,” the prince said dryly. “Did you use your gift to ‘persuade’
my stable master to hire you?”
Rohan just nodded. Of course he had. They wouldn’t have hired him
otherwise. His talent for compulsion was the main reason he had managed
to convince Sirri and the others that he should be the one going: he could
always compel his way out of trouble while the others would be at a
significantly higher risk. Even the strongest telepaths had trouble making
other telepaths do their bidding—it required careful replacing of memories
and planting thoughts deep in the subconscious—while Rohan’s talent for
compulsion meant that he could just command someone into doing what he
needed, no careful memory manipulation needed. Not that he couldn’t do
the latter too, if needed. He could. But the benefit of compulsion was that it
was fast, which was a significant advantage if he got himself into a sticky
situation.
“This is so bizarre,” Jamil said at last, breaking the silence. There was
a small wrinkle between his brows. “I think I actually believe you. But how
can I be sure that I really believe you and that you aren’t just compelling me
into believing that I believe you?” He made a funny face. “Ugh, my head
hurts.”
Rohan found himself smiling. “If I messed with your head, you
wouldn’t be wondering about it, Your Highness.”
The prince pressed his lips together as if to prevent himself from
smiling. Rohan could feel his reluctant amusement anyway.
Jamil frowned suddenly, his amusement gone, replaced by something
that felt a lot like guilt.
Rohan studied him. “Your husband has been gone for five months. You
shouldn’t feel guilty for feeling amusement. You’re not dead.”
Jamil glared at him. “Get out of my head.”
“I wasn’t in your head,” Rohan said. “If I were, you’d know.” His lips
twisted into a humorless smile. “Actually, you’re the one person who
shouldn’t be worried about me manipulating your memories and thoughts.
If I got into your mind, I would be too distracted to accomplish much of
anything.”
A faint flush appeared on the prince’s cheekbones. “You did compel
me,” he said stiffly.
Rohan shook his head. “Compulsion is simply a gift for making people
do something. I basically just force my will on that person, nothing more. It
doesn’t require deep telepathic contact and it doesn’t last long. It’s a short-
term solution.” He averted his gaze, trying to think of a way to explain
it. “Take your stable master, for a example. I used compulsion on him to get
an audience with him. I kept him under compulsion while I manipulated his
memories to make him think that I was the perfect candidate for the job.
Without the gift for compulsion I wouldn’t have had the time to do it, but
compulsion alone isn’t enough: it doesn’t manipulate people’s memories
and thoughts. To do that to you I’ll have to get deep in you.”
The faint flush on the prince’s cheeks became brighter. He stood up and
took a step away. “Very well. I’m choosing to believe you—for now. I’ll
have to think about it, away from…” Jamil winced, looking uncomfortable.
“Me,” Rohan finished for him quietly.
Their eyes met.
“Is this normal?” the prince said.
Rohan didn’t need to delve into his mind to know what he meant. But
fucking hell, did he want to.
“It’s always a little distracting,” Rohan said. “But it gets easier with
more exposure.” It had better get easier, dammit.
“Exposure?” Prince Jamil looked as though he’d swallowed something
unpleasant.
Rohan almost laughed at his expression. “Usually people just have sex.
But it’s not necessary. A simple touch can help too.” He reached out and
wrapped his fingers around the prince’s wrist. His breathing hitched as the
distracting need under his skin quieted a little, soothed by the contact. He
lifted his eyes back to the prince. “See? Better, isn’t it?”
Jamil stared at him, his gaze a little glazed, his lips parted as he
breathed through his mouth. “This is unnatural,” he said. “I don’t like this.”
“On the contrary, this is very natural,” Rohan said, brushing his thumb
against the inside of the prince’s wrist. “This was how it was supposed to be
before the Council decided to bind everyone by artificial bonds and took
people’s agency away.”
Jamil gave him a pinched look. “I don’t feel like I have a lot of agency
right now.” He glared down at their hands, though he wasn’t pulling his
wrist away. “Stop—stop that.”
Rohan released his wrist, his fingers dragging down the prince’s palm
before pulling back. Immediately, the need was back, though a little less
urgent. Touching did help—not as much as he would have liked, but it did.
 Jamil licked his lips. “I have to go.”
Rohan looked away. “Go,” he said shortly, irritated with himself for his
inexplicable belief that the prince wouldn’t call for security the moment he
was out of the room. “I will appreciate your help, but I’ll understand if you
don’t want to give it. Just don’t make things harder for me, all right?” Don’t
sic security on me.
The prince was silent for a while, just looking at him, before quietly
slipping out of the room.
Rohan let himself fall back on his mattress, groaning on the inside.
Warrehn was going to kill him.
 Chapter 7

Jamil looked at the Captain of the Royal Guard seated across his desk
and said, “I wish to know details of my husband’s death.”
Although Captain Zetht’s expression didn’t change, Jamil could still
feel his faint surprise. He tightened his mental shields, his mind still
involuntarily shying away from any telepathic contact after yesterday’s
confrontation with Rohan. Not that the rebel had truly touched his mind—
not deep enough at least—but it still felt odd to feel another person’s mental
presence. Jarring.
Jamil suppressed a scowl, annoyed by his thoughts. It felt like he had
been incapable of thinking of anything else for the past few days but him. It
was… disconcerting. No matter what Rohan had claimed, Jamil wasn’t
convinced he wasn’t influencing him in some way—because such behavior
wasn’t normal, not for him. Seyn was the one who tended to obsess and
fixate; Jamil was the rational one. Supposed to be.
“What do you wish to know, Your Highness?”
Jamil looked back at Captain Zetht, choosing his words carefully. He
wanted an unbiased opinion. “What made you think the rebels were at
fault?”
“Have you read my report, Your Highness?”
 Jamil nodded. After his confrontation with Rohan, it was the first thing
he’d done, but the report hadn’t answered his questions.
“I have, but it is not clear how you came to such conclusions. All the
report says is that Mehmer’s aircraft was disintegrated near the Northern
Kavalchi Mountains.” He was a little surprised by how steady his voice
sounded. He would like to think that he was finally moving on, letting go of
his grief, but Jamil had a feeling it wasn’t as simple as that. This… fixation
on him just seemed to eclipse everything else, drowning out even his grief,
however temporarily.
Captain Zetht frowned. “The rebels’ base is suspected to be somewhere
in that region, Your Highness. That part of the Great Mountains is
inaccessible for teleporters and most aircrafts because of the magnetic
disturbance caused by the small korviu deposits under the mountains.
Satellites can’t get good scans of the region either because of the
interference. It’s the only part of Calluvia that can’t be scanned, so we’re
almost certain the rebels’ settlement must be there—there’s nowhere else
for it to be.”
Not on this planet, Jamil thought.
“So basically, it’s all conjecture,” he said, his mind racing. “You don’t
have proof that it was the rebels.”
Captain Zetht looked mulish. “Your Highness, it’s almost certain.
There was a rebel leaflet found nearby. Besides, no intergalactic terrorist
groups came forward to claim responsibility for killing the prince-consort.
It must be the rebels. They never claim their deeds.”
Maybe because they never actually kill anyone.
The thought felt like a betrayal after months of hating those people for
Mehmer’s death. Jamil wasn’t sure how to feel now, what to think. Besides,
it was a strange coincidence that Mehmer had been killed in the region
inaccessible for teleporters—just like Tai’Lehr. Was there a connection?
Jamil frowned. “I don’t understand why that region of the Kavalchi
Mountains hasn’t been searched on foot to find out once and for all if the
rebels are there or not.”
 Captain Zetht shook his head. “It’s a near impossible task, Your
Highness. The Kavalchi Mountains are at their highest in that region—
almost thirty tarsecs high—and they’re impassable after the first few
tarsecs.” He looked uncomfortable. “There have been numerous expeditions
to that region over the centuries, but they all returned empty-handed. They
say…”
Jamil raised his eyebrows when Zetht trailed off. “Captain?”
“People who returned claimed that the region was haunted,” Captain
Zetht said, flushing. “I know it sounds like nonsense, but it is rather strange
that all expeditions weren’t able to go far, isn’t it?”
Jamil had to concede it was rather strange.
Captain Zetht sighed. “Even the huge search parties organized after the
disappearance of the Fifth Grand Clan’s heir weren’t able to go deep into
the region—”
“Wait, what?” Jamil said, sitting straighter.
Captain Zetht seemed confused by his surprise. “Don’t you remember
that the two princes of the Fifth Grand Clan were allegedly kidnapped by
the rebels close to that area? I know it’s been almost two decades, Your
Highness—you were just a boy—but surely you remember the uproar it
caused?”
“I recall it now,” Jamil said thoughtfully. There was a niggling at the
back of his mind. He was missing something; he could feel it, the truth just
barely out of reach. “But refresh my memory please.”
“Crown Prince Warrehn and his brother Prince Eruadarhd were
traveling through the Revialli Forest, but their entourage returned without
the princes, saying that the princes were kidnapped by the rebels. It was a
huge blow to the Fifth Grand Clan, considering that the princes’ parents had
died just a few months prior. It’s a good thing the clan had such a capable
regent or it would have been torn apart in a civil war. Of course, it’s a pity
that the direct line is extinguished, but Lady Dalatteya’s son is ascending to
the throne next year. The Fifth Grand Clan will finally have a king.”
Jamil stared at him.
 “Thank you, Captain. You may go.”
As the door slid shut after the captain, Jamil sagged back in his seat,
his mind reeling.

***

Jamil had tried to convince himself to stay out of it. He told himself it
wasn’t his business. He should stay out of the rebels’ affairs—stay away
from Rohan di’Lehr. But his willpower lasted just five days.
On the sixth day, he made a call on the regent of the Fifth Grand Clan,
Dalatteya’il’zaver.
“Your Highness,” Dalatteya said, standing up to bow to him slightly.
He might outrank her, but she was one of those women that commanded the
room even when she was bowing. Most royals wished they had half of her
regal bearing.
She smiled. “What a pleasant surprise, Prince Jamil.”
Jamil frowned on the inside at the use of his shorter name. It was
generally considered in poor form to use a royal’s short name unless
specifically invited to. But he decided to ignore the slight, for the time
being.
“I won’t take much of your time. I’m sure you’re busy preparing to
hand over the reins of the clan to Prince Samir.” His use of her son’s short
name wasn’t careless: Prince Samir had invited him to use his short name.
Dalatteya smiled wider, pride flashing across her beautiful face. She
might be pushing sixty, middle-aged by Calluvian standards, but she was
still very beautiful, her violet hair and dark-blue eyes contrasting nicely
with her pale skin. “Indeed I am—there is an inordinate amount of
paperwork—but thankfully, my son’s coronation is still more than a year
away and I have time to get our grand clan’s affairs in order.”
 Jamil nodded, knowing it was a rather unique situation. Since the direct
line of the Fifth Grand Clan had been extinguished years ago, Dalatteya’s
son was due to ascend to the throne on his twenty-fifth birthday. The
situation was even more complicated by the fact that there was some
uncertainty that the former heir to the throne was dead.
“I imagine it must be a legal nightmare, since Crown Prince Warrehn’s
death is still unconfirmed,” Jamil murmured sympathetically, watching
carefully for her reaction.
Dalatteya sighed, her face becoming somber. “I’m afraid there is no
question about my nephew’s death. It’s all just formality at this point.”
“I thought Prince Warrehn’s bondmate claimed that his bond was still
intact? Doesn’t that indicate that the prince must be alive?”
Dalatteya frowned slightly and shook her head. “I consulted with the
High Adept of the High Hronthar. He said that sometimes childhood bonds
are faulty and a person might not feel the death of their bondmate. It is rare,
but it happens. Besides, if Warrehn were alive, he would have come home
years ago. It’s been eighteen years.” She sighed. “Now, I’m sure you are
here for a reason. I’m aware that you rarely socialize after…” Her
expression was kind and compassionate. “I can’t stress enough how sorry I
am for your loss.”
Her tone sounded absolutely sincere, but something about her emotions
made Jamil eye her curiously. Ever since his bondmate’s death, his
telepathic abilities were a little stronger. He had been told that it was
normal, but it still slightly disconcerted him. He could sense another
person’s surface emotions better, and right now Dalatteya didn’t feel sad at
all, despite her compassionate expression.
It made Jamil a little wary. He’d never thought Dalatteya was anything
more than she presented to the world—a charming, kind, very capable
woman—so this was something of a surprise.
“Thank you,” Jamil said. “I actually came here because I would
appreciate it if you share with me all information you have on the rebels.
I’ve heard your clan conducted massive search operations when your
nephews were kidnapped.”
 Dalatteya stared at him for a moment before nodding slowly. “I’ll have
to ask my assistant to find the old reports, but truth be told, I don’t think
they will be very useful for you. We were unable to locate the rebels’ base
and we stopped searching years ago. I lost all hope I’m afraid.”
Again, there was that faint feeling of falsehood that contradicted her
sincere expression.
Jamil kept his face carefully neutral. “I still would like to take a look at
the reports, if you don’t mind.”
Dalatteya gave him a look that could only be described as
pitying. “Forgive my forwardness, Your Highness, but you should let go.
Holding onto your grief will not change anything. I understand that you
want to get revenge against those despicable people, but it wouldn’t bring
your bondmate back. No one knows where those wretched creatures are
hiding. You won’t find them by reading old reports.”
There. He was sure he detected a hint of worry.
For the first time, Jamil allowed himself to seriously entertain the idea
that Rohan had told him the truth—entertain it rationally rather than just
trust his instincts. It all fit with what Rohan had told him: Crown Prince
Warrehn who went missing years ago, presumably kidnapped or killed by
the rebels; assassination attempts over the years; Dalatteya’s son who was
about to ascend to the throne soon; a powerful enemy the rebels had made.
Dalatteya, for all her gentle manners, was a very powerful political
figure. She was highly respected and admired for successfully preventing a
civil war and ruling the Fifth Grand Clan with an iron fist as the regent. She
had countless supporters in the Council, both among the royal houses and
the elected members.
But it was still hard to believe that Dalatteya might have anything to do
with Mehmer’s death. What would she do it for?
No, there was something else; he was sure of it.
Jamil was also pretty sure Rohan hadn’t told him the full truth.
“You’re probably right,” Jamil said. “I know you’re right, but it’s—it’s
not easy. I still would like to read those old reports. Even if I don’t find
anything, I’ll feel better knowing that I’ve done everything I could to
avenge my husband.”
Dalatteya nodded and stood. “Very well, Your Highness. I’ll send you
the reports once my assistant finds them.”
Jamil stood and gave her a shallow bow. “Thank you.”
He walked out of her office, feeling more than a little uneasy. He had
hoped she would alleviate his suspicions, making Rohan’s claims sound
ridiculous, but if anything, her behavior indirectly confirmed everything
Rohan had said.
Now he had one more reason to talk to Rohan di’Lehr instead of just
sating his curiosity and moving on.
Dammit.
 Chapter 8

He ended up in front of Rohan’s door later that night.

Glancing around self-consciously, Jamil lifted his hand and knocked,
trying not to think about what the servants would think if they saw him
here.
Finally, the door was yanked open, and Rohan glared at him, bare-
chested and annoyed, rubbing his hooded eyes with the backs of his hands,
clearly just awoken.
Jamil licked his dry lips, trying to keep his eyes on the rebel’s face and
ignore his state of undress, but it was frustratingly, embarrassingly difficult.
Rohan di’Lehr exuded raw maleness in a way that was completely foreign
to Jamil, who was used to well-mannered, impeccably dressed and proper
aristocrats. Seeing those chiseled muscles and strange tattoos all over that
brown skin was—jarring. Vulgar. Completely inappropriate. Jamil was
embarrassed that he even noticed that—that he kept noticing it.
“What are you doing here?”
Jamil drew himself to his full height, hating how off-balance and
powerless he felt. It was silly. He was the Crown Prince. This man was his
employee, his subject, an outlaw he could have arrested at a moment’s
notice.
“Your Highness,” Jamil said.
 Rohan let out a laugh that made something warm curl in the pit of
Jamil’s stomach.
“Seriously?” Rohan said. “Are you really insisting on proper address
when you’re in my room at one in the morning?”
“I’m not in your room yet.”
Rohan raised his eyebrows and stepped aside to let him in. “Please
come on in, then. Your Highness.”
He didn’t have to make the honorific sound like a mocking.
Jamil strode inside the room. Ignoring the unmade bed, he turned
around just as Rohan closed the door and leaned against it like a big cat.
Watching him with those inscrutable, creepily intense dark eyes, Rohan
murmured, “Since no one has tried to arrest me, I presume you haven’t told
anyone about me.”
Jamil rubbed the back of his neck. “No,” he said, trying to keep his
gaze on Rohan’s face without actually meeting his eyes. Even brief eye
contact made the strange pull between them more intense, something inside
him needing. He knew it was just their natural compatibility, something he
couldn’t help, but it still felt so wrong to need such things from a man who
wasn’t his husband.
It wasn’t that Jamil was prudish. He had been a married man. He had
been married for eight years and had very much enjoyed intimacy with his
husband. But he’d never just looked at a man and wanted him inside, now.
It was obscene. Although Rohan had claimed that this… compatibility
didn’t cause physical attraction, Jamil found it hard to separate the need to
be one from a very physical act that he normally associated with it.
Heavens, it was so degrading. It made him feel dirty. Mehmer had been
gone for just five months. Biological compatibility or not, he wasn’t
supposed to want another man’s touch, be it mental or physical.
“So, to what do I owe the pleasure?”
Jamil hesitated before pulling out a holochip from his pocket. “This is
all we have on Mehmer’s death. It isn’t much. His aircraft was
disintegrated, so obviously there wouldn’t be—there wouldn’t be much.”
He averted his gaze. “Apparently there’s no actual proof that the rebels
were the ones who did it. It’s all conjecture. The only piece of evidence we
have is a pro-rebellion leaflet found in the area. That’s all.”
He felt rather than heard Rohan step closer. He took the holochip from
Jamil.
Their fingers brushed.
Jamil shivered, his mind emptying of all thoughts. His gaze snapped up
to Rohan’s face, meeting those black eyes. The intensity of them was
terrifying. He felt like he was drowning in them, unable to see anything but
black.
Their hands grabbed each other, squeezing tightly, so damn tightly it
was nearly painful. Someone whimpered, and it took Jamil a moment to
realize it was him.
“Fucking hell,” Rohan growled, yanking him forward. Strong, bare
arms wrapped around Jamil in a deathly grip, bringing him flush against
that bare chest. Jamil’s eyes slipped shut. He made another small sound, his
senses going on overload. He couldn’t think. There were no thoughts. He
could just soak up this closeness, needing this like he needed air, his mind
blissfully empty. He was distantly aware of strong fingers traveling up his
spine, to his face, until they pressed just below his ear, where Jamil’s
telepathic core pulsed under the skin, calling to him, craving. He wanted—
he wanted—
Rohan’s mouth latched onto that spot, teeth biting the sensitive skin.
Jamil moaned, shivering. Rohan sucked for a long, blissful moment before
suddenly wrenching himself away.
They stared at each other, breathing hard, Rohan’s eyes glazed and so
very dark. “I’m not into men,” Rohan said tersely, something like angry
bewilderment flickering across his face.
Jamil glared at him, offended by what he was implying. I assure you
I’m not interested in you, either. “And yet, I’m not the one who just gave
me a hickey.”
 Rohan’s lips thinned. “It was an impulse I couldn’t control. You should
leave.”
Jamil lifted his chin. “I will—when you stop crushing my hand and
release me.”
Rohan shot their joined hands a sour, frustrated look. Slowly, very
slowly, his tanned hand released Jamil’s. The moment it did, Jamil bit back
an unhappy whine. He felt the loss so acutely that it bordered on painful.
Rohan grimaced. He took a deep breath, his eyes closing for a moment,
his jaw clenched. When he opened his eyes again, there was a semblance of
control in them. “All right. Ignoring the issue is clearly not working.”
Jamil almost laughed. That was quite an understatement. “What do you
propose?” he said, crossing his arms over his chest to hide the shaking of
his fingers.
Rohan smiled humorlessly. “You aren’t going to like it, Highness.”
“Let me be the judge of that.”
“I propose we just do it and get it over with.”
Jamil’s heart started beating so fast it made him a little dizzy. “It?” he
managed, unable to believe Rohan was really suggesting what he thought
he was suggesting.
Black eyes met his. “A merge. We clearly won’t be able to get anything
done until we get this out of our systems.”
Jamil’s stomach squirmed. What Rohan was proposing was outrageous
—not to mention illegal. A telepathic merge was the deepest form of mental
contact between two individuals, outlawed on all planets of the Union
because of how deeply invasive and dangerous it was. It was also incredibly
intimate, usually practiced only by couples who trusted each other
implicitly.
The mere suggestion of allowing a near stranger—a rebel—deep into
his mind should have horrified and infuriated him. It should have. It wasn’t
supposed to make him eager. It wasn’t supposed to make him feel as
though he was a starved man offered a feast.
 “Are you insane?” he managed, putting on his best offended face.
A muscle worked in Rohan’s lean jaw. “Look, Your Highness. We
clearly can’t continue like this. I don’t know about you, but I’m sick and
tired of feeling like I have no higher brain function the moment you walk
into the room. We have stuff to discuss. Actual, important stuff I’m here for.
I can’t keep getting sidetracked by this… stupid, inconvenient urge to fuck
your brains out—literally.”
Jamil was pretty sure he’d never blushed so much in his life until he’d
met Rohan di’Lehr.
“I agree that this issue is highly inconvenient,” Jamil said, with as
much dignity as he could muster. “But what you’re suggesting is…
unthinkable. Perhaps it’s different on Tai’Lehr, but here on Calluvia,
telepathic merges are considered more intimate than… sexual intercourse.”
Rohan’s mouth twitched. “I think it’s the first time I’ve heard someone
say ‘sexual intercourse.’” When Jamil glared at him, he dropped his smile,
amusement fading from his eyes. “The opinion on telepathic merges isn’t
all that different on Tai’Lehr. People generally do it only with people they
trust—the risk of damaging your partner is actually greater, because we’re
stronger telepaths than you Calluvians.”
“Then why are you suggesting this?”
“You know why,” Rohan said quietly, meeting Jamil’s gaze and
holding it, the air between them thickening with the now-familiar longing
for closeness.
Jamil’s stomach clenched.
“This is too damn strong for us to ignore,” Rohan said, taking a step
closer. “I don’t know about you, but I’m really not fine with giving
you hickeys, Your Highness.”
“I’m certainly not fine with it, either,” Jamil said, his face warm. “But I
loved my husband very much and the thought of that kind of intimacy with
another man is revolting to me.”
“Your husband is dead,” Rohan said flatly. “He doesn’t care.”
 Jamil glowered at him.
Rohan seemed unmoved. “It’s only going to get worse, Your
Highness.” His lips twisted as he dropped his gaze to Jamil’s neck. “It’s
pretty damn bad already if I’m giving you hickeys. I’m not attracted to men.
This is messing with our heads.”
Jamil moistened his lips with his tongue. “And you really think a
merge would help?”
Rohan nodded. “It should. In the past, when I had a pretty good Fit
with someone, the pull became easier to ignore after a merge.” Something
flickered in his dark eyes. He grimaced. “Granted, it has never been this
bad, but it should still work.”
Jamil hesitated. He couldn’t deny that it was tempting to finally get rid
of this terrible, inappropriate yearning under his skin. But…
As if sensing his doubts, Rohan spoke again. “I know a merge is highly
intimate, but it doesn’t have to mean anything. I’ll try to make it as quick
and impersonal as I can.”
A strangled laugh left Jamil’s throat. “Can a telepathic merge even be
impersonal?”
“We’ll have to try and find out,” Rohan said, shrugging a little. His
voice dropped to a hoarse murmur. “Let me? Let me inside you? Just once.”
Heat pulled in the pit of Jamil’s stomach. Ignoring the voice at the back
of his mind screaming that he was making a mistake, Jamil nodded dazedly.
Rohan’s nostrils flared.
For a moment, they just stared at each other. Then Rohan’s large hand
cradled Jamil’s head, his thumb pressing against his telepathic point. A
breathless sound left Jamil’s lips, his whole world narrowing to that hand
and those black eyes. Warmth seeped into his senses, slowly, too slowly,
sensation like no other spreading through his body. He could feel another
presence entering him, and everything in him reached out hungrily, trying to
pull it deeper, swallow it into him. Someone let out a breathless moan, but
Jamil wasn’t sure which of them it was. It felt… it felt terrible and terribly
good, the intensity of the connection both scary and perfect all at once. It
still wasn’t enough. He wanted more.
“Deeper.”
“That would be… unwise, Your Highness.” Rohan’s mental voice was
low and soothing, far warmer than his real one.
“Deeper.”
Rohan obliged, slipping deeper inside him, past the upper layers of his
mind, toward his telepathic core. He seemed distracted now—annoyed by
something. Thanks to their deep connection, it took Jamil only a moment to
realize what was annoying him: his bond to Mehmer, or rather, the remnants
of it still twisted around Jamil’s telepathic core.
“That thing is vile.” Rohan reached toward it.
“Don’t.”
“You do realize that it’s limiting your telepathy, right?”
“We both know it’s not the reason you want to remove it.”
A flare of irritation came from the other man, but Rohan could hardly
deny it—not when Jamil could feel his thoughts almost as clearly as his
own. Rohan’s presence wrapped tighter around him, something vicious and
possessive about it. Jamil should have probably been bothered by that—
annoyed even—but it was difficult to be annoyed by this inappropriate
display of possessiveness when he felt so good, his nerves singing with
pleasure. He could only drag Rohan deeper inside him, feeling his
answering pleasure as they wrapped tighter and tighter around each other.
Heavens... If Jamil thought he was drowning before, he didn’t know a word
for this feeling. Pure bliss filled his mind to the brim, every sensation
shared between them on every possible level, a connection so absolute that
he had trouble telling where he ended and Rohan began. He’d never felt
closer to another person. He could feel Rohan’s heart beating, he could feel
the pleasure traveling through Rohan’s body almost as vividly as he felt his
own.
It felt as good as sex.
 That thought made Jamil imagine doing this during sex—and he
shivered, imagining their bodies connected as intimately as their minds
were right now.
“Stop thinking about sex, sweetheart. It’s weird.”
In any other circumstances, Jamil would have been humiliated. But
with their minds so deeply intertwined, it was impossible for any
awkwardness between them to exist. They felt almost like one person.
“Not that I blame you,” Rohan told him, his thoughts laced with soft
amusement. “I know you can’t help it. I always had sex with women I
merged with. It’s natural to mix up mental pleasure with physical one.” It
felt like he was smiling. “That said, I would appreciate it if you could stop
thinking about my cock. It’s a little weird. I don’t have sex with men.”
“It’s still stroking your ego.” Had they been having this conversation
outside of the merge, Jamil would have felt mortified. But such concerns
seemed so distant and irrelevant at the moment.
“Of course it is. I told you: you’re very pretty, for a man. It’s very
flattering.”
“Stop calling me pretty. I don’t like it.”
A laugh. “Sweetheart, I’m so deep inside you I can feel what you’re
really feeling and it isn’t offense.”
“Shut up.”
“You don’t want me to shut up.”
“Get out of my head.”
“You don’t want that, either.”
Jamil focused on what Rohan was feeling and said dryly, “And you
think I have the most beautiful mind you’ve ever been in.”
But if he thought that would embarrass Rohan, it seemed he was sorely
mistaken.
 “You do, but it would be more beautiful without this ugly thing in
it,” Rohan said, nudging the remnants of his bond to Mehmer.
“Your possessiveness is as baffling as it is inappropriate.”
“It’s the merge. I’m not responsible for feeling this way.”
“Convenient,” Jamil said.
“It’s the truth. A successful merge makes people feel a lot closer than
they are out of it. Just as you wouldn’t want to have sex with me in real life,
once we end the merge, I will stop wanting to rip another man’s bond out of
your mind. It’s the merge, not us.”
Jamil had to admit he had a point. Everything was too intense within
the merge, every feeling amplified to an extreme. Talking to a near stranger
so candidly should have felt strange, but it wasn’t. Being so intimate with a
near stranger should have felt uncomfortable, but it wasn’t. It felt as natural
as breathing, and the near stranger no longer felt like a stranger. It felt like
he’d known Rohan di’Lehr all his life. It was… a little disconcerting, truth
be told, this level of trust between them. This man was a rebel. Rebels were
—
“We didn’t kill your husband,” Rohan reminded him.
Jamil breathed out, knowing that he was telling the truth. The last
lingering doubts he’d had about it were gone now. Rohan couldn’t lie to
him when their minds were so deeply connected. The rebels really hadn’t
killed Mehmer.
Someone else had.
Jamil sighed, not really wanting to think or talk about it but well aware
that he should. Mehmer’s death was something he had been just coming to
terms with; talking about it was like scraping at a barely healed wound. He
was scared it would start bleeding again—and scared that it wouldn’t. Grief,
pain, and loss were emotions that couldn’t be farther from him at the
moment; not when he felt so good, with this man’s mind wrapped tightly
around his very being, making him feel wonderfully safe.
And it made him feel absolutely terrible. How could he lose himself in
the pleasure and the feeling of security given to him by another man when
he’d just learned that Mehmer wasn’t a victim of a political conflict? That
he had been murdered, possibly murdered by someone Jamil saw every day,
someone who walked the streets, free and unpunished, living off the fruits
of their crime, while Jamil didn’t even have his husband’s body to say his
goodbyes.
He owed it to Mehmer to find that person. Or at least to try.
Jamil forced his eyes open and fought disorientation as his mind
struggled to pay attention to anything but the merge. “That enemy you
mentioned… it’s the regent of the Fifth Grand Clan, isn’t it?”
Rohan’s eyelids lifted. His fingers were still pressed against Jamil’s
telepathic point so the merge didn’t break. It was such a surreal feeling.
Although Rohan’s gaze was inscrutable and largely indifferent, his mind
was still touching him intimately, possessively, and Jamil could feel that
although Rohan felt a little annoyed that he’d guessed the truth, he also felt
almost proud that Jamil had. It made Jamil want to preen, which was so
ridiculous that he wanted to slap himself.
“Yes,” Rohan said at last. “But I don’t think she has anything to do
with your husband’s death. It doesn’t make any sense. She wouldn’t have
risked killing a member of another royal house when her son is so close to
finally ascending to the throne.”
Jamil was still having trouble believing that Dalatteya was capable of
killing at all.
“She isn’t the harmless society lady she pretends to be,” Rohan said, as
if reading his thoughts—which he probably was.
Jamil sighed. “The rebels didn’t really kidnap Dalatteya’s nephews, did
they?”
“No.”
Although Jamil had been expecting that answer, the implications of it
still disturbed him, or would have disturbed him if he were capable of
feeling anything but good, safe, right.
“We should probably break the merge,” Jamil said, dropping his gaze.
He hoped Rohan couldn’t feel his reluctance.
 “We probably should,” Rohan agreed, but his mind wrapped tighter
around him, something aggressive and greedy about it, his mental fingers
stimulating Jamil’s pleasure centers.
A moan slipped out of Jamil’s mouth. Breathing unsteadily, he glared
at Rohan. “Stop that. This is—indecent.”
Rohan’s lips twitched. “Indecent? You’re the most prudish person I’ve
ever met, sweetheart.”
“Stop calling me that,” Jamil said, blushing. It was one thing to allow
inappropriate endearments when they communicated telepathically; it was
completely another to let it slide when Rohan used them aloud.
Rohan shrugged. “I’m sorry, Your Highness. A side effect of the
merge.”
Jamil eyed him suspiciously—he didn’t look contrite at all—but let it
go. “Break the merge,” he said instead.
“You can break it, too, you know,” Rohan said, looking amused, the
bastard.
Jamil kind of wanted to punch him to wipe that cocky smile off his
face. Asshole.
“Thanks,” Rohan said, his smile widening. “That’s practically a ringing
endorsement coming from someone so uptight.”
“I’m a prince,” Jamil said, lifting his chin.
Rohan tapped him on the nose with his thumb. “It’s adorable that you
think being a prince must be synonymous with being uptight.”
Jamil shot him a withering look, which Rohan just laughed off. The
impossible man seemed to find him entertaining.
Supremely annoyed, Jamil stepped back, shaking Rohan’s fingers off.
The merge snapped, almost painfully so, leaving him breathless and shaky.
Rohan grimaced, his fingers twitching toward Jamil before he curled
them into a fist. “Some warning would have been nice,” he said testily.
 Jamil took in a deep breath, trying to adjust to being alone in his head
again. It felt incredibly disconcerting. He hated it.
He looked back at Rohan and saw the same sentiment in his eyes. They
stared at each other, angry, confused, and hungry, still so hungry for each
other.
“It didn’t work, did it?” Jamil said, deflating. He didn’t feel like the
merge had helped at all. If anything, the yearning seemed to have
become stronger.
Rohan’s dark brows drew close, his expression vaguely irritated. “It
was worth a try,” he said. “And it wasn’t for nothing. Now you know I’m
telling the truth.”
Jamil nodded, running a trembling hand through his hair. “I will help
you. I want to find out who murdered my husband and have them brought
to justice.”
A strange expression flickered across Rohan’s face.
Jamil wished he knew what he was thinking. He wished he still had
him inside him so that he wouldn’t have to guess.
Ugh, enough.
“Good,” Rohan said after a moment, averting his gaze. “I’m glad we’re
on the same page.” He walked to the table by the window and poured
himself a glass of water. He gulped it down and stared into the empty glass,
his gaze faraway, deep in thought. His jaw was clenched and there was
something agitated about him, his shoulders and the muscles of his back
tense under his honey-brown skin.
Jamil couldn’t quite look away, his stomach squirming. Rohan might
not be into men, but unfortunately, Jamil couldn’t say the same about
himself. He told himself it was natural to admire a fine-looking specimen of
a man. It wasn’t anything more than that. He was a widower, not dead.
“I need to get inside the Fifth Royal Palace,” Rohan said at last, setting
the glass down. “Even if the regent doesn’t have anything to do with your
husband’s death, she could be the one behind other attempts to discredit us.
The anti-rebel campaign of the past few years started around the same time
the assassination attempts on Warrehn did. I don’t believe in coincidences. I
need to find out how she even knows where the rebels’ home is. It was our
best-guarded secret. If there’s a leak, I need to find it. I need to find out who
else knows that the rebels are based on Tai’Lehr.”
There were things Jamil could have asked about. Prince Warrehn’s fate,
for one. How had he ended up on Tai’Lehr and why wasn’t he coming
home?
But Jamil still felt too shaken by their merge and wanted to leave as
soon as possible, so that he could process everything in the privacy of his
rooms, away from this man and the strange effect he had on him.
“It would be very difficult for you to get inside her palace,” Jamil said,
clearing his throat. “The regent’s security measures are… somewhat
extensive. The only people exempt from background checks are members
of other royal houses and their entourage—because it would be considered
insulting.”
“So I can just accompany you?”
Jamil shook his head. “You can’t just accompany me. You’ll have to be
officially listed as a member of my personal staff first.” He wrinkled his
forehead. “My household is full except for the position of my personal
manservant. I’ve never seen the point of getting one. I’m perfectly capable
of dressing myself.”
“Are you suggesting that I become your manservant?”
Jamil looked at Rohan in bewilderment. There was something
affronted and incredulous in Rohan’s tone, as if he couldn’t imagine being a
prince’s manservant. Jamil felt a little offended, to be honest. “I’ll have you
know it’s a very coveted position. Definitely more prestigious than being a
dirty, sweaty zywern trainer.”
A flicker of amusement crossed Rohan’s face. “If you say so,
Highness.”
Jamil narrowed his eyes. “Why do I feel like you’re laughing at me?”
“Never,” Rohan deadpanned. “I’m… honored to accept such a coveted
job position.”
 Pretending he couldn’t hear the laughing undertones in Rohan’s voice,
Jamil said, “It’s settled, then. I’ll officially reassign you to my personal
staff.”
Rohan raised his eyebrows. “And the Master of the Household won’t
find it strange that you’re appointing a zywern trainer to be your
manservant?”
Jamil frowned. Rohan was right. Of course Weyrn would find it
strange.
Rohan reached for the white shirt thrown over the chair’s back and
shrugged into it, his muscles rippling. Dark fingers started buttoning up the
shirt. “Let me talk to him. I’ll convince him that there’s nothing strange
about it.”
“You mean mind-trick him,” Jamil said.
Rohan shrugged, smiling a little. “Same difference, Highness.”
Jamil pursed his lips, trying to pretend he hated the way Rohan
said Highness. It didn’t sound mocking anymore. It sounded… almost
affectionate. Like an endearment.
Ugh, he really wanted to slap himself. What the hell, seriously.
“Are you going to him now? It’s one in the morning.”
“Perfect time for some mischief,” Rohan said. “People’s shields are
weaker while they’re sleepy—or sleeping.”
“You’re despicable,” Jamil said.
Smiling, Rohan leaned in and tapped him on the nose. “And you’re
cute when you get all indignant and prickly.”
Jamil glared at him, hating how half-hearted his indignation was—and
hating the fact that he was leaning into Rohan’s touch, into the hand that
had moved from his nose to his cheek.
Rohan’s thumb brushed below his ear, making Jamil shudder.
Black eyes stared at that spot.
 “You should use a dermal regenerator,” Rohan said, his expression very
strange.
Jamil moistened his dry lips with his tongue. “You like it. You like that
you left a mark on me.” It was a statement, not a question. With Rohan’s
thumb against his telepathic point, the connection between them had flared
up again. It was weaker than a true merge, but he could still feel some of
Rohan’s emotions. And his emotions were very at odds with his words.
Rohan felt satisfaction as he stared at the bite mark.
“Yes,” Rohan said with a grimace, removing his hand. “That’s why you
need to get the mark healed.”
Jamil breathed evenly, suppressing the urge to grab Rohan’s hand and
put it back on him.
“I will,” he said. Of course he would. He could hardly let anyone
notice a bite mark so high on his neck. Even a cravat wouldn’t hide it unless
he got really creative with it.
“Good,” Rohan said, avoiding his gaze. “I’m leaving. Go to your room
before anyone notices you in this part of the palace.”
“You’re terribly high-handed for a zywern trainer,” Jamil said, cocking
his head. “What’s your main occupation on Tai’Lehr?”
A ghost of a smile touched Rohan’s lips. “Didn’t we establish that I’m
just a mannerless, uncultured brute, Highness? Go.”
Shooting him a withering look, Jamil went, fuming that Rohan had
refused to give him a straight answer.
He returned to his bedroom, still feeling agitated and vaguely
frustrated.
He undressed and got into his bed, but sleep refused to come. He
wanted…
He wanted.
For the first time since his husband’s death, Jamil found his hand
slipping down his body and into his underwear. He was hard, for no damn
reason at all. Hard and incredibly horny.
 And although he didn’t think of anything or anyone as he stroked
himself fast and hard, he still felt vaguely dirty afterward, as if he’d done
something wrong.
Maybe he had.
 Chapter 9

The first thing Jamil saw as he left his bedroom next morning was
Rohan di’Lehr. He stood leaning against the opposite wall.
Jamil stopped, taking in Rohan’s tall form clad in his new uniform. All
members of royal households wore black suits with the accents of the
House they served. Since Jamil’s family colors were white and blue, Rohan
was wearing a well-tailored black suit that hugged his shoulders and his
arms, a white shirt, a blue vest, and a simple white cravat.
It was just a uniform.
Tearing his gaze away from that tanned neck above the white cravat,
Jamil licked his lips and clasped his hands behind his back. “I see you were
successful at ‘convincing’ the Master of the Household.”
Rohan gave a clipped nod. “It wasn’t difficult. You need to tighten your
security. I’m not the only high-level telepath in the galaxy. You’re lucky
I’m not interested in causing you harm.”
Making a mental note to find a solution for that security weakness,
Jamil strode out of his rooms. He felt… awkward having Rohan anywhere
near them, considering that he’d spent half of the night tossing and turning
in his bed, too agitated to sleep because of the illegal merge he’d engaged in
with a man who wasn’t his husband—so agitated that for the first time in
months, he’d had to masturbate to get rid of the tension. Twice.
 Jamil felt his face burn at the memory. He cleared his throat as Rohan
fell into step beside him. “Walk like a servant, for heaven’s sake.”
“Like a servant?” The impossible man had the nerve to sound amused.
“You should walk half a step behind me. Keep your head slightly
down. Don’t meet anyone’s eyes unless you are addressed.”
Although Rohan followed his instructions, it didn’t seem to make much
of a difference. Although he was careful to stay half a step behind him,
Jamil could tell he was unaccustomed to showing such deference. His
bearing was still wrong. Too proud, too self-assured.
Jamil frowned, unsure how to fix it. It wasn’t that servants couldn’t be
confident—quite the contrary—but good servants were meant to not be
seen. Jamil had trouble believing anyone would fail to notice this man.
Or maybe it was just him. He was so damn aware of Rohan’s
presence that he could hardly be an impartial judge on whether he was
noticeable or not.
“What about your other job?” Jamil said, looking straight
ahead. “Who’s going to train that zywern?”
“I already did the hardest part—got him to accept a rider. Any semi-
decent trainer should be able to take it from there. Where are we going?”
I have no idea.
“A good manservant doesn’t ask questions,” Jamil said haughtily, his
face a little warm.
“Cute.”
“Pardon?” Jamil said, still looking in front of him. He had a feeling he
would find Rohan smirking if he looked his way.
“You’re cute when you put on your proper prince act.”
“It’s not an act.” Jamil ran a hand through his hair. “And I’m
not cute.”
 “Trust me, sweetheart, I would never use that word if it didn’t fit.”
Rohan let out a laugh. “I don’t think I’ve ever used it, actually. Until now.”
Jamil pursed his lips. “I told you to stop calling me that.”
“My apologies, Highness.”
Jamil barely refrained from rolling his eyes. That would have been
undignified and childish. “You’re doing it on purpose—trying to aggravate
me.”
“Is it working?”
Turning his head away to hide his smile, Jamil said, “What I don’t
understand is why you’re doing it. It’s counterproductive if you want me to
help you.”
Rohan didn’t say anything for a moment.
“To be honest, I’m not sure,” he said at last, sounding a little
surprised. “I can’t help myself.”
I like watching you get all prickly and indignant. I like watching you,
period.
Jamil’s steps faltered as he inadvertently picked up that thought. The
fact that he had picked it up at all was extremely worrying, as they weren’t
even looking at each other. Reading a high-level telepath’s errant thoughts
should have been impossible without eye contact. It spoke volumes about
their mental compatibility.
Not that he needed any other confirmation of their mental compatibility
when his telepathic core was literally aching for Rohan’s mental touch.
His gaze darted to Rohan and he found the man already looking at him.
Staring at him.
Jamil glared, his face warm and his stomach in knots. “I thought you
were heterosexual.”
Rohan’s eyebrows twitched. “I am.”
“Then why are you staring at me?”
 Rohan smiled crookedly. “Everyone does, Highness. You’re very nice
to look at. I don’t need to be into cock to aesthetically appreciate your
pretty face.”
Jamil opened his mouth and closed it firmly, not wanting to give Rohan
the satisfaction: the bastard was doing it on purpose, trying to shock him.
And since requesting that Rohan stop calling him pretty or cute just
encouraged this impossible man to do it more often, Jamil didn’t even
bother.
Deciding to change the subject, he looked away and said, “I can’t just
turn up at the Fifth Royal Palace without any reason so soon after my
previous visit. So I’m afraid we’ll have to wait for the right opportunity.”
“All right,” Rohan said.
They said nothing else, just walked, the air between them charged with
strange tension. It made warmth spread through Jamil’s body, his mind
getting foggier with every passing moment. It was hard to focus on
anything but the man walking beside him.
Their elbows brushed. Jamil shouldn’t have felt anything through the
layers of their clothes, but his arm tingled, his fingers twitching. He wanted
—he wanted—
Rohan swore through his teeth before glancing around and pushing him
into the nearest room. Thankfully, it was empty.
The moment the door closed behind them, Rohan’s hand was on his
neck, his thumb on his telepathic point, pressing against the bite mark. A
moan, low and shameless, tore from Jamil’s lips as Rohan’s mental
presence slammed into him. Yes, yes, please.
Jamil had no idea how long the merge lasted this time.
When he finally regained the ability to feel something other than pure
bliss, he found himself sagged against the door, his knees distastefully
weak. Rohan’s mouth was latched on his telepathic point, sucking, and their
minds were still so entwined he had trouble telling their thoughts apart.
“We can’t keep doing this,” he said, embarrassingly breathless as
Rohan gave him another hickey. “This is—madness.”
 “I know,” Rohan said, sounding annoyed. His annoyance didn’t seem
to stop him from nibbling on Jamil’s neck.
Fuck, it felt…
Jamil stared at the opposite wall without seeing, trying to find the
strength to pull away, to untangle his mind from Rohan’s. The frustrating
part was, the merge was technically over—Rohan’s fingers were no longer
touching his telepathic core, but having Rohan’s mouth there definitely
didn’t help, and their minds refused to part, still wrapped tightly around one
another.
“Stop marking me,” Jamil managed at last, pulling his hand from under
Rohan’s shirt—he wasn’t sure how it had ended up there and didn’t want to
know. His palm was still tingling from the smoothness and warmth of
Rohan’s back, itching to touch, craving closeness. “I haven’t found a dermal
regenerator yet.” Jamil almost groaned as soon as he’d said
it. That shouldn’t be the reason why they shouldn’t be doing this. This was
all kinds of wrong.
“Your Highness?”
Jamil went rigid before slightly relaxing when he realized it was just
the palace AI. “Yes?” he said with as much dignity as he could muster,
telling himself that the AI couldn’t feel any emotions and therefore couldn’t
judge him.
It was a small comfort. He was judging himself.
“You have a meeting at ten o’clock. Your visitor is waiting for you in
your office, Your Highness.”
Fuck. He’d completely forgotten about it.
Jamil took a deep breath and pushed Rohan off. “I’ll be in my office
shortly,” he told the AI, shivering as the merge finally snapped. He wasn’t
cold. The environmental controls of the palace were excellent, keeping all
rooms at a comfortable temperature at all times. He couldn’t be cold. It was
all in his head.
“Don’t do it again,” he told Rohan, trying to straighten his cravat with
awkward, trembling fingers.
 Rohan pushed his hands aside and started working on his cravat. “You
wanted it as much as I did.”
Pursing his lips, Jamil said, “I didn’t.”
Smiling wryly, Rohan tapped Jamil’s bottom lip with his thumb. “You
can pout and deny it all your want, but it’s kind of pointless, sweetheart. I
was inside of you. I know what you felt. You were this close to coming in
your pants.”
Blushing, Jamil glared at him. “You’re an uncouth, vulgar swine.”
Rohan looked at him with something like fascination. “I’m actually
really not. I guess you bring out the worst in me, Your Highness.”
Jamil shivered. How did this man manage to make the proper form of
address sound so dirty?
“There’s no need to be embarrassed,” Rohan said, brushing his thumb
against Jamil’s burning cheek. “You know it’s pretty common to come
during an intense merge.”
When he just looked at Rohan blankly, those black eyes
narrowed. “It’s never happened to you,” Rohan stated.
“Of course it hasn’t,” Jamil said, unable to believe they were really
discussing this. “I’ve never merged with anyone but you.” Mehmer had
suggested it a few times, but Jamil had refused each time, uneasy about
engaging in such a deep, invasive connection.
Rohan stared at him, his expression very still and strange. “I’m your
first?”
Scowling, Jamil pushed him away. Walking over to the mirror, he
looked at his reflection. To his surprise, his cravat was tied perfectly, hiding
the marks on his neck. “You’re good at this,” he said, eyeing the tidy
folds. “Where did you learn to do it?”
Behind him, Rohan was straightening his own clothes. Jamil refused to
think about how they had gotten so disheveled.
Rohan shrugged. “Aren’t you late for your meeting?”
 Jamil’s eyes widened.
He strode out of the room, unable to believe that he had gotten so
distracted—again.
Irresponsible. Irresponsible, reckless, and dangerous, considering who
he was meeting with.
Jamil stopped in front of the door to his office and took a moment to
arrange his thoughts in some semblance of order. He re-built his mental
shields, taking care to hide any thoughts of Rohan di’Lehr at the deepest
corners of his mind.
At last, feeling as ready as he could be, Jamil entered his office.
The sole occupant of the room turned away from the windows and
looked at him, his face expressionless.
Although the man was around Jamil’s age, not old by any stretch of
imagination considering that Calluvians generally lived over one hundred
and fifty years, he seemed… not older, exactly, but dignified. Stern. Silver-
white straight hair fell to the man’s shoulders, not softening his broad,
classically handsome face. Ice-blue eyes met Jamil’s, their expression
unreadable.
Although it was Jamil’s eighth meeting with him since Mehmer’s
death, this man still remained a mystery to him.
To be fair, it was probably a job requirement, considering who this man
was.
Master Castien Idhron, the High Adept of the High Hronthar, the
Grandmaster of the P’gni Order, the Head Mind Healer: this man held many
titles. He was one of the most powerful men on the planet, recently
promoted after the death of his predecessor. Although there were rumors
that he’d achieved his high position by dubious means, Jamil had never
been afraid of him.
But now he was. Because this man was likely the most skilled telepath
on the planet, and he was going to look into Jamil’s mind. And for the first
time, Jamil actually had something he would like to hide.
 “Your Highness,” the High Adept said with a shallow bow that seemed
more like a nod. Although Jamil was the Crown Prince of the third largest
grand clan of Calluvia, the High Hronthar had always stood apart from the
regular social hierarchy. The monks of the Order seemed to care very little
for politics, their lives dedicated to the mind arts. It was said that they
strove to achieve total control over their bodies and minds, purging all
emotion.
Frankly, the monks had always made Jamil a little uneasy.
“Your Grace,” he said evenly, bowing deeper. “My apologies for my
tardiness.”
Master Idhron didn’t bother to assure him that he didn’t mind waiting.
Jamil winced inwardly. The High Adept was a very busy man. Of course he
had better things to do with his time than wait for him. Really, it was an
incredible honor that such a high-ranking mind healer was handling his case
personally.
“Is there a marked improvement in the state of your bond?” Master
Idhron said, his eyes so emotionless it was a little disturbing. Although
Jamil had been called emotionless in the past, this was emotional repression
on a whole new level.
“I think so, Your Grace,” Jamil said, suppressing his nervousness.
While it was true that the headaches from his torn bond had abated recently
—ever since he’d started merging with Rohan—he didn’t know if Master
Idhron would find his sudden improvement strange. He also wasn’t sure he
would be able to hide his memories of Rohan if the mind adept got
suspicious and decided to actually look for them.
“Let me see,” Master Idhron said, gesturing for him to kneel in front of
him.
Jamil almost grimaced. He didn’t understand why kneeling was
necessary. Master Idhron was a tall man, as tall as him. Jamil would suspect
that the mind adept secretly enjoyed feeling superior, except he was pretty
sure this man couldn’t feel a thing.
But he did kneel in front of the monk, and Master Idhron pushed
Jamil’s cravat down a little to reach his telepathic point—and went still.
 Jamil’s eyes widened in horror as he realized that he still hadn’t found
time to use a dermal regenerator. Trying not to panic, he breathed deeply
and dropped his gaze. Widowers weren’t supposed to live like monks.
Although people didn’t speak about it in polite company, it was widely
known that many widowed people slept around—with other widowers or
outworlders. So what if the Grandmaster thought he was loose? It didn’t
matter, as long as he didn’t guess the truth. Master Idhron didn’t strike
Jamil as someone who would gossip about the few hickeys on Jamil’s neck.
“Drop your shields, Your Highness,” Master Idhron said evenly, as if
nothing had happened.
Jamil swallowed and did as he was told.
The mind adept’s mental probing was different from a telepathic
merge. It wasn’t as intimate, but it was as invasive. If Jamil had to compare
two experiences, this was the equivalent of a rectal examination by a
physician as opposed to the intimacy of penetrative sex.
To Jamil’s relief, it was over pretty soon.
When Master Idhron pulled out of his mind, he was frowning
slightly. “Your bond to your deceased bondmate is weaker now,” he
said. “How peculiar.”
Jamil’s stomach dropped. “Isn’t it normal? You told me it would get
better with time.”
Master Idhron stared at him impassively. “No. Normally the torn bonds
do not weaken after the death of one’s spouse. After a while, the raw edges
scar over and hurt less, but the bond itself does not weaken. Yours has.”
Swallowing, Jamil said, “It’s not a problem, is it?”
The High Adept eyed him, but before he could say anything, the door
opened and an unfamiliar male voice said, “Master, are you done? Can we
go already?”
Idhron’s gaze snapped to the newcomer. His lips pursed slightly, his
eyes flashing with some emotion Jamil couldn’t identify. But it was an
actual emotion. “I told you to wait for me outside, Eridan.”
 Jamil got to his feet and turned around, just in time to see the young
man pout. As in, an actual pout, with pouted lips and sad eyes. They were
beautiful eyes, too, large and violet, on a beautiful young face, with a halo
of dark golden hair framing it.
“My apologies for my apprentice, Your Highness,” Master Idhron said,
shooting the young man an unimpressed look. “Where are your manners,
Eridan?”
“Oh!” The young man gave Jamil a sheepish smile, his lovely face
flushing. He bowed gracefully to Jamil. “Health and tranquility, Your
Highness.”
“You are Master Idhron’s apprentice?” Jamil said, incredibly surprised.
He’d known that senior mind adepts of the High Hronthar had apprentices
that they taught personally, but he’d never thought that the perfect,
emotionless Grandmaster of the Order would have such an emotional
apprentice. This kid didn’t look like a stoic monk at all.
Eridan flashed him a crooked grin. “I am, and I’m the bane of his
existence. You’re even more stunning in person, Your Highness.”
Jamil blinked.
“Eridan,” Master Idhron snapped. “Wait for me outside.”
Eridan rolled his eyes. “Yes, Master,” he said, obediently enough. “But
hurry up, would you? I’m bored. You know that me and boredom are never
a good combination.”
As the door shut after him, Jamil looked at Master Idhron with new
eyes. He couldn’t imagine this man actually choosing that emotional mess
of a boy as his apprentice.
“I apologize for my apprentice,” Idhron said tersely. “He’s still
learning. As for your bond, if it doesn’t keep deteriorating, I do not foresee
a problem. Your mind is healing. I do not think it is still necessary for me to
monitor your bond. But if you notice complications, you can always come
to the High Hronthar for assistance.”
Jamil nodded and watched the monk leave.
 Only when the door closed after him did he let himself relax. He was
reasonably sure the High Adept hadn’t noticed anything amiss—anything
other than his weakened bond.
Jamil refused to think about why it could be weakened.
Guilt filled his chest as his gaze landed on the small portrait of Mehmer
on his desk. He’d barely thought about Mehmer over the past few days.
Jamil picked up the portrait and stared at his husband’s dear face, grief
washing over him.
Somewhat relieved, he set the portrait down. He still loved his
husband. He hadn’t betrayed him. His perverse mental compatibility with
Rohan di’Lehr had changed nothing. He didn’t have to think about Mehmer
all the time to love him—that would be obsession, not love.
So you admit you’re obsessed with Rohan?
Scowling, Jamil pushed the thought away. He needed to come up with
a good reason to go to the Fifth Royal Palace. The sooner he got to the
bottom of it, the sooner he would be rid of Rohan’s invasive presence in his
life—which was what he wanted.
It was.
 Chapter 10

Rohan jumped off the zywern’s back, enabled its gravitational bindings
again, and headed back to the palace.
He had hoped a ride would clear his head and help him get rid of the
maddening tension building under his skin, but judging by the fact that he
still itched to go to the Crown Prince and get back inside him, it hadn’t
exactly worked.
Rohan heaved a frustrated sigh, at his wits’ end. He had been
Jamil’s “manservant” for six days already and he had spent them avoiding
the prince instead of actually working with him to accomplish what he was
there for. When he wasn’t avoiding the prince, he was too high on their
mental connection to want to do anything productive. As things stood, he
was never going to learn anything substantial.
Fuck, maybe he should just break into the Fifth Royal Palace, caution
be damned. But as Jamil had said, Dalatteya’s security measures were
bordering on paranoid, with three different people doing background
checks, cameras everywhere and most servants being droids.
It was almost as though she had something to hide.
Rohan’s lips curled at the thought. The woman was smart and cautious;
he would give her that. But then again, she knew better than anyone that
treachery could come from even the most innocuous sources.
 No, trying to get into Dalatteya’s palace on his own would be suicidal.
He needed Jamil’s help if he hoped to get close enough to the woman.
If only he could figure out how to be around Jamil without getting…
sidetracked.
Rohan stopped, realizing where his feet had brought him. He was in
front of Jamil’s private chambers once again.
Rohan clenched his jaw, looking at the door in frustration. His muscles
were tense and there was a low hum of arousal under his skin—arousal that
made no sense. He wasn’t into men. That didn’t change, no matter how
much he liked looking at the prince’s pretty face. But Rohan’s body seemed
to confuse the tension, the pent-up need with a sexual one, which was
wrong on so many levels Rohan wanted to laugh. He didn’t want to fuck the
prince. Jamil was as far from his type as it got. He liked them blonde, petite,
and curvy. Muscular, dark-haired men as tall as himself did nothing for
him. Except it seemed he couldn’t tell right from left when he was inside
the prince’s sweet, beautiful mind, and his cock got a little confused.
The door suddenly opened and he was greeted by the sight of Jamil in
his white, silky nightwear. “Are you going to stand there all night?” the
prince said tersely, his green eyes blazing fire. “Your thoughts are loud.”
That was another thing—another pretty damn creepy thing. The more
time passed, the more attuned to each other they seemed to become. Rohan
had his shields fully up. The prince shouldn’t have been able to sense him at
all, much less get a glimpse of his thoughts.
“You didn’t have to open the door,” Rohan said, shouldering past Jamil
and walking toward the window.
The door slid shut.
Silence fell over the room, filling his senses with tension the likes of
which he’d never felt in his life.
His cock strained his pants.
Rohan gritted his teeth, looking out the window. The night was
moonless so there was nothing of interest, but he stared at the night scenery
as if it were the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen. As if his cock wasn’t
so hard he could pound nails with it. As if he couldn’t feel the prince’s need
almost as acutely as his own.
“I could hardly have you standing outside my rooms,” Jamil said, his
posh voice stiff, a little awkward. “What would the servants say?”
Rohan snorted. “For someone who cares so much about propriety, you
sure spend a lot of time thinking about my cock in you.”
Silence.
“Get out,” Jamil said flatly.
“I’m sorry, Your Highness, I forgot we weren’t supposed to talk about
it.”
“I said get out.”
Rohan turned around, his lips twisting into something that was almost a
smile when he saw Jamil’s withering look. “I’m tired, and not really in the
mood for our usual denial dance, sweetheart. Shall we skip it? We both
know how it ends.”
Two spots of color appeared on the prince’s pale cheeks, the color of
his plush lips. He really was incredibly lovely, for a man. It was a pity he
was a man. If he weren’t, Rohan would have already been balls deep inside
him and fucked this strange fixation out of his system days ago.
“I know no such thing,” Jamil said, haltingly.
“Liar,” Rohan said, walking toward him.
Jamil took a step back, his eyes very bright. Wary. Hungry.
Rohan continued advancing on him.
Wetting his lips with his tongue, Jamil took another step back.
“I know you’ve been thinking about it all day,” Rohan said, stepping
closer. “Because I have, too. Come on, admit it, Highness.”
Jamil shook his head, even though his mental presence was already
reaching out greedily, entwining with Rohan’s, inviting him in, hungry and
needy.
 “Is this how it’s gonna be?” Rohan said, smiling sardonically. “You
want to keep pretending that you don’t want it?” Truth be told, the prince’s
continued claims that he didn’t want this should have pissed him off. It
should have. But having been in Jamil’s mind, Rohan knew him. He knew
him on the most intimate, deepest level there was to know another person.
He knew what made Prince Jamil the person he was now: a boy who had
grown up too fast, with immense expectations and responsibilities put on
him from very early childhood, a grieving man who had lost his husband
and best friend months ago, a man who felt crippling guilt for just feeling
good, as if his ability to feel good should have died with his husband. Jamil
had molded himself to be the perfect husband, bondmate, and heir to the
throne. Anything that didn’t fit those roles—or what Jamil perceived as
unfitting—stressed him out to an unhealthy degree.
“You didn’t even love him,” Rohan heard himself say and then nearly
sighed in frustration. He had been resolved to leave it alone—the subject
wouldn’t exactly endear him to Jamil—but it didn’t work. Something in
him wanted to point it out, the same something that wanted to rip that ugly,
broken bond out of Jamil’s mind. It made Rohan uneasy. He wasn’t a
possessive man, had never been. Until now, apparently. It was almost funny
that he felt so insanely possessive over a man he didn’t want to fuck while
he had never felt even a little jealous when he was with women he dated.
“How dare you,” Jamil bit off, breathing unsteadily. “You think you
know my feelings for Mehmer better than I do?”
Yes. Rohan had to actually bite his tongue to stop himself from saying
that. “All I’m saying is that your… feelings for the prince-consort were
artificial, born from that unnatural bond you had with him since you were a
small child. You know I’m right. You loved him because you had no choice,
Jamil.”
The prince glared daggers at him. “I didn’t give you permission to use
my shorter name,” he said, completely ignoring what Rohan had said. “It’s
Prince Jamil’ngh’veighli for you.”
Rohan chuckled, taking one last step forward until they were toe to
toe. “That’s a bit of a mouthful, darling. You’re out of your mind if you
think I’m going to call you that.”
 “You will call me Your Highness. Failing that, you will call me Prince
Jamil’ngh’veighli,” the prince said stubbornly, as if he wasn’t trembling
from head to toe from their proximity. He was wound up so tightly it made
Rohan agitated, too—more agitated than he already was.
Sighing, Rohan pressed their foreheads together. “You need to learn to
loosen up,” he murmured, burying his fingers in the prince’s soft hair. “Let
go, sweetheart,” he whispered, his eyelids growing heavier as their minds
slotted together, slipping into a shallow merge, effortlessly.
Jamil whimpered, his mind going empty with pure bliss. Truth be told,
Rohan wasn’t faring much better, his senses quickly clouding with pleasure.
The only reason he wasn’t as gone yet was because, unlike Jamil, he
actually had experience with merges and his tolerance was higher. He was
just rational enough to recognize that this was bad. This was a disaster.
They were quickly becoming addicted to a merge—to each other’s minds.
He’d heard stories of merge addiction, but it was rare enough and usually
nowhere near as extreme as this. The mere fact that Rohan no longer even
needed to touch Jamil’s telepathic point to initiate a merge was extremely
worrying. Or would be if he were able to feel anything but pleasure at the
moment.
“We need to figure out how to get close to Dalatteya.” Jamil’s voice in
the merge was low and intimate, almost sleepy, free of tension and primness
that always seemed to be present in his real voice. “Then you can leave and
we won’t have to deal with this anymore.”
“Yes.” Rohan slid in deeper, reaching to Jamil’s pulsing, golden core
that seemed to be aching for him. Closer, it whispered. Need you closer.
“Later,” Jamil murmured, his thoughts turning erratic the closer Rohan
got to his core. The vile remnants of his torn bond were still wrapped
around it, though much looser than before. It wouldn’t take much to tear
them away—if he wanted to. And fuck, did he want to. He wanted to rip
that thing out and take its place. It didn’t belong.
“Didn’t we talk about your inappropriate possessiveness?”
“We did. And we established that it isn’t my fault.”
Jamil laughed. It was a beautiful sound—a beautiful feeling.
 Rohan stroked his core with his mental fingers and Jamil moaned,
jerking as though electrocuted. “More.”
He stroked Jamil’s core again, which pulsed in pleasure, reaching out
for him hungrily, inviting him in. Rohan groaned. He’d never done such a
deep merge—never wanted to—but this was beyond addictive, pleasure
spreading from his mind down his body, to his cock.
“Fuck, I don’t think I can pull out,” he said aloud, opening his eyes and
focusing them on Jamil’s slack-jawed, flushed face. The sight was… oddly
satisfying. He liked watching this very proper prince come absolutely
undone just from his mental touch. It was ridiculously heady.
“Then don’t pull out,” Jamil whispered, his pupils blown wide. “Stay
in me.”
Rohan’s cock twitched, his body too high on endorphins to see the
difference between mental and physical intimacy. His cock was so hard he
could feel it leaking, throbbing with need.
Swearing through his teeth, Rohan slipped his hand between them and
jerked his fly open. He hissed as his fingers closed around his aching cock.
Finally.
Jamil’s glassy eyes widened. He shook his head, looking down at
Rohan’s cock, a fierce blush on his face. “Stop that. What are you doing?”
“Drop the act. You’re dying to do it, too.” Honestly, Rohan was out of
fucks to give at this point.
“We—we can’t. I’m a married man.”
Suppressing the urge to snap that he wasn’t—he knew Jamil wasn’t yet
ready to let go of his husband—Rohan gritted out, “And I’m not into men.
This means nothing. Just tension relief, endorphins, nothing to do with
you.” He pressed his mouth against Jamil’s neck and sucked the skin above
his pulsing telepathic core, all the while stroking his own cock.
“Stop that,” Jamil breathed out. “This is—improper.”
“Fuck propriety, my balls have been blue for days.” Rohan bit on the
soft skin, making Jamil shudder. “You can jerk off, too, come on.”
 “You must be joking.” Although Jamil sounded scandalized, Rohan
could feel his arousal, how badly he wanted relief, too.
“Come on, Princess,” Rohan murmured, nuzzling his neck. “As long as
we aren’t touching each other below the waist, surely it doesn’t count?”
He could feel Jamil’s inner struggle, but they both knew it was a lost
battle. The connection between them was a never-ending feedback loop of
need and frustration, Rohan’s arousal feeding Jamil’s and vice versa. Jamil
didn’t stand a chance.
“It means nothing,” Jamil repeated breathlessly, slipping a shaking
hand into his pants.
Rohan could feel the moment he touched himself—his pleasure seemed
to multiply—and he groaned, stroking his own cock faster and harder. Jamil
buried his face against Rohan’s throat, making low, grunting noises, their
hands bumping against each other as they stroked themselves. It was fast,
hard and dirty, their minds wide open to each other, their mental pleasure
centers as stimulated and oversensitive as their cocks. Before long, Jamil
was making desperate moans into his neck, kissing and biting it as they
thrust into their own hands.
“Come on, sweetheart,” Rohan said, pulling at Jamil’s hair with his
free hand. “Let it go. You deserve to feel good. You’re so good, so beautiful,
I could spend years inside you. You feel perfect, you’re perfect—so pretty
—”
Jamil groaned and came, shaking, his orgasm triggering Rohan’s,
pleasure exploding through Rohan’s body, his balls emptying with long
spurts, his mind wrapped tightly around Jamil’s.
Gods, I’ve never felt closer to another person.
The messed up part was, Rohan wasn’t even sure whose thought it was.
Fucking hell, they had a problem.
Rohan opened his eyes with some difficulty, breathing hard as he tried
to come down from their high.
 Jamil was quiet, his face still pressed against Rohan’s throat. Rohan
didn’t need to see it to know that the prince was already starting to feel
guilty and ashamed.
“Hey, it wasn’t that bad, was it?” Rohan murmured, threading
his fingers through the wavy mop of soft brown hair. “I feel better now.
Don’t you?”
Jamil didn’t respond.
“Come on,” Rohan said, dropping a chaste kiss to his temple. “There’s
nothing to feel guilty about. It doesn’t mean that you’re… unfaithful. I’m
sure your husband wouldn’t have minded your feeling good. He’s gone, has
been gone for months. You didn’t betray him.”
Jamil said nothing.
“Come on, love,” Rohan said, dropping another kiss to his hair. A part
of him, the part that could still think rationally, felt incredulous by his own
behavior. Endearments weren’t really his thing. He’d rarely used them on
women he’d dated over the years, much less on men he’d known for such a
short time. And yet, he couldn’t seem to stop using them now. They felt
right. This felt right. “Jamil, it was the Fit. We couldn’t help it. Stop beating
yourself up over it.” He gave an amused snort. “If it could make me, a
straight man, so damn horny, you stood no chance.”
That, at last, seemed to have the intended effect. He felt Jamil relax
slightly, the sickening waves of guilt and shame finally lessening.
“I know,” Jamil said softly, rubbing his cheek against Rohan’s throat.
Nuzzling into him.
Rohan felt strange, because it didn’t actually feel strange. Far from it.
His expression pinched, he pulled away gently, both physically and
mentally—and nearly threw up. Jamil made a sound of protest, too.
They looked at each other, breathing unsteadily.
“We went too deep,” Rohan said with a grimace. “The connection
deepened.”
Jamil bit his bottom lip. “Maybe try breaking it gentler?”
 “That was me being gentle,” Rohan said with a laugh, but he did try
again.
At the first sign of Jamil’s distress, he stopped, unable to continue.
Unwilling to continue.
They stared at each other again, at a loss.
“You try,” Rohan said with a sigh.
Pursing his lips, Jamil shook his head. “It’s not a good idea. I don’t
really know how to end a merge properly. I might mess it up. You’re my
first, remember?”
Of course he did. All too well.
“Then I’m out of ideas,” Rohan said, tucking his spent cock back into
his pants.
Blushing, Jamil did the same. He went to his dresser and pulled out a
few wet tissues to wipe his fingers. The merge didn’t snap, but the distance
between them was more aggravating than it should have been.
Rohan clenched his jaw, forcing himself to stay where he was.
“Is it always like this?” Jamil said, his voice strained.
Rohan almost laughed. “Of course not. If it were, I would be married to
the first girl I merged with.”
Some unpleasant feeling reached him through their connection.
Rohan smiled, amused when he recognized it. “See? I really can’t help
feeling possessive. It’s the merge.”
Jamil shot him a flat look. “According to you, we’re absolved of all the
blame,” he said dryly.
Rohan shrugged. “Not all the blame, but most of it. I see no point in
beating myself up over something I can’t control.”
Running a hand through his hair, Jamil just looked at him for a long
moment. Rohan could feel that his words did ease his conscience a little.
 “You’re probably right,” Jamil conceded at last with a small, helpless
kind of smile. “I know I tend to overthink situations and stress myself out.”
Rohan tried to squash the inappropriate wave of affection. Affection
was the last thing they needed. Things were complicated enough without
bringing affection into the mix.
He glanced at the door. “I should probably go. It’s late.”
Jamil gave a clipped nod.
Gathering all his willpower, Rohan walked toward the door. The merge
stretched, on the verge of snapping.
Rohan stopped, gritting his teeth. “Fucking hell.”
Behind him, he heard Jamil sigh. “I heard that merges dissolve when
people sleep,” he said, unsteadily. “Is that true?”
Rohan stared at the door. “Yes.”
“You can—you should stay here, then. Sleep here.”
When Rohan turned around to look at him incredulously, Jamil glared
at him. “On the couch. Obviously.”
Rohan glanced at the couch in question and made a face. Jamil’s
suggestion had merit, but his back would kill him tomorrow if he slept all
night on that short, flimsy couch. “No. You can take the couch if you’re so
afraid that you won’t be able to keep your hands off me.”
Jamil lifted his chin. “I’m afraid of no such thing!”
“Fine, then,” Rohan said with a smirk, unbuttoning his shirt and
throwing it on the couch.
He half-expected Jamil to blush and turn away, but to his surprise,
Jamil looked at his naked torso unabashedly, his gaze lingering on his
tattoos once again.
“I don’t understand why people willingly mutilate their bodies,” Jamil
said.
 Rohan shrugged, amused by the way the prince’s eyes lingered on his
tattoos in reluctant fascination. “You like them,” he stated.
Jamil didn’t bother denying it: lying within a merge was pointless.
“Can I borrow something to sleep in?” Rohan said, undoing his
fly. “Though I don’t mind sleeping naked.”
That finally made Jamil turn away. He walked to his wardrobe, pulled
out some loose blue pants and a soft gray shirt, and threw it over his
shoulder. “Put these on.”
Rohan did and grinned in amusement, looking at Jamil’s very straight
back. “You can turn around now. Not that I have anything you haven’t seen
already.”
Huffing, Jamil slipped into the bed, lying on its very edge.
Rolling his eyes, Rohan stretched out on the other side of the bed,
nearly groaning at its softness. It had been a while since he’d slept in such a
nice bed.
“Omer, lights at two percent,” Jamil murmured.
The lights dimmed almost to total darkness, but not quite.
It took a few moments for Rohan’s eyes to adjust. It was bright enough
to see the vague outline of the prince’s very still body. The tension in him
was back, filling the very air between them with agitation.
“Relax,” Rohan said quietly. He hated it when Jamil was so tense. It
put him on edge, too. “Come on, sweetheart.”
“Don’t call me that,” Jamil said, but there was no heat in his voice.
Rohan was pretty sure that at this point Jamil objected only because he felt
like he had to.
Rohan sighed. “Why are you getting so worked up again?”
Jamil was quiet for so long Rohan was starting to think he wasn’t going
to answer.
“Last person I shared this bed with was my husband.”
 Rohan’s lips thinned. “He’s dead.”
“Thanks for reminding me. I hadn’t noticed.” Jamil sighed, and when
he spoke again, his voice was hollow. “I know you don’t think much of
Calluvian bonds, but I did love him. We were happy together. He was very
easy-going and laid-back—everything I’m not—and we fit well together.
He was—he was my best friend.” His voice cracked a little.
Rohan grimaced as he felt Jamil’s sorrow through the merge.
“I’m sorry,” he said tersely. “But stop being sad, all right? I can’t stand
it.”
A strangled kind of laugh left Jamil’s throat. “You can’t stand it?”
“Look, if you don’t stop feeling sad, I’m not responsible for what I’ll
do. So unless you actually want me to comfort you, I suggest you quit
feeling sad.”
Jamil turned his head to him.
It was too dark for them to see each other well, but it didn’t stop Rohan
from looking at the prince’s face. Their connection pulsed softly between
them, still filled with sorrow, but it was slowly being pushed out by another
emotion: longing.
Rohan’s hand stretched out toward him.
A beat passed, and Jamil’s hand met him halfway.
Rohan squeezed his hand. I’m here.
A small, contented sound left Jamil’s lips.
Rohan closed his eyes, relishing the feel of the prince’s soft, long
fingers in his rough, calloused ones. Slowly, without conscious thought,
their fingers intertwined. The merge pulsed with comfort and warmth, bliss
spreading through their bodies.
They didn’t say anything else that night; they fell asleep like that,
tangled in each other’s minds.
 Chapter 11

He couldn’t remember the last time he woke up feeling so well rested

and good.
Jamil opened his eyes, blinking blearily. He was lying on his side, and
there was a tattooed arm slung over his waist.
Jamil stared at the brown, sun-kissed hand on his pale stomach—his
shirt had apparently ridden up—and he wondered what was wrong with
him. He should have been freaking out. He should have felt ashamed, dirty,
and wrong. He had no business feeling so good and comfortable in the arms
of a man who wasn’t his husband.
Strangely, he couldn’t summon those feelings.
Everything felt… right: the rise and fall of Rohan’s firm chest against
his back, the warmth of his breath against Jamil’s nape, the heaviness of his
arm, the low hum of Rohan’s sleeping mind.
Jamil’s gaze fell on the portrait that hung on the opposite wall, a
portrait of him and Mehmer on their wedding day. It was drawn by one of
the most talented modern artists in the galaxy, and the resemblance was
uncanny. The artist had captured perfectly Mehmer’s golden hair, golden
skin, and laughing hazel eyes.
Jamil stared at the portrait, searching his feelings. He finally felt
ashamed—ashamed that this still didn’t feel wrong.
 Behind him, Rohan mumbled something sleepily and pulled him
tighter to him.
Jamil swallowed, feeling the unmistakable bulge pressed against his
lower back. It was just a morning erection. He had one, too. It didn’t mean
anything. What happened last night was… tension relief, nothing more.
They had barely touched each other when they brought themselves off. It
had been a one-time thing and it would never happen again.
Catching his bottom lip between his teeth, Jamil tried to move the hand
on his stomach away without waking Rohan up, but Rohan mumbled
something and just moved his hand up to fondle his pec as if it were a
woman’s breast.
Jamil flushed. Rohan was likely dreaming of being in bed with some
woman. He’d gotten the impression that Rohan di’Lehr had slept with a lot
of women.
Never men.
Jamil pursed his lips. The thought should have been comforting, but
something about it bothered him.
Jamil’s brows furrowed. He had to admit it was… strange for him to be
considered unattractive. His physical appearance had always attracted a lot
of attention from intergalactic celebrities and politicians that visited
Calluvia. Mehmer had always found it amusing—he had actually liked
being the subject of envious looks. “They can stare and drool all they want;
I’m the only one who gets to touch you.” Jamil hadn’t shared his husband’s
amusement. He’d always thought being regarded as a piece of meat was
demeaning, especially since most of those off-worlders had no mental
shields and Jamil had to smile at them and pretend he had no idea what vile
thoughts about his mouth or ass they were entertaining.
But as much as Jamil didn’t like it, he was used to it. He was used to
being regarded as desirable. Did that make him vain? Maybe. Regardless, it
was strange for him that Rohan didn’t find him attractive at all. Not that he
wanted Rohan to be attracted to him. It was just strange. That was all.
“If it makes you feel better, you’re the most gorgeous man I’ve ever
seen,” a sleepy voice said with a chuckle. “The fairest of them all.”
 Jamil’s face burned. “Stop eavesdropping on my thoughts.”
“I couldn’t help it,” Rohan said, nuzzling into his nape. “They were
very loud.”
“I thought the merge broke while we slept.”
“It did,” Rohan confirmed, yawning and showing no inclination to
move. “But it looks like we’re more attuned to each other now. Not exactly
surprising after such a deep merge.”
Frowning, Jamil tried to reinforce his shields. He also tried to make
himself pull away from Rohan’s embrace. He failed on both counts. His
limbs refused to listen to his commands, and his mind felt… different.
Brighter. Calmer. Warmer.
It took him a few moments to realize what was different. There was a
very thin golden thread wrapped around his core, just above his torn bond
to Mehmer, so thin he could barely feel it.
“What is this?” Jamil said, his heart beating faster.
“Hmm?”
Jamil nudged him mentally toward the golden thread. “This!”
He felt Rohan freeze, his body going rigid against him.
And then Rohan cursed so elaborately it would have made Jamil blush
had he not been so worried. Rohan sprang away from him as though burned
and rolled off the bed.
Jamil sat up and watched him pace the room agitatedly.
“It’s a bond,” Rohan said at last, his jaw working. Gone was the
teasing, infuriatingly unflappable man Jamil had come to know. He was
beginning to realize he’d never seen Rohan truly angry. He was angry now.
Rohan’s mouth was a thin straight line and a vein throbbed in his temple.
Rohan glared at him, raking a hand through his short hair, anger rolling off
him in thick, suffocating waves.
“Why are you looking at me like it’s my fault?”
 Rohan chuckled harshly, turning away. “How are you so calm about
this?”
Jamil shrugged, sitting up. “I’m not calm. But I don’t understand why
you’re so angry. I’m sure this… accidental bond will break in no time or
you will break it yourself. It’s very thin, nothing like my bond to Mehmer
was.”
Although Rohan didn’t disagree with him aloud, Jamil could still feel
his agitation.
“I need to get into Dalatteya’s palace as soon as possible,” Rohan said
in a clipped voice. “And then I’ll be out of your hair, Your Highness.”
Jamil flinched. He crossed his arms over his chest, suddenly feeling
chilly. “All right,” he said after a moment. “I have an idea—it’s something
I’ve been thinking about for a few days, actually.”
“What idea?” Rohan said, without looking at him.
He didn’t like it.
He didn’t like it when Rohan didn’t look at him.
Jamil frowned, more than a little disturbed by his own thoughts. “A
few days ago, Dalatteya sent me the old reports on her
nephews’ kidnapping.”
Rohan’s broad shoulders tensed. “And?”
“According to those reports, her nephews were attacked by the rebels
within one tarsec of where Mehmer was killed,” Jamil said, watching
Rohan carefully. “What a coincidence, isn’t it?”
Slowly, Rohan turned around. “Where are you going with this?”
Jamil cocked his head to the side, perversely enjoying the way Rohan’s
eyes immediately went to his neck—to the hickeys on his telepathic point.
Regardless of his constant use of dermal regenerators, Jamil always seemed
to end up with an assortment of old and new hickeys there. Rohan may not
want him, but he was as helpless against their unnatural connection as Jamil
was. It felt oddly satisfying to know that.
 “I just find it curious that out of all possible places, the two princes of
the Fifth Grand Clan and the prince-consort of the Third Grand Clan were
supposedly attacked by the rebels within one tarsec from each other. The
Kavalchi Mountains are thousands of tarsecs long. What are the odds?”
Something shifted across Rohan’s face. “What are you hinting at? You
seem to have figured it all out. Let’s hear it.” He ran a hand over his
stubbled jaw. His black eyes remained on Jamil, intense and penetrating.
Once again, Jamil was disturbed by how much he enjoyed it: having
Rohan’s focus on him and him only.
Gods, this was getting out of hand.
“I’m not sure yet,” he said. “All I know is that you haven’t told me
something. Something important. And you can’t expect me to help you if I
don’t have all the information.” He was proud of how rational his voice
sounded. His voice hadn’t betrayed that he felt stupidly hurt. It was
ridiculous. Rohan was nothing to him. He’d known him for seventeen days.
He shouldn’t be hurt by his lack of trust. It shouldn’t feel like a betrayal.
But it did.
“I already told you more than I should have,” Rohan said, his tone
vaguely uncomfortable and annoyed. “Stop that.”
“Stop what?”
“This!” Rohan gesticulated toward Jamil’s face, as if it personally
offended him. “This hurt, sad kitten face you’re putting on. It makes me—it
drives me crazy.”
Jamil’s eyebrows flew up. His first instinct was to say that he definitely
wasn’t acting like a sad kitten, thank you very much, but then he paused as
it occurred to him what exactly it meant. They’d known each other for
seventeen days. Just as Jamil shouldn’t feel hurt by Rohan’s lack of
trust, Rohan shouldn’t be so affected by the fact that Jamil felt hurt. They
both were reacting strangely to each other, acting like people who’d known
each other for years instead of days.
It was odd.
 Scratch that, it was pure madness.
“You said the intimacy people feel during a merge doesn’t affect the
real life,” Jamil said faintly.
Rohan’s shoulders tensed up. He didn’t even need to ask what he
meant.
Heavens, they really had a problem.
Sighing, Rohan sat down beside him. “It shouldn’t. It doesn’t
normally.”
“Well,” Jamil said dryly. “Clearly there’s nothing normal about this.”
They were silent for a long while, not looking at each other.
Jamil chuckled, looking at his own hands. “This is so ridiculous,” he
whispered. “I really want you to hold my hand.” He actually had to ball his
fingers into fists to stop himself from reaching out.
Rohan pinched the bridge of his nose. “I know.”
“This is messed up.”
Rohan laughed, the sound sharp and hollow. “Putting it mildly.”
“Do you think it’s the bond?”
Rohan gave a shrug. “Maybe. Probably. I don’t know.” His lips twisted
into a crooked smile as he shot Jamil a sideways look. “I don’t know
everything, Jamil. This is new for me, too.”
Jamil found himself returning the smile helplessly.
Rohan stared at him. “You’re so ridiculously pretty,” he said before
grimacing. “I used to wish you were a woman so that I could fuck this out
of my system.”
Jamil wasn’t sure if he should be insulted or flattered. He settled on
insulted. “Your assumption that I would have sex with you is unbelievably
arrogant.”
 Rohan smiled humorlessly. “Don’t lie to yourself, sweetheart. We both
know we’d be fucking all day long if you were a woman.”
Jamil glared at him, his face hot.
Rohan shook his head. “Anyway, as I said, I used to wish that. Now
I’m glad you aren’t a woman.” His thumb brushed against Jamil’s warm
cheek. “It’s bad enough already without sex in the mix.”
Refusing to think about what that meant, Jamil decided to change the
subject. “So are you going to tell me why both crimes were committed so
close to each other?”
“Considering that the rebels weren’t the ones who committed them,
your guess is as good as mine.”
“Don’t lie to me. Please.”
Rohan sighed. “All right. That spot… we call it the Blind. It’s a narrow
strip of forest at the foothills of the Northern Kavalchi Mountains before
they elevate abruptly. That spot is unique because of its geological makeup:
it has just enough of korviu deposits to prevent scanners and satellites from
working but not enough to prevent the use of powerful transgalactic
teleporters.”
Jamil frowned. “You mean that you can teleport to that spot without
being detected?”
“Yes. We use that spot to travel between Calluvia and an orbital station
near Tai’Lehr.” There was a wrinkle between Rohan’s brows. “Prince
Warrehn was just very lucky to get attacked by his own bodyguards near the
Blind. Our people were heading back to Tai’Lehr and they came across the
ambush and saved the prince. As for Prince-Consort Mehmer, I really have
no idea.” He looked Jamil in the eye. “Trust me.”
Jamil swallowed, losing his train of thought for a moment. “I could
visit Dalatteya under the guise of asking her opinion on the matter. The fact
that someone—or something—attacked her nephews and my husband at the
same location eighteen years apart is strange enough to warrant at least a
discussion. I could take you with me as my servant.”
Rohan nodded, still looking him in the eye.
 Jamil wondered if his eyes looked as hungry as Rohan’s did.
He knew what Rohan wanted, of course. He wanted the same thing,
too. Craved it.
“All right,” Jamil whispered. Fuck, he was weak. “Maybe just a short
one?”
Immediately, Rohan’s mouth latched onto his neck, his mind pushing
back inside Jamil, and the world around them disappeared.
When Jamil opened his eyes next time, the clock on the wall showed
that two hours had passed. He was sprawled on his back, with Rohan’s
heavy body on top of him, Rohan’s mouth still on his pulsing core and their
hips grinding helplessly against each other.
Groaning, Rohan rolled onto his back. “For fuck’s sake,” he bit out,
shoving a hand into his borrowed pants and pulling his erection out.
Jamil was pretty sure he stopped breathing. His own cock throbbed as
he stared at that dark, thick cock in Rohan’s hand. The cock was leaking so
profusely the head was coated in lubrication, all shiny and smooth and
mouthwatering—
“Fucking hell, this is so fucked up,” Rohan said, his gaze flickering to
Jamil’s face before fixating on the ceiling as he stroked himself roughly.
Jamil tried to look away. He really did.
He still found his hand creeping down his body to press against his
own aching erection, his eyes fixated on Rohan’s cock. The mental
connection between them pulsed with raw, frustrating need and pleasure,
and Jamil’s head was spinning. His inhibitions gone, he shoved his hand
into his pants and pulled himself out. He was so wet, his cock practically
slippery in his hand. He whimpered, pressing his flushed face against
Rohan’s upper arm, and started stroking himself furiously. There was no
finesse about it, just raw, pulsing need, their pleasure mixing, feeding off of
each other. Jamil was only vaguely aware of the strangled, broken sounds
he was making, all but burying his face in Rohan’s bicep as he fisted his
cock.
 He came with a muffled groan, humping the air as he milked himself
dry. He barely managed to recover from his orgasm when another wave of
pleasure hit him as Rohan tensed against him and came, too. Pleasure
spread through his body, warm, thick, and delicious, all the tension in his
muscles replaced by that wonderful feeling.
Jamil’s eyelids grew heavy as he floated in the waves of pleasure,
orange, red and yellow behind his closed eyes.
“This is ridiculous,” Rohan said. “It took us, what, ten strokes? I had
better endurance as a teenager.”
Jamil’s lips twitched. He opened his eyes, and when he saw the half-
offended, half-embarrassed expression on Rohan’s face, he couldn’t help it:
he burst out laughing.
Rohan glared at him, but then his lips twitched too, and before long,
they both were laughing.
When their laughter died, a strange kind of silence fell between them.
It wasn’t uncomfortable, per se, but it wasn’t comfortable, either. It was
loaded with a certain weight, some emotion he couldn’t quite place.
They held each other’s gaze, the intimacy of the moment almost too
much. Something thrummed between them, like a living being, and it took
Jamil a moment to recognize what it was.
Affection.
Warm, sickeningly sweet affection filled the air between them,
spreading through his body. It was the scariest thing he’d ever felt.
“It’s the bond, isn’t it?” Jamil said, hating the edge of desperation in his
voice. “It’ll pass once it’s broken.”
Rohan’s black brows drew together.
For a long moment, he said nothing.
“It should,” he said at last, but he didn’t sound very certain. “It will,”
he said, firmer, and then he ruined it by kissing Jamil’s nose. “It’s going to
be fine, darling.”
Jamil could only laugh incredulously.
Did Rohan even hear himself?
 Chapter 12

Rohan walked a step behind Jamil, trying to look as subservient as

possible.
The Fifth Royal Palace was obnoxiously luxurious. Everything about it
seemed to scream look how rich and powerful we are. Rohan found he
much preferred Jamil’s home—the Third Royal Palace was far more
tastefully decorated. He idly wondered if the decor reflected the regent’s
taste or the deceased Queen’s.
They stopped in front of the tall door, and the droid butler announced
Jamil.
If Rohan were a real manservant, he would have stayed outside,
waiting for his master to emerge. But he wasn’t confident in his ability to
access the regent’s mind without eye contact, so he followed Jamil in.
“Your Highness,” Dalatteya said, bowing gracefully. Her sharp gaze
assessed Jamil before flicking to Rohan. “I would appreciate it if you have
your servant wait outside.”
“Do as the lady says,” Jamil said without even glancing at him.
“Of course, Your Highness,” Rohan murmured, bowing deeply and
catching Dalatteya’s eyes. It lasted a fraction of a moment, but it was
enough for him to get under her shields. He backed out of the room and let
the doors close behind him.
 Turning his back to the security camera, he closed his eyes,
concentrating. As was typical for Calluvians, Dalatteya’s telepathy was
limited by the remnants of her bond to her late husband. In her bonded
state, she was a Class 1 telepath, her shields not particularly good. Rohan
was exponentially stronger than her. Still, navigating her mind without her
noticing was harder than he had expected—mostly because he kept getting
distracted by the shiny, brilliant warmth of Jamil’s mind. It was frustrating
as hell. It was like trying to focus on a candle and ignore the sun.
Quit getting fixated and do what you’re here for.
Dalatteya had a strange mind. It took him a while to understand why
her mind didn’t make much sense, why her motivations seemed off. When
he did, he stiffened.
Her memories had been tampered with.
It wasn’t obvious, but there was a faint trace of wrongness about some
of her memories that Rohan recognized only because he’d studied the mind
arts extensively for years. But it wasn’t what made him alarmed. When he
tried to undo the tampered memories, he couldn’t do it—that was the
alarming part. He was a well-trained, high-level telepath. This shouldn’t
have been possible. To make matters worse, he could feel a gut-wrenching
fear every time he tried to undo her tampered memories. Her fear.
She was scared.
She was scared of the person who’d done this to her.
It was quite clever, Rohan mused. Dalatteya’s subconscious
remembered just enough to do that person’s bidding, their manipulations
hidden deep in her psyche without giving her any proof of who was
manipulating her and why.
He felt almost sorry for the woman—now her paranoia made a lot
more sense—before remembering the crimes she’d committed. Because she
had committed them. He couldn’t find any evidence of her mind being
manipulated back when she’d tried to kill her own nephews. That was all
her, no one else. The third-party manipulation started much later,
though Rohan wasn’t sure when.
 Dalatteya also wasn’t in any way responsible for Mehmer’s death. She
didn’t know anything about it. She didn’t seem to know anything about the
rebels, either.
As for Tai’Lehr—
Something sprang out of the corner of her mind and lunged for his
telepathic core. Rohan barely managed to bring his shields up in time.
Breathing hard, he pulled out of her mind and opened his eyes, unease
making his stomach churn.
A mind trap. It was a mind trap.
He’d been taught about them, but he’d never actually encountered one
before. It was a very hard skill to master. Mind traps were extremely
dangerous. They could completely destroy the mind of the trespasser who
triggered it. They didn’t practice mind traps on Tai’Lehr.
But Rohan knew who did.

***

Jamil bowed slightly to Dalatteya and turned to leave, glad the ordeal
was over. Playing the role of a paranoid, revenge-thirsty widower had been
rather tiring. As expected, Dalatteya hadn’t offered any insight. She was a
master of saying a lot without saying anything of substance. But her sharp,
watchful gaze on him didn’t match her meaningless chatter. It made him
uneasy.
He found Rohan waiting for him outside Dalatteya’s office.
One look at Rohan’s blank face and grim eyes told him everything he
needed: Rohan had found what he was looking for in Dalatteya’s mind.
 Jamil could barely contain himself. He was dying to ask, but it was
neither the time nor the place. He would have to wait until they returned
home.
“Well?” he said as soon as they were finally back in Jamil’s rooms.
Rohan just looked at him for a long moment, his black eyes
inscrutable. But Jamil could sense something like unease through their
accidental bond. Unease and a sense of great urgency.
“I need to go home.”
Jamil stared at him. “Why?” A part of him, the rational one, knew it
was the wrong question to ask. Of course Rohan would go home. If he’d
really learned everything he needed to know, there was no damn reason for
him to stay.
“I’ve found something in the regent’s mind. Something very worrying.
I need to go home.”
Jamil pursed his lips and turned his face away. “Really? That’s all
you’re going to tell me? After everything I did to help you?” He tried to
sound angry, not hurt. He wasn’t sure he succeeded.
Rohan stepped to him and, taking him by shoulders, forced him to look
at him. “Jamil.”
Jamil shivered. He hated how Rohan said his name: with an almost
silent ‘l,’ soft like a warm embrace.
“What?” he said stiffly.
Rohan’s gaze was searching. “If I could tell you what I learned without
endangering you, I would. But your bond to Mehmer still binds your
telepathy. You can’t sufficiently protect your mind.”
“I can.”
“Not from high-level telepaths.”
Jamil’s stomach dropped. “There are no high-level telepaths on
Calluvia.”
 Rohan’s expression became pinched. “Officially.” He squeezed Jamil’s
shoulders, looking him in the eye. “I really shouldn’t be telling you this, but
stay away from the mind adepts of the High Hronthar.”
Jamil’s brows furrowed.
He stared at Rohan, and Rohan stared back.
Jamil nodded slowly. What Rohan was implying seemed unbelievable,
but Jamil trusted him.
He trusted him, a man he knew pretty much nothing about, a man
who’d used underhanded means to get into his home, a man who wasn’t
even telling him what he’d learned from Dalatteya.
Was it crazy?
Maybe.
Hell, there was no maybe about it.
“You know I’d never hurt you,” Rohan said, probably reading his
thoughts. Although his face remained mostly blank, his dark eyes burned
with raw honesty, his hands traveling up the slope of Jamil’s shoulders to
settle on his neck. Rohan cradled it gently, his fingers pressing against his
telepathic core, which pulsed longingly for him.
Jamil made a face, pulling back a little. “Don’t do this.” I can’t think
when you do this.
Rohan smiled wryly. “Yeah. Probably not a good idea. We will lose
hours if we merge.”
“Will you break the bond now?”
Rohan grimaced. “Unlike artificial bonds, it’s difficult to break a
natural bond intentionally. But it’s a new bond. It’s still very thin and
fragile. It should break on its own with distance and time, and it will
probably be less painful that way.”
Jamil knew he should probably insist on Rohan doing it anyway, but
something in him instinctively shied away from the idea. Maybe a gradual
breaking really would be better.
 “What about Mehmer’s killer?” he said.
Rohan’s lips thinned. “I don’t know. She really didn’t know about it. I
have… an idea about what might have happened, but I’ll have to confirm a
few things first. It’ll take time.” He smoothed the line between Jamil’s
brows with a thumb. “Don’t fixate on finding Mehmer’s murderer, okay?
He’s dead. He doesn’t care if he’s avenged or not.”
Jamil glared at him half-heartedly. “Your flippant attitude toward
Mehmer’s death is offensive, you know.”
Rohan had the nerve to shrug. “Avenging his death is the least of my
worries, to be honest. Dead can’t be hurt.” He looked into Jamil’s eyes
grimly, cradling his nape. “Promise me you’ll leave it alone. Don’t try to
investigate it yourself.”
“I can’t just ignore the issue when my husband’s murderer is still out
there, unpunished and—”
“Promise me,” Rohan said forcefully, something fierce and anxious in
his eyes.
That made Jamil pause. He could feel Rohan’s concern, strong and gut-
wrenching. Concern for him.
“If my suspicions are correct, the prince-consort’s death is only the tip
of the iceberg,” Rohan said. “It’s not as simple as finding a single murderer,
Jamil. Trust me. Stay away from that mess.”
His stomach in knots, Jamil could only nod.
“Thank you.” Rohan leaned in and kissed him on the cheek
gently. “And thank you for your help,” he murmured, his arms slipping
down Jamil’s shoulders to give him a brief but tight hug. “I couldn’t have
done it without you.”
Jamil stared at the opposite wall and realized that this was a goodbye.
Rohan was leaving, and he was probably never coming back.
Jamil pressed his lips together, his throat suddenly tight.
 He didn’t know why he felt like… like this. He’d known Rohan would
leave as soon as he learned what he was there for. He’d known that. This
was for the best. He was starting to become attached.
Starting?
Jamil almost laughed at himself. What was wrong with him, seriously?
They weren’t even friends, not really. They certainly weren’t lovers, either.
Rohan was… He was something else, his not-quite-friend, not-quite-lover,
not-quite-bondmate, not-quite-servant.
Even if Rohan could stay, what would they be to each other? How long
could it stay secret that Jamil was hopelessly addicted to having his
manservant’s mind in him? That Jamil had something of a perverse bond
with him? The scandal would be enormous. Even if he were willing to risk
it, Rohan clearly had no intention of staying. He probably hadn’t even
entertained the idea. While he did seem somewhat attached to Jamil, he was
a heterosexual man. Rohan would never want such an intimate relationship
with another man—not that Jamil wanted it, either. He didn’t. The mere idea
was… ridiculous: they were from different social circles, different cultures,
and different sexualities. They had no future together, in any capacity.
It was a good thing this was ending before it could become something
disastrous. More disastrous than it already was.
“I have to go,” Rohan said roughly, his gaze searching as it roamed
over Jamil’s face. His hands squeezed Jamil’s shoulders. “If there’s
anything I can do for you before I go…”
Jamil opened his mouth to say that he didn’t need anything when an
idea occurred to him. At first it seemed too insane to entertain, but the more
he thought about it, the more he wanted it.
“Give me a baby.”
Rohan flinched.
“What?” he said, his eyes wide and his muscles visibly tense.
Jamil moistened his dry lips with his tongue. “The Queen… She’s
pressuring me—” He cut himself off. No, that wasn’t right. “My people are
worried that there’s no established line of succession. I need an heir.
Mehmer—he didn’t leave his genetic material, so my mother says I need a
donor to be the other biological father. But I…” He bit his bottom lip,
averting his gaze before meeting Rohan’s again. “I don’t really like the
thought of having the child of a total stranger.”
Rohan’s jaw worked. He shook his head slowly. “Jamil, I can’t just
give my child to other people to raise as another man’s. I’m sorry, but I
can’t.”
Jamil’s stomach dropped. Crossing his arms over his chest, he turned
his back to Rohan, not confident that his face wouldn’t betray his
disappointment. “I wasn’t asking you to give a child to other people,” he
said tonelessly. “I was asking you to give it to me.” He shrugged. “But I
guess there isn’t much of a difference for you.”
Rohan swore and grabbed his shoulders. “Don’t say that,” he said
harshly, his stubble scratching the skin of Jamil’s neck from
behind. “You’re—fuck, you’re the most confusing thing that has ever
happened to me—I have no idea what the fuck this is, but…” He sighed. “I
want you to be happy,” he said hoarsely. “I want you to be safe and happy, I
want to give you anything you want. Because you deserve it. But I really
can’t do what you’re asking me to do. There are reasons—”
“Fine,” Jamil said. “Sorry for asking. It was stupid of me—I don’t even
know how healthy you are. Mother has already found a perfect candidate
anyway.”
Rohan’s hands tightened on his arms. “No.”
Jamil’s eyebrows furrowed. “No?”
Heaving a frustrated sigh, Rohan said testily, “Never mind. I can’t
think straight when you’re so close.” But he didn’t make an attempt to pull
away.
“You’re sending really mixed signals, you know,” Jamil said.
Rohan snorted. “I know. It’s like there are two of me in my head right
now. One knows what a terrible idea it is, the other…”
“The other?”
 “The other is a possessive ass who wants to give you what no other
man has ever given you.” He groaned into Jamil’s nape. “Fucking hell, this
is ridiculous. I don’t even want to fuck you. What have you done to me,
sweetheart?”
Jamil turned his head and Rohan’s lips skimmed over his cheek,
causing him to shiver and lose his train of thought for a moment. “Is that a
yes?”
“Apparently,” Rohan said, nibbling on the skin of his telepathic point.
Jamil keened, shuddering in Rohan’s arms as Rohan slipped inside
him. I’m gonna give you a baby so that you’ll never forget me.
It wasn’t a direct thought, just a strong impression he got from Rohan
before Rohan wrenched himself away, both physically and mentally.
Disoriented from the sudden end of the merge, Jamil turned around.
“Sorry,” Rohan said, his expression pinched. “I didn’t mean to do that.”
He let out a short laugh. “It’s becoming increasingly obvious that I need to
get away from you. Just give me the name of the genetic center and your
geneticist and I’ll do the rest.”
“Eipent’tak Genetic Center, Doctor Tuvok,” Jamil heard himself say,
as though in a daze. His mind was still pulsing with raw need, reaching out
for Rohan’s hungrily. The merge had been too brief. He wanted more.
Rohan’s expression became tight. “Please stop that,” he said, shoving
his hands into the pockets of his jacket. “I have to go, Jamil. But I’ll do
what you want.”
Jamil blinked, Rohan’s words finally sinking in.
“Thank you,” he said when Rohan started turning away.
Rohan paused and looked at him for a long moment, his frustrated
expression softening. “Just—be happy, okay?”
Jamil forced out a smile. “I will.”
His smile faded as the door slid shut, leaving him in a silent room.
He hadn’t known silence could be so loud.
And so empty.
 Chapter 13

It was strange that no one else seemed to notice Rohan’s absence. The
zywern had a new trainer, and no one seemed to wonder where Jamil’s new
manservant was—if anyone in the palace had even noticed that he’d had a
manservant for a brief time. Rationally, he knew that Rohan must have
changed memories of those who remembered him, but it still seemed
surreal that no one had noticed his sudden disappearance.
It was like he had never even existed.
Sometimes, when he couldn’t sleep, Jamil wondered if he’d just
hallucinated everything.
But no, the thin golden thread around his telepathic core was very real,
no matter how raw and stretched it felt.
Seventeen days.
A little over half a month. It seemed so ridiculous to be so affected by
Rohan’s absence when he’d known him for half a month. Ridiculous and
embarrassing. It wasn’t as though he’d fallen in love with Rohan or
something. He’d just gotten… a little attached. Or more than a little. Jamil
couldn’t even look at Mehmer’s portrait anymore, shame and guilt twisting
his stomach every time. He had to remind himself that he hadn’t betrayed
Mehmer’s memory—that nothing had really happened, that he hadn’t
wanted anything to happen—but it was futile.
 The fact of the matter was, no matter how he dressed it up, Jamil
missed the man he’d known for seventeen days more than he missed the
husband he’d shared years of his life with.
It made him feel so dirty.
That was how Jamil found himself watching holovid after holovid of
Mehmer, trying to remember how much he loved his husband, how much
he missed him. He did remember, of course. He remembered how much he
had adored Mehmer’s soft laugh and slightly inappropriate sense of humor.
He remembered how much he had loved Mehmer’s optimism and easy-
going nature. Mehmer had been beautiful, wonderful, and easy to love.
Mehmer still wasn’t the man Jamil thought about all the damn time.
He wasn’t the man Jamil wanted back, badly.
It felt like the worst sort of betrayal, even though nothing had really
happened between Rohan and him.
Nothing? What about a dozen illegal merges you’ve engaged in with
him? Or the fact that you masturbated in his presence, like a shameless
harlot? Or the fact that sometimes you dream of a thick, dark cock that
definitely doesn’t belong to your late husband?
Flushing, Jamil pushed the thought away. He wasn’t responsible for his
dreams. He refused to feel guilty about his dreams.
“Your Highness?”
Jamil flinched at the sound of the AI’s voice. “Yes, Omer?”
“The Queen is asking you to join her at the Eipent’tak Genetic Center,
Your Highness.”
Jamil’s heart jumped into his throat. He had to force himself to move.
“I’ll be there momentarily.”
His thoughts racing, he found the nearest t-chamber.
The few moments it took for the transport to arrive at his destination
seemed like the longest in his life.
 Finally, he was walking through the green corridors of the Eipent’tak
Genetic Center. Barely aware of people bowing to him, Jamil strode in the
direction he could vaguely sense his mother, thanks to the familial bond that
they shared.
He found her as she was leaving Doctor Tuvok’s office.
“Thank you, Doctor,” she was saying, smiling genially at the
distinguished older man Jamil recognized as one of the most famous
geneticists on the planet.
Tuvok bowed slightly. “You don’t have to thank me, Your Majesty. I
live to serve you and your family.” Noticing Jamil, he bowed to him,
too. “Your Highness.” Something flickered in his eyes. He seemed to
hesitate before saying, “I believe Her Majesty will tell you the details, so all
I can offer is my congratulations.”
Jamil’s stomach clenched. “Thank you,” he said with numb lips.
“Oh, darling,” Queen Janesh said quietly, taking one look at his
face. She took his arm and gently led him away. “I know that’s not how you
imagined this, but this is good news, my son.”
“News,” Jamil said faintly as the Queen led them into the gestation
room.
There were rows upon rows of gestation cubes—or artificial wombs, as
people called them. But Jamil’s gaze didn’t wander.
He knew where to look, where to walk. He felt the very faint echo of
the baby’s mind, still tiny and uncertain, but unmistakably familiar.
He stopped in front of the gestation cube and stared at what looked like
a bundle of cells in it.
He felt his mother’s hand on his shoulder. She squeezed it.
“You are going to have a daughter,” she said softly.
Jamil felt like something lodged into his throat, something thick and
painful. He forced himself to tear his gaze away from the rapidly growing
cells. His fingers were unsteady as he touched the datapad on the gestation
cube. Most of the stuff about the embryo was too technical for him to
understand. All he could understand was that the embryo was healthy and
well developed—and that its biological parents were Prince
Jamil’ngh’veighli of the Third Grand Clan and Prince-Consort
Mehmer’ver’veighli.
“Does Doctor Tuvok know?” Jamil said, finally finding his voice.
“Yes, but he is sworn to silence,” the Queen said.
“Who?” Jamil whispered.
His mother squeezed his shoulder again. “The donor is a healthy young
man. That’s all you need to know, Jamil. Think of this child as yours and
Mehmer’s.”
“Who, Mother?” Jamil said.
He could feel his mother’s discomfort through their familial bond. “His
name is Serdn Vewyr. He’s twenty-nine. He’s married with two healthy
children. He’s an engineer, with above average intelligence. He also looks a
little like Mehmer—not that it matters much, since the child was genetically
engineered to inherit your physical appearance, mostly. Obviously Serdn
Vewyr wasn’t told what childless family would use his generous donation.”
Jamil nodded faintly, staring at the embryo.
At his daughter.
“I already arranged the transfer of the gestation cube to the palace,” his
mother said, as efficient as ever, even though there was something like
uncertainly in the air around her.
“Thank you,” Jamil said, breaking the somewhat awkward
silence. “For everything.”
He felt her relief, nearly overwhelming in its strength. “Of course, my
darling,” she said softly, giving him a telepathic hug.
Her mental touch was warm and loving, but Jamil almost flinched, his
mind instinctively shying away from the contact. His telepathic core felt
like a raw wound these days and even the gentle touch of his mother’s mind
seemed too much—wrong.
 “You need to move on, love,” the Queen said, probably interpreting the
state of his mind as his grief for Mehmer. “You’ve been given a wonderful
chance to be happy. This child is a gift. I know you wanted Mehmer’s
children, but as far as everyone is concerned, she’s yours and
Mehmer’s. Her other biological father doesn’t matter.”
Jamil didn’t look at his mother. Couldn’t. He wasn’t sure his face
wouldn’t betray him.
Because his mother couldn’t be more wrong. This tiny life in the
gestation cube, this baby… it wasn’t Mehmer’s or Serdn Vewyr’s. Jamil
didn’t know how Rohan had managed to trick Doctor Tuvok, but he had.
Jamil couldn’t explain how he knew it, why he was so confident that Rohan
had kept his word.
Or rather, he tried not to think about it—about the fact that something
about this baby felt right. Something about this tiny life soothed the dull
ache of his weakening bond to Rohan, not enough to make it stop aching,
but enough to anchor it a little.
Jamil pressed his hand against the gestation cube and murmured, “Hi
there.” His voice cracked slightly, but he smiled.
His mother was right about one thing: this child was a gift.
The last gift her other father had given him.
 Chapter 14

Five months later

Jamil was smiling a little as he opened the door to the gestation

chamber—he couldn’t wait to see his daughter—and he froze in surprise
upon seeing his brother seated in front of the gestation cube.
“What are you doing here?”
“Just came to say hi to my favorite niece,” Seyn said, turning to smile
at him.
Jamil snorted and sat down next to him. “She’s your only niece,” he
said, lightly touching the thick walls of the womb with his fingers. “Good
morning. How is my beautiful girl today?”
The baby didn’t react outwardly, the womb’s walls too thick for her to
hear him, but Jamil could feel her, faintly, and her emotions shifted into the
feelings of contentment and security. They already shared a rudimentary
familial bond. It was weak, but it was there and it was getting stronger
every day as her brain and telepathic abilities developed. Despite being just
five-months-old, she was already as developed as a seven-month-old fetus.
That was the advantage of artificial gestation compared to a natural
pregnancy that lasted ten Calluvian months: the early stages of gestation
were accelerated. His daughter was already three months away from birth,
and she was already a tiny person—a tiny person who already knew loss.
Jamil looked at her wistfully, wondering how acutely his daughter
could feel the absence of her other parent. Calluvian children were all born
with rudimentary telepathic bonds to their parents. If she could already feel
Jamil, she could likely already feel that there was nothing but silence at the
other end of her bond to her other parent. Sometimes he thought he could
feel her confusion, her sadness.
Catching Seyn’s curious eyes on him, Jamil schooled his features into
a neutral expression, wondering what his brother had seen. “Sometimes I
wonder if she feels lonely in there.” He chuckled, running his hand through
his hair. Gods, he hated lying, hated pretending in front of his own family,
but Seyn had no idea that the baby wasn’t Mehmer’s. No one besides the
Queen could know that. It wasn’t that Jamil didn’t trust Seyn, but… Jamil
wasn’t blind to his brother’s faults. Seyn was a good kid, but he was the
baby of the family: spoiled, sharp-tongued, and a bit self-centered. He also
had quite a temper on him. Jamil didn’t trust him not to blurt it out
unthinkingly, in the middle of some argument, in the earshot of strangers.
One thoughtless word, one rumor, was all it would take to destroy his
daughter’s future. Bastards could rule, but it was a shameful brand Jamil’s
daughter would never be able to erase. No. He could lie to Seyn. He
would play the role Seyn expected from him.
Besides, the role of a grieving bondmate who was looking at the child
of a man he had lost wasn’t exactly hard to play.
Jamil felt his lips curl into a mirthless smile. His chest felt tight, his
stomach turning. “I know it’s ridiculous. We all were born that way, and we
turned out fine.” His voice sounded off, strained even to his own ears. He
wondered if Seyn would notice.
“Define fine,” Seyn said with a chuckle.
Jamil found himself smiling faintly. Of course Seyn hadn’t noticed.
His brother considered himself observant, but in reality he saw the world
through his own emotions and perceptions. And in Seyn’s mind, Jamil was
his old, very proper and boring brother, incapable of deceit.
It was almost funny.
Silence fell over the room.
“Maybe it isn’t that ridiculous,” Seyn said at last, his eyes on his niece.
“Maybe we aren’t much for physical touch because we got used to being
isolated from before our birth.”
Jamil shrugged, hoping it wasn’t obvious that his heart wasn’t really in
the conversation. “Maybe.”
He watched his daughter, sending comfort and love through their
familial bond. Her tiny, wrinkled face turned toward him, as if she could
sense where he was, her arms jerking.
Jamil’s chest swelled with love, his throat closing up. He was so glad
his mother had all but bullied him into having a child. Had it been left to
him, he would have never done it, feeling too guilty for even entertaining
having a child with a man who wasn’t Mehmer.
Jamil grimaced at the thought. There were quite a few things he felt
guilty about, but his baby girl wasn’t one of them. She was perfect the way
she was. He would do anything for her.
“In any case, the point is moot,” Jamil said, watching his daughter play
with her legs. “I’m lucky that I can have her at all—that Mehmer preserved
his genetic material just months before he…” The lie rolled off his tongue
smoothly enough after months of telling it. Jamil didn’t even feel guilty
about that white little lie anymore. Not only was it necessary to keep their
House’s reputation unblemished, it was necessary to protect his daughter.
Jamil would like to think Mehmer would have understood. He was a good
man. Had been.
Wincing, Seyn sent him a wave of reassurance and comfort. Perhaps
his voice hadn’t been as firm as he had thought.
Sighing, Jamil reached out to his little brother through their familial
bond. “I’m fine, kid.”
 Seyn hugged him back telepathically, his touch tentative and a bit
awkward. As the baby of the family, Seyn wasn’t used to giving comfort,
and the mere fact that he was attempting to do it was as adorable as it was
uncalled for.
Jamil reinforced his mental shields, focusing his thoughts on Mehmer.
“Are you, really?” Seyn said, his voice tinged with genuine concern.
Jamil shrugged, feeling a pang of guilt. “I still reach for his mind
sometimes, but it’s getting easier, I suppose. The mind adepts said the bond
would heal in time and all I would feel is absence.” That part was true at
least, even though it had been months since he’d last seen a mind adept.
After Rohan’s strange warning about them, Jamil couldn’t help but feel
wary. He had tried to research the ancient Order but found nothing
incriminating. The monks of the High Hronthar were peaceful learners of
the mind arts, who historically stayed away from the petty politics of the
twelve royal houses of Calluvia. It made no sense that they would be
involved in Mehmer’s death.
“I still don’t get why they don’t remove the bond from your mind,”
Seyn grumbled half-heartedly.
“It’s against the law,” Jamil said. “Besides, the High Adept said the
bond has been in my mind too long and it isn’t safe to remove it. It’s
interwoven with everything by now.” The High Adept had really said that
right after Mehmer’s death, but Jamil couldn’t help but wonder if it was still
true. Lately he could barely feel his bond to Mehmer. Only when he took
time to meditate could he see the pitiful remnants of his torn bond woven
around his telepathic core. The sight was unsettling. He could have never
imagined that less than a year after Mehmer’s death, he would barely be
able to feel the bond between them—the bond they had shared for most of
their lives. It felt like an end of something. An end of an era.
“And to be honest…” Jamil said, watching his daughter, a daughter
who would look nothing like Mehmer. “I want to keep it. I still feel him that
way, a little. Like an echo. I don’t want to pretend he never existed. He
did.” The pitiful remnant of their marriage bond was the only thing he still
had of Mehmer. It was bad enough that Mehmer would never be the man he
would see when he looked at his daughter.
 Jamil cut that train of thought off.
“You still didn’t tell me why you were hiding here,” he said, turning to
Seyn.
His brother blinked innocently, putting on a confused look that he
probably thought was convincing. “I wasn’t hiding.”
Jamil snorted. Did Seyn think he was born yesterday? “And I suppose
you weren’t declining all invitations, either.”
Seyn winced, looking genuinely surprised.
Jamil was amused despite himself. Had Seyn thought that Jamil was so
absorbed in his grief that he’d failed to notice that his normally very
sociable little brother was avoiding society like the plague? Jamil might be
rarely attending social functions himself, but it was one of his jobs as the
Crown Prince to make sure his family wasn’t the subject of malicious
gossip. He closely worked with their press officer, and she had recently
informed him that people were starting to wonder why Prince Seyn had
turned into a hermit.
“Just not feeling it,” Seyn said, avoiding his gaze.
“You?”
Laughing, Seyn rolled his eyes. “I can get tired of socializing, too.” He
went silent for a moment. “I had a fight with Ksar,” he admitted at last,
scowling. “Now I’m avoiding him, because I won’t be responsible for my
actions if I see his stupid face.”
Jamil suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. He should have known.
Seyn was absolutely impossible when it came to his betrothed. “For
heaven’s sake, Seyn. You should try harder to get along with your
bondmate. Every relationship needs work, bond or no bond. Personally, I
don’t get why you dislike him. He’s highly intelligent, and he’s perfectly
reasonable and polite—”
“To you, maybe,” Seyn said with a scoff. “You’re the Crown Prince of
our grand clan. He sees you as his equal.”
 “Not really,” Jamil said, shaking his head. “His social standing is quite
a bit higher domestically, and a lot higher in the intergalactic political scene.
We aren’t really equals, so that can’t be why Ksar’ngh’chaali is perfectly
civil to me.”
“It isn’t exactly comforting, you know,” Seyn muttered, scowling
again.
Jamil chuckled and stood up. Grazing his fingers against the gestation
cube’s outer wall, he turned to the door but then paused as he realized
something. After Mehmer’s death, it had been hard for him to be around
Seyn when his brother bitched and whined about his own bondmate, but
now… there was no pain anymore. There was no envy.
The realization was hard to swallow, and Jamil pushed it out of his
thoughts, to think about later.
“Everyone has their own version of the truth, brother,” he said softly,
without looking at Seyn. “He’s not a petty man. Have you ever wondered
why he treats you differently from others? Think about it.”
He strode out of the room, a strange feeling in his chest.
It had been almost a year since Mehmer’s death. Was he finally…
fine? Really fine?
Jamil frowned, searching his feelings. He would always miss Mehmer,
but… yes, the thoughts of him no longer brought pain, as they once had
done; merely fond nostalgia. He didn’t feel guilty anymore for being
excited about his daughter’s upcoming birth.
He was… content with his life, and he didn’t feel guilty about it.
The thought was oddly liberating.
Jamil found himself smiling.
He was fine.
Everything was going to be fine.
He was done letting any man affect his happiness.
His daughter was all he needed.
Jamil ignored a twinge of something at the back of his mind.
He was fine.
 Chapter 15

Six months later

“I still think you should have stayed on Tai’Lehr.”

Rohan focused on piloting the small ship toward Malok-1’s
docks. “What a coincidence,” he said dryly. “I still think you should have
stayed home, too.”
He didn’t need to turn his head to know that his friend was scowling.
“My home is Calluvia,” Warrehn bit out.
Rohan snorted. “You sound like you need to convince yourself first,
buddy.”
He got a telepathic shove for that, nearly causing them to collide with
the freighter docking ahead of them.
“Careful, dammit,” Rohan said, shooting Warrehn a glare. “Anyone
ever told you not to distract the pilot?”
“No,” Warrehn said with a grumpy face, but since Warrehn’s face
looked somewhat grumpy ninety percent of the time, the effect was rather
ruined even though this time Warrehn actually had a legitimate reason to be
his grumpy, brooding self. It wasn’t every day one returned to one’s home
planet after nineteen years away.
As they docked, Sirri emerged out of the cabin, yawning. “Ugh, I
didn’t think we’d be here so soon,” she said sleepily. “Where’s the blockade
when you need it?”
She followed them out of the ship, still muttering something unhappily.
Rohan punched in his access code and headed toward the station’s
TNIT. There wasn’t much to look at along the way: gray walls, low
ceilings, and lack of furniture and people. Malok-1 was an automated
orbital station, operated by the central computer and droids. The station was
hidden behind a gas giant that was located at the far end of the star system
Tai’Lehr was located in. It was far enough from Tai’Lehr for the
transgalactic teleporter to function, but close enough for its work to be
masked by Tai’Lehr’s magnetic field. It had been built in secret centuries
ago by Tai’Lehr engineers, and Calluvia was oblivious about it.
Or so they had thought.
Rohan’s lips thinned. Of course, there had always been a chance that
the unregistered TNIT would be discovered: sooner or later, Calluvians
were bound to learn about it. He still would have preferred for it to be later
than sooner—and in other circumstances.
“I still think you should have stayed behind, Rohan,” Sirri said,
catching up to him. “Warrehn and I are perfectly capable of dealing with
this.”
“See? She agrees with me,” Warrehn said.
Rohan ignored them.
Sirri sighed. “You’re such a control freak, honey. Why can’t you trust
other people to get the job done?”
Rohan entered another access code and the door to the TNIT room
opened. “Prepare the TNIT,” he said shortly.
“Ass,” Sirri said, heading toward the TNIT’s controls. “At times like
this, I wonder why I ever fucked you. If you weren’t such a fantastic lay, I
would have punched you years ago.”
“And here I was, wondering why you put up with his shit,” Warrehn
said, stepping onto the transporter pad. His blue eyes were tight as he
looked around the room. Rohan wondered if he was remembering the first
time he was in it.
“You’re one to talk, you grumpy old man,” Sirri said. “At least Rohan
has one redeemable quality: his talent in the sack. You, I’m not sure about.
You’re nice to look at, but looks aren’t everything, if you get what I mean.”
Warrehn’s lips didn’t even twitch. “Want a demonstration?”
Sirri laughed. “I’m afraid I lack… necessary assets for your assets to
work. And I saw what you did to that shop boy. The poor thing couldn’t sit
for days. Thanks, but no thanks.”
Rohan joined his best friend on the transporter pad. “Sirri. Just get it
done.”
She raised her yellow eyebrows mockingly. “Say please.”
Rohan gave her a flat look.
Sirri rolled her eyes. “Fine. You have no sense of humor since your trip
to Calluvia. What happened there to turn you into such a moody dick?”
Rohan averted his gaze and said tersely, “Maybe you should be the one
to stay home if all you’re interested in is gossip.”
“Fuck you,” she said mildly, finally finishing up and hopping onto the
transporter pad. “Or is that it? Maybe you should just get laid.”
The activation of the TNIT prevented Rohan from saying anything to
that. Not that he had much to say in any case. He could hardly tell Sirri that
the accidental bond he’d formed to a Calluvian prince made his skin crawl
with unease every time he’d attempted to have sex in the past year. Sirri
would never let him live it down. Even Warrehn had no idea, and they
usually told everything to each other, being as close as brothers.
When Rohan rematerialized, he was breathing fresh forest air.
 He opened his eyes and found himself looking at the enormous
mountains towering over the forest. No matter how many times he saw
them, Rohan couldn’t help but feel a little awed. The Kavalchi Mountains,
or Great Mountains as people called them, were one of the tallest and
steepest mountains in the galaxy.
He looked at Warrehn, who materialized next to him. His jaw was
clenched, his blue eyes greedily taking in their surroundings. Warrehn’s
shields were usually impeccable, but now they were all over the place.
Rohan laid a hand on his friend’s shoulder and squeezed it.
Warrehn gave a tight nod and reinforced his mental shields. “Sorry,” he
said gruffly. “Bad memories.”
Sirri was looking around curiously. “I’ve never been to Calluvia
before. Is this the forest you’ve been rescued in by our people, War?”
Warrehn gave another clipped nod. “Not very far from here. I was
lucky.” He didn’t sound as though he thought he’d been lucky.
Knowing better, Rohan didn’t push.
Unfortunately, Sirri didn’t know better. “Right,” she said with a
snort. “I’ve read the reports. They said you tried to go back to Calluvia
numerous times in the first year on Tai’Lehr.”
Warrehn didn’t say anything, turning his back to her and starting to
walk away, deeper into the forest.
But Sirri being Sirri, didn’t know when to give up. “You were one
ungrateful ass,” she said, following him. “You still are.”
“Sirri,” Rohan said warningly.
She ignored his warning. “Didn’t you realize that it would be stupid to
go back? You were just a kid, and you couldn’t even get an audience with
the Council without your Auntie Dearest finding out about it and making
you look like a delusional little attention-seeking idiot—”
“Shut up!” Warrehn snarled, whirling around and shaking her by the
shoulders.
 Sirri was many things—occasionally annoying and meddling—but
cowardly wasn’t one of them. She stood her ground, looking Warrehn in the
eye, not at all intimidated by his height and body mass. She was a tough
woman, despite her tiny body.
Rohan didn’t interfere, knowing that she wouldn’t appreciate it.
“You know I’m right, War,” she said. “You were what, ten? Old enough
to realize that your auntie was a cunning bitch who was two steps ahead of
you. The rumors of your… unstable behavior had been spread long before
she tried to murder you. Back then, your own people thought that you were
an unstable, attention-seeking brat. You would have been dismissed right
away if you went to the Council claiming that your auntie tried to kill you.
You know that. We were right to keep you on Tai’Lehr. It’s obvious your
little brother was dead already anyway—”
“That’s enough, Sirri,” Rohan said, watching Warrehn’s back becoming
tenser with every moment.
“Why?” she said with a scoff. “He has no right to act as though we
were wrong to force him to stay on Tai’Lehr. It was for his own good!”
“Right,” Warrehn said, his lips twisting into a sardonic smile. It wasn’t
a pretty sight. Although Warrehn was a handsome man, his face looked
more natural when it was scowling and glaring than when it was
smiling. “Just for my own good. It had nothing to do with Lord Tai’Lehr
being afraid that I’d give the rebels away if I went back.”
Sirri glared at him. “Uncle Georg had his people to think about. One
ungrateful royal brat’s happiness was secondary. We saved your life, but
you’re still holding a grudge. Ungratefulness should be your second name,
you ass!”
“You know nothing,” Warrehn bit off, his jaw working. “Your
perspective is biased.”
Sirri raised her eyebrows mockingly. “And yours isn’t?”
“Enough,” Rohan snapped, fed up with both of them. It was an old
argument between them, rehashed over and over. Warrehn and Sirri were
stubborn hotheads who never knew when to admit defeat. “If you wanted to
quarrel, you should have stayed on Tai’Lehr. One more word and I’m
sending you back. Both of you.”
Warrehn glared at him mulishly, but Rohan stared him down until
Warrehn finally averted his gaze, frustration rolling off him in thick waves.
“You’re not the boss of me,” Sirri said, lifting her chin. “You can’t send
me back. It’s my mission, not yours. You’re just tagging along for no good
reason!”
Rohan turned away and continued walking, given them no choice but
to follow him.
He knew Sirri was right.
He shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t have come back. The bond that was
pulsing at the back of his mind, like an itch he couldn’t scratch, was proof
enough.
“If I weren’t here, you two would have killed each other instead of
accomplishing anything,” he said flatly.
Neither Warrehn nor Sirri said anything, thank fuck. He was in no state
of mind to tolerate their bitching, and they seemed to realize that.
“Do you know where you are going?” Sirri said at last, her voice
calmer. Careful.
“He said he would meet us by the Shmei tree. There’s only one in the
area.”
“We’re a little late,” Warrehn said. “It’s already ten.”
Rohan held back a scathing retort. They wouldn’t have been late if
Warrehn and Sirri hadn’t sidetracked them with their useless argument.
“He will wait,” he said, walking faster.
“If it isn’t a trap,” Warrehn said, checking his blaster.
Rohan didn’t say anything. The possibility was always there, of course.
“It still doesn’t feel like a trap,” Sirri said.
 Rohan relaxed slightly. It was one of the reasons she had been chosen
for this mission. She had a gift for premonition, a gift that was as rare
among the telepaths as Rohan’s own gift for compulsion. If Sirri said that
she didn’t have a bad feeling about their meeting, things were unlikely to go
south.
“It still could be a trap,” Warrehn said, ever the optimist. “Considering
who we’re meeting.”
Rohan made a face, knowing he was right. Unlike Tai’Lehrians, the
adepts of the High Hronthar trained in the mind arts their whole lives. There
was no telling what kind of mind tricks the monks were taught at that
creepy monastery of theirs. For all they knew, they might be able to trick
even Sirri. It was extremely unlikely, but it wasn’t impossible.
“It’s still worth the risk,” he said. “If the guy isn’t lying, he’s our only
real chance to prove that we had nothing to do with the crimes we’re
blamed for.”
He still couldn’t believe the wait was finally over—or almost over. All
these months since his return home they had been waiting for this: for
someone inside the Order to be willing to talk—to betray the High
Hronthar. The plan had seemed unrealistic, even insane, when Rohan had
heard it the first time. But Aroka and Sirri had convinced him that it would
work, that there were always people unhappy with the way an organization
like the High Hronthar was run.
And it seemed the wait was finally over.
The man waiting for them under the Shmei tree was all but a boy. He
couldn’t be older than twenty, perhaps younger.
Sirri studied him before gesturing to Warrehn to go ahead of her.
Rohan stayed back, looking around the small clearing and stretching
his senses as far as he could. There was no one else within at least half a
tarsec. Not that it meant much, considering that teleporters could function in
this area. They were still within the Blind. And it was very likely that the
High Hronthar knew about the Blind, because the fact that Jamil’s husband
had supposedly been murdered in the same area couldn’t be a mere
coincidence.
 Jamil.
Rohan bit the inside of his cheek, trying to ignore the surge of want
that rolled through his entire being. Want. What an inadequate word. He
used to think it meant sexual desire, lust, but this want was different, uglier,
needier, desperate and essential. It had little to do with physical lust.
He wanted to see Jamil.
Squashing the thought down, Rohan forced himself to focus on his
immediate surroundings.
The boy looked fidgety, his eyes flicking from Warrehn to Sirri. “Are
you—are you the rebels?”
“Maybe,” Sirri said. “And you are?”
“Master Xhen,” the boy said, lifting his pointy chin.
Sirri snorted. “If you’re a master, I’ll eat my boots. Try again, kid. And
this time you’d better tell the truth.”
The boy glared at her, his pale cheeks turning crimson. But after a long
moment, he grumbled, “I’m Initiate Xhen.”
Rohan frowned. They knew very little about the High Hronthar’s
hierarchy. The monks were a secretive bunch.
“I’m guessing that means you weren’t deemed good enough to be
called master,” Sirri said.
Rohan pinched the bridge of his nose. Antagonizing their potential
source wasn’t Sirri’s brightest idea.
As expected, the boy bristled. “I’m young! You generally don’t become
a master at my age.”
“I thought masters’ pupils were called apprentices,” Sirri said.
The boy—Xhen—scowled. “They are,” he said, averting his gaze. “I
wasn’t chosen by a master. There are more initiates than there are masters.”
Rohan nodded to himself. So they were dealing with someone who felt
unappreciated and bitter—bitter enough to betray the High Hronthar. While
he would have preferred their source to be someone who genuinely thought
the Order was a bunch of power-hungry bastards, this they could work with
too.
“Look, what does it matter?” Xhen said, looking around
nervously. “Do we have to stay here?”
“Do you think you were followed?” Sirri said.
“No, but…”
Rohan leaned against the tree and closed his eyes. He listened to the
rest of the conversation with half an ear, paying more attention to his
senses. The boy radiated anxiety and bitterness, but Rohan couldn’t sense
any deception from him. Sirri was toying with the boy, making him open
up. She might lack diplomatic skills, but she knew what she was
doing. Warrehn… he seemed torn between impatience and something that
felt a lot like loss. He was probably thinking about his little brother, who
would have been around that boy’s age had he been alive.
Rohan couldn’t sense anything else. Anything but the golden bond
pulsing softly at the back of his mind. Hungry. Yearning.
Just one more time, it whispered. You’re already on the planet. One
brief visit wouldn’t change anything. Just one more.
Rohan bit his lip hard until he felt the sour taste of blood. He forced
himself to focus on the conversation. This was important. This was what he
was here for. Not anything else.
“What does the Order know about the rebels?” Sirri said.
“I don’t know.”
“Why did the Order tamper with Dalatteya’il’zaver’s memories?”
Xhen scoffed. “You think a lowly initiate would know that? But I know
she’s under the Order’s thumb, has been for years. She doesn’t sneeze
without the Order’s permission.”
Rohan frowned. While he had suspected that the High Hronthar had
been tampering with the regent’s memories, he hadn’t thought their control
over her was so absolute.
 “Do you know if the High Hronthar has anything to do with Prince-
Consort Mehmer’s death?”
Although Xhen’s face didn’t betray anything, Rohan could sense his
unease. “I’m not sure,” the boy said. “There were rumors that the prince-
consort found out something he shouldn’t have. I remember all senior
masters gathering to discuss it with the former Grandmaster, and a few days
later, the prince-consort died.” Xhen shrugged, glancing around
anxiously. “Look, it could be a coincidence,” he said uncomfortably. “I
really don’t know what happened. Gossip is discouraged since Master
Idhron became the Grandmaster.”
“Why?” Sirri said, cocking her head.
“Grandmaster Idhron is…” Xhen pulled a face, his aura darkening with
hatred, grudging admiration, and fear. “What does it matter?” he said
evasively. “My point is, I can’t give you proof that the Order has anything
to do with that royal’s death.”
“That’s helpful,” Warrehn cut in, his voice flat. “If that’s all you know,
your information isn’t worth a damn, I’m afraid.”
Xhen flushed. “That’s not all! I know something that can help you with
the Grandmaster if you’re smart about it.”
“Really?” Sirri said, raising her eyebrows.
“His apprentice,” Xhen said, a fresh wave of hatred rolling off him. “If
you can kidnap him, it will give you leverage against the Grandmaster.”
Rohan frowned.
Warrehn mirrored his thoughts. “I don’t know who you think we are,
but we don’t kidnap kids, lad.”
“He’s hardly a kid,” Xhen said with a scoff. “He’s about my age.”
“Then it doesn’t make sense.” Sirri fixed him with an unimpressed
look. “The Grandmaster of the High Hronthar would hardly care about a
kidnapping of a grown apprentice—at least not enough for it to be good
leverage. Aren’t you monks supposed to be all about no emotions? I’ve
seen the High Adept. He’s as unemotional as it gets.”
 Xhen sneered. “Well, yes. But his apprentice is the only exception.
They are weird about each other. Trust me, it will be good leverage. As
good as it gets.” He looked from Warrehn to Sirri. “Now, about my
payment. Information isn’t free, you know.”
“Sure,” Warrehn said, looking him in the eye.
Within moments, the kid crumpled to the ground.
“No finesse at all,” Sirri said, shaking her head.
Warrehn leaned down, put his hand on Xhen’s telepathic point, and
closed his eyes, a look of concentration on his face.
“Was he lying?” Rohan said, stepping forward.
Straightening up, Warrehn shook his head. “He seems to believe he
was telling the truth.”
“What are we going to do with him?” Sirri said, nudging the
unconscious kid with her boot. “I feel a little bad about this if he was being
honest with us.”
“We can’t risk taking him with us to Tai’Lehr,” Rohan said. “Even if he
doesn’t betray us, his absence will be noticed.” He looked at Warrehn. “Did
you modify his memories?” Warrehn was the strongest telepath on Tai’Lehr.
Although he lacked specific gifts like the ones Rohan and Sirri had, he
made up for it by the sheer strength of his telepathy. Altering memories was
as easy for him as breathing, even those of unconscious people.
Warrehn nodded, his brows furrowed as he hauled the kid over his
shoulder. “I’ll take his aircraft and leave him near the monastery. So do we
use his tip? Should I grab the High Adept’s apprentice if I see him? I know
what he looks like now.”
Rohan wanted to say no. He was loath to stoop to something the rebels
were routinely accused of—to live down to their reputation. But they
needed all the leverage they could get. They couldn’t afford to be picky.
“Take Sirri with you,” Rohan said. “Her gift will be useful to avoid
getting caught. Grab the apprentice and return to the Blind by midnight.”
Although the TNIT could be activated almost anywhere on the planet, they
would obviously want to avoid detection.
“You aren’t coming?” Sirri said, narrowing her eyes.
Rohan averted his gaze. “No. I have something to check on. I’ll be here
by midnight, too. Don’t get caught.” And he strode away before either of
them could say anything.
Something to check on. Right. Is that what we call it now?
His lips thinning, Rohan continued walking, toward the aircraft he’d
hidden in the forest all those months ago.
If it was still there.
 Chapter 16

She was so tiny.

Rohan stared at the baby sleeping soundly in her white crib and didn’t
know what to feel.
All this year, he’d tried not to think about it—about the child he’d
given Jamil as some kind of messed-up parting gift. But of course he had.
Of course he had thought about it, regretting what he’d done. A child
wasn’t something that should ever be gifted. If anyone found out that he’d
given up his child—his firstborn—it would be a fucking disaster, a disaster
for various reasons.
What had he been thinking? Right: he didn’t think at all. Jamil had
simply looked at him pleadingly, feeling lost and so very lonely, and
Rohan folded. Fucking pathetic.
She looked just like Jamil.
Rohan stared at the child, still not knowing what to feel. He had known
about her existence for three months, ever since the Third Royal House
announced the birth of the heir to the direct line.
Tmynne. Princess Tmynne’shni’veighli. What a grand name for such a
small baby.
 Rohan found himself reaching down and brushing his knuckles against
her soft cheek. His hand looked very dark against her creamy white skin—
as dark as it looked against Jamil’s. She was Jamil’s tiny little copy, down
to the perfect bow of her mouth. Rohan couldn’t see a single piece of
evidence that she was his daughter.
It didn’t matter.
He could feel her, very faintly, thanks to the rudimentary familial bond
they shared, a bond that was possible only between close blood relatives.
She was Rohan’s daughter.
She was his daughter.
Except she wasn’t. He had given up the right to be called her father
before she was even born. As far as everyone was concerned, Tmynne was
the daughter of Jamil and his deceased husband. The product of their grand
love story.
Rohan felt his lips twist into a sneer and jerked his hand away from the
child. He didn’t want her to feel his ugly emotions.
He shouldn’t have come here.
He still didn’t know why he had.
Liar. You know exactly why you’re here.
Rohan ignored the thought, watching the sleeping child.
He should go. He had been incredibly lucky to get into the palace
without getting caught. Security was tighter than it had been last time. Had
he not lived in this palace for a while, he wouldn’t have managed to get
inside even with his gift for compulsion. He shouldn’t have come. He
should have gone with Warrehn and Sirri. Now that he’d seen the child and
satisfied his curiosity, he was going to leave.
Right. Who are you trying to fool here?
Rohan clenched his jaw. He looked at the door. He should leave now if
he wanted to get to the forest by midnight.
 He didn’t move.
At the back of his mind, the bond pulsed hungrily, strengthening by the
moment.
Rohan watched the door, his pulse skyrocketing and his heart starting
to pound.
He knew who was approaching the room. He knew it as well as his
own name. He should get the hell out of here.
He didn’t move.
He waited.
The door slid open.
Jamil strode inside, locked the door, and said, looking at some point to
Rohan’s right. “What are you doing here?”
Rohan drank him in.
Jamil looked awful. He wasn’t as thin as he’d been eleven standard
months ago, but he looked pale and exhausted, with dark circles under his
eyes.
He was still the best thing he’d ever seen.
Jamil cleared his throat a little, not meeting his gaze. “I repeat: what
are you doing here? If you came to take Tmynne away—”
“If you really thought that, you would have called security already.”
Rohan took a step forward, and then another one.
Jamil licked his lips, getting tenser by the moment. “You still didn’t say
why you’re here.”
“I’m on Calluvia with a few of my friends. We have a lead that might
—”
“I’m sure you’re on the planet on some very important rebel
business,” Jamil said, his lips twisting. “What are you doing here?”
Rohan said nothing.
 He had no explanation.
Silence fell over the room, the air thick with electric tension, like the
atmosphere before a storm. Rohan felt himself move forward until he
stopped in front of Jamil.
Jamil still wouldn’t look at him.
“Look at me,” Rohan said.
Jamil let out a chuckle. “I’d rather not. I seem to recall it being a bad
idea, and I doubt anything has changed.”
He was right.
Of course he was right.
Rohan still wanted. It was selfish, reckless, and irresponsible, but he
wanted to feel those beautiful green eyes on him, looking at him as if he
were the only thing Jamil could see. It was an asshole thing to want,
considering that he couldn’t stay, but he couldn’t help himself.
“Jamil,” Rohan said, his voice involuntarily dropping to an intimate
murmur. “Look at me, sweetheart.”
“Don’t,” Jamil said, his tight voice wavering. “Don’t do that. I’m
finally fine—I don’t need this—why are you even here?”
“I wanted to see our daughter,” Rohan lied.
He didn’t miss the way Jamil’s breathing hitched at the words our
daughter. He could feel through their bond that something about it appealed
to Jamil. Something about it appealed to Rohan, too. Fucking hell, he really
needed to leave.
“You saw her,” Jamil said, still avoiding his gaze. “Now leave.”
Rohan lifted his hand and brushed his thumb over the dark circles
under Jamil’s eyes. His skin was so very soft and smooth. “You look awful,
darling.”
Jamil let out a shaky laugh. “Thanks. Sleepless nights with a teething
baby would do it to you.”
 “You should take care of yourself, too,” Rohan said, cradling Jamil’s
cheek gently. Now that he started touching him, he found that he couldn’t
stop. It was addictive as hell.
“Don’t,” Jamil said breathlessly, his eyes slipping shut as Rohan’s hand
stroked his cheek with his knuckles. His long, dark eyelashes attempted to
lift but lowered again as a weak moan slipped out of his mouth. He was
trembling, fine tremors running down his frame, his plush lips parted.
“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” Rohan heard himself say. His voice sounded
off—rough and intoxicated. He felt intoxicated, his thoughts muddled with
that twisted, strange pull he always felt toward Jamil, just more intense. A
year apart probably didn’t help.
“I thought I looked awful,” Jamil said with a small laugh.
“You’re lovely even when you look awful, sweetheart,” Rohan brushed
his mouth against Jamil’s cheek. Breathed in. Fuck, if he could bottle up his
scent, he would. “You do look very pale and sleep-deprived. You should
take better care of yourself.” Part of him felt incredulous of the stuff coming
out of his mouth. Not that he was lying, but he generally wasn’t one for all
this protective, gentle shit. He didn’t behave like this even with his
girlfriends. In fact, his last girlfriend accused him of being an insensitive
asshole who wouldn’t recognize tenderness if it hit him in the face.
“I’m fine,” Jamil murmured, rubbing his cheek against Rohan’s
mouth. “Stop. I can’t think.”
I can’t, either.
Rohan ran his greedy fingers through Jamil’s soft hair, massaging his
scalp gently and watching Jamil’s lips part in bliss.
“I could stare at you all day,” Rohan said roughly, dropping another
kiss to Jamil’s brow. To his nose. To his left cheek, and then to his right. To
the corner of his lips.
A whine left Jamil’s mouth.
Jamil’s hands suddenly grabbed his shoulders, sliding up, to Rohan’s
neck, and pulling him closer. Their mouths bumped together, all teeth and
no finesse. It didn’t matter. Rohan wanted in. He wanted to fuse them
together so that there was no space between them, put himself inside Jamil
in every possible way.
As if hearing his thoughts—which was likely, since they were already
sharing a shallow merge—Jamil parted his lips and allowed Rohan to slip
his tongue inside. It wasn’t a kiss. It was a need, a burning need for
closeness neither of them could satisfy. They were moaning into each
other’s mouths, tongues moving together, teeth biting, lips sucking. It still
wasn’t enough.
Rohan yanked Jamil’s cravat off and stroked his throat greedily, fingers
skimming over his telepathic point, making Jamil shudder and suck on his
tongue as Jamil’s core pulsated under Rohan’s fingers, hungry for his touch.
Moaning, Jamil slipped his hands under Rohan’s shirt, his smooth palms
stroking Rohan’s back, spreading warmth and hunger that was impossible to
sate. Rohan had never felt better—or so frustrated—in his life. It just wasn’t
enough. Angling Jamil’s head, he kissed him harder, deeper—
A chime of his communicator broke through the haze in his head. No
one was supposed to contact him. It was reserved for emergencies only.
Rohan knew it must be important, but it still took far longer than it should
have to stop licking into Jamil’s mouth.
Gathering all his willpower, Rohan tore himself away from Jamil and
pulled his communicator out. Glancing at the Caller ID, he cleared his
throat and answered. “What is it, Sirri?”
“We got the apprentice, but something went wrong and now the forest
is crawling with the monks!”
Rohan swore.
“Go to the Rigten safe house,” he said after a moment, as he gathered
his thoughts. “It’s close enough to your location. You’ll have to lie low until
the searches are stopped. We can’t let the TNIT teleport us from an unsafe
location. There’s no doubt the teleportation traces are closely monitored
now.”
“What about the boy?”
 “What about him?” Rohan said impatiently. “Make sure he doesn’t
contact his master. I’ll meet you at the Blind when the area is safe enough.”
“You aren’t joining us at the safe house?” Sirri said, her tone becoming
suspicious. “Just what exactly are you doing? Where are you?”
“It’s none of your business,” he said and hung up.
Turning back to Jamil, he found Jamil stroking his kiss-swollen lips
absentmindedly.
Rohan stared. He had just kissed Jamil. Kissed. Put his tongue down
another man’s throat. And loved every moment of it.
Blushing, Jamil crossed his arms over his chest and said, “Bad news?”
Rohan looked away from Jamil’s lips. “I need to lie low for a while.
Can I stay for the night?”
Jamil’s brows knitted, his body radiating indecision.
“All right,” he said at last. “You’ll have to stay in my rooms. I had
security of the palace improved since you were gone. Now there are
cameras in every room and turning one off must be authorized by two
people. Only the personal quarters of my family aren’t constantly monitored
for privacy reasons.”
“Thanks,” Rohan said, his gaze drawn back to Jamil’s lips. They were
still shiny and bitten red. So damn pretty.
A baby cry broke the spell.
Jamil strode toward the crib. “Shh,” he murmured, lifting the baby and
cradling her against his chest.
Rohan tried to look away, but his eyes kept returning to Jamil and the
child. Their daughter. He would like to say he was looking at the child, but
that would be a lie. He watched Jamil smile at the infant, cooing at her and
baby talking. Jamil’s green eyes were lit up, shining with naked love. It
made Rohan’s stomach clench.
It was probably really, really messed up to feel envious of a child. His
own daughter. This kind of possessiveness was fucking unhealthy—creepy.
Granted, everything about his attachment to Jamil was a little bit creepy.
Rohan didn’t feel like himself around Jamil at all. All this tender,
possessive, proprietary shit wasn’t who Rohan was. But when he was
around Jamil, his brain seemed to melt into a pile of mush and all rational
thoughts flew out of his head.
“She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” Jamil said when the baby stopped being
fussy and settled contentedly against Jamil’s chest.
The sight made something inside him twist.
“She is,” Rohan said, turning away. “She’ll be your spitting image
when she grows up.”
Not that I’ll be around to see it.
 Chapter 17

Jamil felt painfully transparent as they entered his rooms. If he really

tried—if he really wanted—he could find a safe room for Rohan to spend
the night in, a room that wasn’t Jamil’s bedroom.
He didn’t want to.
He stared at the bed as Rohan disappeared into the bathroom. With
numb, unsteady fingers, he started undressing. He slipped into his sleep
pants, shivering as the cool, smooth fabric touched the sensitive skin of his
bare thighs and buttocks. He didn’t put on a shirt.
He got into the bed and lay down on his back.
He told himself nothing was going to happen.
Nothing was going to happen.
Rohan wasn’t interested in men that way. He’d made it crystal clear in
the past.
Jamil’s fingers touched his lips. They still felt a little swollen and
oversensitive. His eyes slipped shut as he remembered Rohan’s lips, his
teeth, his tongue inside him.
His face warm, Jamil shook his head. It hadn’t been a real kiss. There
had been nothing sexual or romantic about it. It had been pure need, an
insatiable, soul-wrenching need to be closer, to be one, that manifested in
such a way. Jamil had felt Rohan’s thoughts and Rohan hadn’t been
thinking about the softness of Jamil’s lips or the pleasure of kissing him.
Closer, tighter, deeper was all Rohan had thought and wanted. The desire to
be merged had been so intense it left no place for things like sexuality and
sexual desire. It was a desire, just a different one. Scarier. Hungrier. Baser.
A craving they could no longer fight after so long apart.
His body was still aching with it, a maddening itch that couldn’t be
scratched—or rather, it could be scratched only by one person.
Sighing in frustration, Jamil looked at Mehmer’s portrait.
But even looking at his husband’s dear, familiar features didn’t help. It
had been a year and a half since Mehmer died. The pain was no longer
fresh, the remnants of his torn bond barely there. He didn’t feel like a
married man anymore. He had invited another man into the bed he’d shared
with Mehmer and it didn’t feel wrong. He didn’t feel like he was betraying
Mehmer in any way. The thought should have been freeing, but all it did
was unsettle him. Jamil honestly didn’t trust himself not to do something…
unwise now that his guilt was no longer there to stop him.
“Something unwise?” Rohan said with a wry smile, emerging from the
bathroom. His dark eyes were glinting with humor. “Even your thoughts are
so very proper and princely, Your Highness.”
Jamil looked at him exasperatedly, smiling a little. “Stop
eavesdropping on my thoughts.” If it were anyone else, he would have felt
mortified and furious. But when he looked into Rohan’s eyes, he felt laid
bare—and bizarrely fine with it. Although it had been a year since they’d
last seen each other, it felt like nothing had changed, the intimacy between
them as comforting as it was maddening. Closer, not enough, more.
“Your thoughts are very loud,” Rohan murmured, shrugging his shirt
off. “I’ll have to teach you shielding sometime.”
“My shields are perfectly sufficient,” Jamil said, not even attempting to
look away from Rohan’s muscular torso, from all that smooth, tanned
brown skin and the black tattoos on his left arm, the hard abs, and the trail
of dark hair that disappeared into the band of his underwear, which then
melted into his pants. Strong fingers started working on Rohan’s fly.
 Jamil averted his gaze, his mouth dry.
“You can borrow something to wear from me,” he said.
Rohan shrugged and shook his head, walking toward the bed clad only
in a pair of black boxer-briefs. “Unless you mind?”
Jamil shook his head, too, looking anywhere but at him as Rohan
slipped between the cool sheets. The lights were still on, but Jamil couldn’t
bring himself to turn them off. In the dark, it would be so much easier to let
go of inhibitions.
He didn’t trust himself.
“Omer, lights at ten percent,” Jamil said.
The lights dimmed to a soft, yellow glow.
Jamil closed his eyes, his heart beating somewhere in his throat—and
in his cock.
All he could hear was Rohan’s breathing. It wasn’t very steady.
Neither was his.
“This is ridiculous,” Rohan said at last, and then rolled on top of him.
It was probably embarrassing how quickly Jamil wrapped his arms and
legs around him, pure bliss spreading through his body, bare chest against
bare chest, nothing between them but skin. Someone moaned, or maybe
both of them did, as they squirmed and shifted until they were so tightly
intertwined there wasn’t a hair’s breadth between them.
“Fucking hell,” Rohan said, panting against Jamil’s cheek, their
stomachs pressed tightly. It felt unbelievably good and frustratingly not
enough.
You feel so good on me.
He felt Rohan shudder above him, grinding his erection against his.
“What the fuck is this,” he gritted out, nuzzling against Jamil’s neck before
sucking on his telepathic point.
 Jamil whined, raking his fingers through Rohan’s short hair, needing
him closer, closer, closer.
It still wasn’t enough.
“Want you,” Jamil said breathlessly, tightening his thighs around
Rohan’s hips. “Want you inside me.”
Rohan went still on top of him and then lifted his head.
Jamil went still, too, realizing what he’d just said.
He forced his eyes open.
Their gazes met, glassy with bone-deep need. He could feel Rohan’s
hesitation, the storm of emotions inside him, each tugging him in a different
direction. It wasn’t just rational reasons that were stopping him. He could
feel that Rohan felt strange about having sex with a man, but at the same
time the thought of being inside Jamil very much appealed to something in
him—the same something that wanted Jamil closer, tighter, more.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” Rohan said roughly, his expression pinched,
his protectiveness pulsing through their bond. “Jamil, you know I’ll have to
leave.”
This can’t mean anything.
Jamil swallowed.
“I know.” He pulled Rohan’s head down so their foreheads touched. He
smelled so good, his subtle, masculine scent making Jamil’s head spin. A
breath in. Breath out. “I’m not some green, innocent boy with my head in
the clouds. I’m a grown man. I’m not fragile. It will be just a—just a fuck.”
Rohan laughed, their noses rubbing. “I think it’s the first time I’ve
heard you say such a vulgar word, Highness.”
“Stop making fun of me,” Jamil said, rubbing their cheeks together and
shivering at the feel of Rohan’s stubble against his smooth skin. “This feels
good, too. I know you aren’t attracted to men. We don’t have to have sex if
you don’t want to.”
 Rohan laughed again, a little bitterly. “Sweetheart, you’re delusional if
you think I don’t want to. I haven’t had sex in a year.”
Jamil blinked. “What? Why?”
Sighing, Rohan kissed the corner of his mouth. “I don’t know. It just
felt off. I suspect our bond is the reason.” He kissed the other corner of
Jamil’s trembling lips. “We have ways to block off or break bonds on
Tai’Lehr, but I couldn’t exactly go to mind healers with my problem
without telling them about you.”
“So you’re basically just too sexually frustrated to say no,” Jamil said.
He should probably be more bothered about the fact that Rohan would just
basically use him to relieve tension, but he didn’t mind being used by
Rohan at all. He wasn’t sure what it said about him. It was probably pretty
pathetic, but at the moment, he didn’t care. Jamil wanted him.
Rohan nuzzled his cheek, breathing in deeply. “I’m normally not
attracted to males,” he said, sucking a hickey on Jamil’s jawline. His voice
sounded a little slow and slurred, as if he were inebriated. “But you—
you’re different. The most beautiful”—a kiss on Jamil’s cheek— “the
prettiest”—a kiss on Jamil’s nose—“the loveliest thing I’ve ever seen.”
Rohan let out a self-deprecating laugh. “Fucking hell, I can’t believe the
stuff coming out of my mouth. I sound like some love-struck boy who
wants to get into his first girlfriend’s panties.” He sighed, brushing their
mouths together. Jamil wasn’t sure if Rohan’s lips were trembling or just his
own.
“I feel like I could eat you,” Rohan said hoarsely, biting Jamil’s bottom
lip. “Lick you from the inside out. Put my cock in your every hole. Dirty up
your flawless skin with my come. Fill you up with me until I’m the only
thing you can feel.”
Jamil’s face was burning. He couldn’t speak.
“So yeah, it’s pretty safe to say that I’m beyond caring that you don’t
have tits and a cunt,” Rohan said with a chuckle.
“Stop being vulgar,” Jamil managed.
 Rohan chuckled. “I think you like it when I’m vulgar, Your Highness.”
He licked into Jamil’s mouth. “Fuck, your mouth. I could do this for days.
Wanna make love to your mouth. Stuff it full of my cock.”
Jamil had never been so embarrassed and aroused in his life. He wasn’t
prudish—he’d enjoyed sex very much—but Mehmer had never spoken
lewdly to him. He had no idea it was something that would turn him on so
much.
“Will you let me?” Rohan murmured, before giving him another deep,
greedy kiss. They both were breathless with raw want by the time he ended
it with a wet noise. “Will you suck my cock, sweetheart? Will you let me
fuck your mouth?”
Jamil shuddered, incredibly aroused by Rohan’s filthy words and the
images they provoked in his mind. “Please.” He wasn’t sure what he meant
to say. Please don’t? Please don’t stop?
But Rohan seemed to understand what he meant.
Jamil watched dazedly as Rohan pulled his erection out. It was thick
and dark, and leaking so profusely that Jamil licked his lips, imagining
having to slurp and swallow all of that, so undignified and obscene.
Rohan must have read the hunger in his gaze, because he cursed,
closed his eyes for a moment, his jaw clenched as if in pain, and then
silently moved up and straddled Jamil’s chest.
Jamil gasped as Rohan grabbed a fistful of his hair and nudged the
slippery cock head against his lips. “Open your pretty mouth for me, Your
Highness.”
Gods, this shouldn’t have been so arousing. Being reminded of his
position, of the utter inappropriateness of this, shouldn’t have made his
cock harder. He was the Crown Prince. He shouldn’t be nearly naked in bed
with a lowborn rebel, eager to suck his cock, to get his mouth fucked.
But at that moment, he didn’t care. He didn’t even care that he could
see the portrait of his husband as a thick cock pushed inside his mouth. All
he wanted was this cock. Jamil relaxed his jaw, letting Rohan feed him his
erection. It felt so good: to be filled, to be used, to have a hard cock in his
mouth.
“Oh, fuck,” Rohan bit out, looking down at him with dark, bottomless
eyes, his expression so intense and hungry it went straight to Jamil’s cock.
He could feel Rohan’s pleasure as if it were his own, could feel how good
his mouth felt around Rohan’s cock, how badly Rohan wanted to just fist
his hair and fuck his throat raw, until Jamil was choking on it.
Jamil’s arousal spiked at that image and he felt Rohan’s surprised
amusement. “You’re full of surprises, sweetheart,” he murmured, his gentle
words contradicting the punishing grip on Jamil’s hair. “Is this what you
secretly fantasize about? To be used like a thing, fucked by a lowly
servant?”
Jamil moaned around him, and Rohan’s hands moved to cradle his
face. “Or maybe you want to be used by all of your servants. Maybe you’ve
imagined them taking turns on you—”
“Shut up,” Jamil thought at him, since his mouth was occupied. But he
couldn’t stop himself from pushing his sleep pants down and grabbing his
own neglected cock. He stroked it desperately, so turned on he could barely
think.
Rohan gave a gentle laugh. It wasn’t mocking at all, but Jamil’s face
still felt aflame.
“Nothing wrong with having naughty fantasies, Jamil,” he said,
looking down at him with open affection that was at odds with the rough
fucking he was giving Jamil’s mouth. “Maybe they take turns on you,” he
murmured, his eyes black as sin. “Maybe one of them fucks your mouth
while another fucks your ass. And there’s a long line for each of your holes,
with your servants waiting impatiently for their turn on you, their cocks out
as they watch you take cock after cock, but still unable to sate the hunger in
you.” Rohan’s thrusts became faster, his cock pistoning in and out of
Jamil’s mouth. “Because the only cock you really want is mine. The only
jizz you want to swallow is mine—” Rohan came with a low growl, his
come hitting the back of Jamil’s throat.
 Jamil swallowed greedily, Rohan’s pleasure washing over his body and
heightening his own. It took just a few strokes of his own cock and he was
coming with a wanton moan, still sucking on Rohan’s softening cock,
unwilling to let go.
At last, Rohan winced and pulled out before collapsing beside Jamil
and immediately pulling him into his arms. Jamil went, boneless and spent,
pressing his face to the hollow of Rohan’s throat, his body singing with
pleasure. He only had the presence of mind to kick off his pants.
They lay like that for a long time, luxuriating in the feeling of
contentment, wanting to savor the sensation, their minds wrapped tightly
around each other.
“I think you broke me,” Rohan said at last.
Jamil made an unintelligible sound that could have meant anything.
Correctly interpreting it as a request for clarification, Rohan said, “I
was one hundred percent straight.”
Jamil snickered.
Rohan tugged at his hair playfully. “Yeah, laugh it up. This is really
ridiculous. I’m long past the age of having a sexuality crisis.”
Jamil nuzzled his chest, brushing his lips against Rohan’s nipple.
“Sexuality crisis is probably the least important reason why we shouldn’t
have done it.”
Rohan sighed. “I know, love.”
Jamil smiled into Rohan’s chest and immediately told himself to get a
grip. The endearment meant nothing.
“I wish it meant nothing,” Rohan said.
Jamil froze.
Slowly, he lifted his gaze and looked into Rohan’s eyes. They were soft
with affection but troubled.
 Rohan smiled ruefully. “I’m just saying that I’m not really the type
to… I’m pretty sure I never used endearments until I met you.” His
expression became pinched. “I’m pretty fucking attached. You can’t have
possibly missed that. Our minds are connected.”
Jamil wet his lips, his heart beating so fast he felt almost dizzy. “Your
shields are much better than mine.” When Rohan smirked in that infuriating
I-told-you-so way, Jamil rolled his eyes with a small smile. “All right, you
were right: mine really need work.”
Rohan’s thumb stroked Jamil’s telepathic point, eliciting a pleasant
shiver. “Yours are perfectly good against the low-level telepaths all bonded
Calluvians are supposed to be.”
Jamil studied him. “But not against the mind adepts of the High
Hronthar,” he stated. “Do you have proof that they are not who they seem to
be?”
Rohan’s expression went blank. He stared intently at Jamil, silent and
thoughtful. At last, he sighed. “I’m not supposed to be talking with you
about this.”
Jamil nudged him through their bond and raised his eyebrows,
expectant and haughty. “Tell me.”
Chuckling, Rohan leaned in and kissed him on the nose. “Jamil, it’s
really dangerous. For you.”
Jamil gave him an unimpressed look. He really didn’t appreciate being
treated like someone weak and inept. “I already know enough to endanger
me if a higher-level telepath decides to search my mind.”
Rohan didn’t look happy. “Exactly. You’re too vulnerable right now.
Let me remove your bond to the prince-consort. It’s weakening your
telepathy. Without it, your shields will be stronger.”
Jamil frowned. Rationally, he knew Rohan was right. He knew enough
about the childhood bond’s true purpose to know that it affected one’s
telepathic abilities. But he still wasn’t sure he wanted to lose the one thing
that he still had of his husband and childhood best friend.
 He met Rohan’s gaze and found him looking at him intently. Jamil
examined Rohan’s emotions bleeding through their connection despite
Rohan’s mental shields. There was genuine concern mixed with
protectiveness, but they were entirely overshadowed by the almost
unhealthy possessiveness Rohan couldn’t quite hide from him.
Rohan grimaced and said, “Ignore it. That’s not why I’m suggesting
this.” He sighed. “Look, I’m not pressuring you. It’s your choice. But if you
want me to tell you more, you’ll have to be able to protect your mind
better.”
Jamil bit the inside of his cheek.
“All right,” he said at last. “Will it hurt?”
The tension in Rohan’s body disappeared. “It shouldn’t. The remnants
of your old bond have been weakened gradually by your bond to me.
Natural bonds are always stronger than artificial ones like the one between
you and the prince-consort. It shouldn’t take much to completely remove
it.” Rohan’s lips twitched. “There might be side effects like heightened
senses and physical needs, but I doubt they will be overwhelming,
considering how eroded your old bond to the prince-consort already is.”
Jamil nodded, noting with some amusement that, for all of Rohan’s
claims that his possessiveness didn’t affect him, he never called Mehmer
Jamil’s husband anymore. It was always the “prince-consort.”
“All right,” Jamil said, deciding not to call Rohan on it. “Let’s do it,
then.”
“Now?”
“I want to find out what’s going on. If it’s the only way, there’s no
point in waiting.” Jamil cocked his head to the side. “Have you actually
broken a childhood bond before?”
“Sort of,” Rohan said, grinning.
Jamil glared at him, but couldn’t bring himself to be mad looking at
that disarming smile. “Seriously? So I’m going to be a lab rat for you?”
 “Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle,” Rohan said, laying a hand on Jamil’s
cheek. He was still smiling, but his eyes were dead serious.
I’ll never let you get hurt. It wasn’t a conscious thought; it was a
feeling.
It made warmth spread through Jamil’s chest before curling in his
belly. He and Mehmer had had a wonderful relationship, but Mehmer had
never been particularly protective of him. Jamil had always thought that it
was a good thing—it meant that Mehmer had full confidence in Jamil’s
competence—but now, to his mild embarrassment and bewilderment, Jamil
found that being the object of such intense protectiveness didn’t feel bad at
all. Quite the opposite.
Jamil had to bite his lip to stop himself from smiling stupidly at Rohan.
Ugh. He was a grown man. He wasn’t supposed to feel this way.
Averting his gaze, he cleared his throat. “Let’s get it over with.”
“Look me in the eye, love.”
Jamil did as he was told.
“It might feel bizarre,” Rohan warned, holding his gaze and laying his
hand on Jamil’s telepathic point. “I’m going to use our bond to shield you
from the worst of it, but it will likely feel very strange at first. Don’t be
nervous. If you start feeling overwhelmed, just focus on our bond, okay?”
Jamil nodded, shivering when he felt Rohan slide into him, deeper and
deeper, until they both were breathless with the pleasure of it. “Feels so
good.”
Rohan sighed, a sense of worry clouding the merge for a moment. “I
know. I’m afraid we have a textbook case of merge addiction, love. It’s
probably why our bond didn’t break.”
Jamil just hummed in response, wrapping his arm around Rohan tightly
as Rohan slid deeper. He barely paid attention to what Rohan was doing,
unable to focus on anything but the pleasure of having him fully inside him
for the first time in a year. He missed this, having Rohan inside him on such
an intimate level. It felt as good as having Rohan’s cock in his mouth.
 “Stop that,” Rohan told him in the merge.
“I’m not doing anything.”
“You’re distracting me. Do you have any idea how hard it is for me to
focus?”
“I’m not doing anything. I just love having you in me.”
Rohan laughed. “Are you doing it on purpose?”
Jamil smiled widely. “Maybe.”
Rohan’s mental presence tightened around him for a moment, an
equivalent of a short hug, before heading toward Jamil’s core.
The bond to Mehmer was still there, wrapped around his core. But for
the first time, Jamil could see what Rohan meant when he called his bond to
Mehmer ugly. There was something wrong about it, unnatural, and Jamil
didn’t mean the fact that it was torn and thin, fraying at the edges. It was
like a spider web woven around his core, blocking off entire neural
pathways.
“I’m letting you see through my senses. Yours are too weak while this
thing is suppressing them. I’m going to remove it now. Focus on our bond.
It will make it easier.”
Jamil shifted his mental attention to the other bond, the one that shone
in his mind gold and pure. It, too, was interwoven around his telepathic
core, but in a way that felt natural and seamless. It emanated warmth and
safety. He let himself bask in it.
He barely noticed when the bond to Mehmer disappeared. Or rather, he
noticed it only because the gentle pleasure he was feeling from his bond to
Rohan suddenly increased tenfold.
Jamil gasped, his head spinning. He was trembling all over, his every
sense suddenly magnified. It was too much. “Rohan—”
“Shh, I’m here,” Rohan said, projecting at him the feelings of calm and
serenity. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”
 Jamil clung to him, both mentality and physically, needing him like he
needed the air.
“It’ll get better,” Rohan said quietly, running gentle fingers through his
hair. “Tell me what you need, love. I’ll do anything for you.”
Jamil hid his besotted smile in the hollow of Rohan’s throat, breathing
in his scent like an addicted person would inhale their favorite drug. His
heightened senses seemed unable to adjust to the sensory overload, his skin
on fire wherever they touched. But he could stay like this forever: in this
man’s arms, their bodies and minds entwined so intimately it was
impossible to tell where he ended and Rohan began. Jamil could feel
Rohan’s protectiveness toward him, his fierce, obsessive determination to
keep him safe and happy, and he soaked it up. He’d never felt so safe,
cherished, and happy in his life.
But then he felt a stab of dread, deep and gut-wrenching. Happiness
didn’t last. Not for him. This was borrowed time. Rohan was going to leave
soon. They could never be anything, for many different reasons.
Rohan would leave, and Jamil… he would be alone again.
Not alone, he corrected himself, trying to climb out of the well of
despair. He had a beautiful baby girl. Rohan’s daughter.
But although he adored his daughter, the thought of her didn’t quite
manage to suppress the feelings of dread and loss that were building in his
chest. His eyes stung, and he was glad Rohan couldn’t see his face right
now.
Jamil took in a deep breath, trying to push away the negative thoughts.
There would be time to feel sad and alone—plenty of time in his future—
and there was no use spoiling the present with it. If this was borrowed time,
Jamil intended to enjoy it while he could.
Filled with new determination, Jamil put all his efforts into building his
mental shields. He didn’t want Rohan to sense the direction of his thoughts,
didn’t want him to think Jamil was a clingy, pathetic idiot too stupid to long
for something impossible.
 To his surprise, building mental shields now came effortlessly to him.
He was pretty sure Rohan could still sense his general emotions through
their bond, but he was confident that his thoughts were now private.
“I think my shields are pretty good now. Could you check?”
He felt Rohan probe at them gently before letting out a surprised
sound. “You’re a natural,” he said. “They’re very good.”
Although his tone was approving, Jamil could feel something like faint
displeasure coming off him.
“Something wrong?” he said, his eyebrows furrowed.
Rohan let out a self-deprecating laugh. “I guess I just got used to
having unlimited access to your thoughts. Feels weird not to have it
anymore. It’s a good thing you can now shield yourself from me. It is.”
Jamil studied him curiously. It almost seemed as though Rohan was
trying to convince himself. Judging by Rohan’s pinched, disturbed
expression, he wasn’t pleased by his own feelings on the matter, either.
“There has to be a line,” Jamil said softly, looking down. “It probably
wasn’t healthy, Rohan. We’re two individuals, not one. There have to be
some boundaries.” His words sounded reasonable. Very reasonable, and
very hypocritical. His reason for putting up mental shields had nothing to
do with rationality—he would have had Rohan inside him all the time if he
could—and everything to do with self-preservation. He didn’t want Rohan
to know just how needy he was, how badly he wanted to keep Rohan in him
all the goddamn time.
Rohan gave a clipped nod, his arm tightening around him. “Of course.
You’re right.”
“Now tell me about Dalatteya,” Jamil said, changing the subject.
“What did you see in her mind?”
“Her memories have been altered. She either doesn’t know that
Tai’Lehrians are the rebels, or her memories have been altered to make her
forget. There were also mind traps in her mind, set to be triggered if
someone tried to recover her altered memories. That’s a work of a well-
trained, high-level telepath. And I know of only one group of people on
Calluvia who could have done it.”
“The High Hronthar,” Jamil murmured, frowning.
Rohan nodded. “The Order must be the ones manipulating the public
opinion too. It wouldn’t be the first time they’ve done it.”
“What do you mean?”
Rohan’s brows drew together in thought. He ran his fingers over
Jamil’s arm absentmindedly. “Do you know how the rebel movement
started?” At Jamil’s blank look, Rohan said, “They were called renegades
for a reason. The rebel movement was founded by Sahir Sagni, a former
High Hronthar member who didn’t approve of the way the Order
manipulated the Council into introducing the Bonding Law. The Order used
people’s fears and managed to persuade the Council that it was for
everyone’s good to bind all children’s telepathy from a very early age by
forming a betrothal bond. As a result, the monks became the only people on
Calluvia whose telepathy wasn’t restrained by such a bond, making the
High Hronthar immensely powerful. Sahir Sagni tried to warn the Council,
tell them of the Order’s true motives, but he was declared an insane
renegade spouting nonsense and thrown out of the Order. He was forced to
go into hiding, and although most people didn’t believe Sagni, some had.
And that was how the rebel movement started.”
Jamil frowned. Although the rebel movement was founded thousands
years ago, Calluvia was already a highly developed society at the time. It
was very strange that there was no mention of Sahir Sagni anywhere in the
records.
Rohan smiled ruefully. “I have to say you gotta admire the way those
bastards masterfully cultivated the image of harmless monks not interested
in power when the reality couldn’t be more different. The High Hronthar
has its long arms everywhere, subtly controlling the Council, public
opinion, and who knows what else.”
A cold feeling ran down Jamil’s spine as he remembered how many
times he’d allowed the mind adepts to enter his mind in the past.
 “Still,” Jamil said, squirming closer to Rohan’s warmth. “It seems
unbelievable that nowadays people have no clue how the rebel movement
started.”
Rohan’s hand stroked his back, the touch warm and comforting. “It’s
been four thousand years, Jamil. Nowadays, even most Tai’Lehrians don’t
know that the High Hronthar is the reason why unbonded people are
outlawed. People’s memory is short. Our ancestors founded a colony away
from Calluvia and just wanted to stay under the radar. We moved on. We
didn’t think that after all this time, the High Hronthar would care about us
enough to destroy what’s left of our reputation.”
Jamil nuzzled Rohan’s chest, wondering why the Order’s interest in the
rebels had been reignited. For centuries, few people on Calluvia had spoken
about the rebels, but it had changed in the past few years. Rebels were
blamed for people’s disappearances and deaths, unidentified attacks and
sexual assaults. People were scared of the rebels now—scared and angry
with them. Jamil had been one of those people just a year ago.
“But why?” Jamil murmured. “Why would the Order drag the rebels
into the spotlight again? Wouldn’t it make more sense for them to want
people to forget about the rebels and the reason they rebelled in the first
place?” He paused, considering and discarding possibilities. “It only makes
sense if their spies on Tai’Lehr have learned something that made the Order
worry. Possibly something that changed in the past few years? Something
that made them fear the Tai’Lehrians?”
When he looked up, he found Rohan watching him with a fixated,
intense look.
Jamil frowned a little. “What?”
Rohan smiled at him, his thumb stroking Jamil’s bottom lip, his black
eyes hooded. “I like watching you think. You’re so pretty when you think. I
mean, you’re always pretty, but when you think, you always purse your lips
into the cutest pout—”
Laughing, Jamil glared at him half-heartedly. “Are you serious? Did
you even hear what I said?”
Rohan chuckled. “I heard you. And you’re absolutely right.”
 Jamil raised his eyebrows expectantly when Rohan didn’t say anything
else. “And?”
Rohan frowned, something like hesitation flickering in his eyes.
At last, he said,
“There’s something I didn’t tell you.”
 Chapter 18

“What do you mean?” Jamil said, sitting up.

Sighing, Rohan sat up, too. He ran a hand over his face, wondering
how to tell him.
He looked back at Jamil and lost his train of thought for a moment
when he saw Jamil worrying his lips. They still looked kind of swollen—
used—from their earlier activities. The sight was more distracting than it
should have been.
This wasn’t the time to let himself be distracted.
It was time to come clean.
Averting his gaze from Jamil, Rohan began speaking.
“Tai’Lehrians are tired,” he said. “Tired of hiding, tired of forging
bonding certificates and living in fear of discovery, since we’re hiding in
plain sight. Over the past few decades, there appeared movements that
wanted us to come clean to the Council and demand lawful status—or
failing that, an independence from Calluvia.” Rohan’s lips twitched. “You
could say the rebels have rebel movements now too. Those radical groups
thought that enough time had passed since the rebels left Calluvia. They
insisted that the Council wouldn’t consider us criminals if we came clean
and proved that we weren’t dangerous. But the governor of the colony, Lord
Tai’Lehr, was as conservative as his predecessors. He wasn’t convinced that
approaching the Council would accomplish anything besides war.”
Jamil opened his mouth to say something but seemed to think better of
it and allowed Rohan to continue.
“But a few years ago, the old governor died and his son inherited the
title. The new Lord Tai’Lehr agreed to listen to those radical groups and has
been eventually swayed to their point of view. So for the past few years, the
governor and the Tai’Lehrian Senate have been putting together a strategy
for their eventual appeal to the Calluvian Council. Although their plans
weren’t widely known, they weren’t exactly secret. It’s possible that the
High Hronthar learned of them.” If High Hronthar learned about their plans,
the monks were unlikely to be happy. Tai’Lehrians’ recognition as lawful
citizens would destabilize the whole Calluvian society, shake the foundation
of the High Hronthar’s power if the Bonding Law became optional. The
High Hronthar obviously couldn’t allow it.
He could feel Jamil’s confusion. “But why didn’t you suspect the High
Hronthar from the beginning? It seems so obvious now.”
Rohan shook his head. “Since the assassination attempts on Warrehn
coincided with the start of the anti-rebel campaign on Calluvia, we
obviously thought it was all Dalatteya’s work: that she was trying to finish
the job she started years ago, and failing that, she wanted to discredit
Warrehn’s only allies. We didn’t know that Dalatteya was just a pawn of the
High Hronthar.”
A wrinkle appeared between Jamil’s elegant brows, his lips pursing.
Rohan felt a fresh wave of affection. He really liked watching Jamil think.
He liked watching Jamil, period. Everything about him was so elegant,
exquisite, and lovely that it was difficult to look away from him. Even
sitting on the bed completely naked, Jamil exuded so much poise, Rohan
felt like a brute in comparison. A brute who was allowed for some reason to
put his paws all over that perfection. A brute who was allowed to sully such
loveliness with his cock.
“What about Prince Warrehn’s younger brother?” Jamil said.
 Rohan grimaced. “He’s likely dead. When he was escaping from his
would-be assassins, Warrehn was forced to give the kid to someone else so
that the boy had a chance to escape, but since the little prince didn’t turn up
anywhere over the last nineteen years, the boy must be dead. Dalatteya
seemed to think so, too.”
Jamil shook his head slowly. “I still can’t believe Dalatteya is capable
of murdering innocent boys...” He cocked his head to the side,
thoughtful. “I presume Prince Warrehn is ready to return home? He’d better
have ironclad proof that his aunt is the one trying to assassinate him, or no
one will believe him. Dalatteya has excellent connections in the Council.
People love her and her son, love them far more than the direct line Prince
Warrehn belongs to.”
Rohan frowned. “I know. We don’t have proof that she’s the one
attempting to kill Warrehn. It will be Warrehn’s word against hers.”
Catching Jamil’s strange look, Rohan said, “What?”
“You know a lot for an average rebel,” Jamil said.
Rohan suppressed a sigh. Jamil had been bound to get suspicious,
sooner or later, but he would have preferred for it to be later than sooner. He
wasn’t sure if Jamil would consider him a liar for not telling him the truth
from the beginning.
He picked up Jamil’s hand and stroked his long fingers before bringing
the hand to his mouth. He brushed his lips against Jamil’s signet ring and
felt Jamil tense up.
Their gazes met and held.
Rohan didn’t need to say anything. It was a gesture of fealty, used only
between a lord-vassal and their monarch.
“Rohan’ngh’lavere, the governor of Tai’Lehr. At your service, Your
Highness.”
 Chapter 19

Jamil stared at him.

He would like to say he felt furious or betrayed, but to his shame, the
first emotion he felt was hope. Painful, illogical hope that they could
actually be something permanent, that they could be them. It was a fool’s
hope: the fact that Rohan was of noble blood didn’t change anything,
considering that under the current law, Rohan and his people were law-
breakers. Even if Tai’Lehrians decided not to go through with revealing
their unbonded state to the Council, Rohan would still have his fictional
bondmate and wouldn’t be able to marry Jamil even if Jamil did the
unheard of and married a second time.
Jamil almost laughed at his own thoughts. Rohan had never expressed
any desire to marry him. He was mostly heterosexual. It was all good and
well to get off with another man, but actuality sharing life with one? Rohan
hadn’t even hinted about wanting that.
Heavens, he was being pathetic. A needy, pathetic idiot.
“I don’t know what you’re thinking about, but I don’t like it,” Rohan
said, his dark brows drawn together.
“I’m fine,” Jamil said with a forced smile. “Just surprised.”
Black eyes bored into him. “Don’t lie to me,” Rohan said, squeezing
his hand. His voice softened. “What is it, sweetheart?”
 The worst part was, he wanted to confess everything. The warm
intimacy between them was incredibly hard to resist, making him feel like
he could tell Rohan anything without being judged or looking silly.
“Just indulging in some wishful thinking,” Jamil said with a crooked
smile. “It’s stupid.”
Rohan’s serious, steady expression didn’t change. “Tell me. I want to
know your thoughts, even if you think they’re stupid. I’m sure they aren’t.”
Jamil hoped his face didn’t look as smitten as he felt. Fuck, this was
ridiculous. He had never felt like this with Mehmer, no matter how much he
had loved him.
“I just…” He dropped his gaze, looking at their clasped hands, Rohan’s
fingers dark against his pale ones. “In other circumstances, there could have
been us.” His face was burning, and he couldn’t bring himself to look at
Rohan.
A strong emotion came from Rohan through their bond, something too
complex to decipher.
Rohan laid his free hand on his nape and pulled him close, their
foreheads pressing against each other. “I wish I could stay with you,” he
said, his voice rough. “I wish I could take you with me, and damn
everything.”
Jamil squeezed his eyes shut, as if that would stop him from yearning
for it. He couldn’t believe how tempting it was. What was wrong with him?
He was the Crown Prince, a future king of the Third Grand Clan of
Calluvia. He couldn’t just run away from his responsibilities, couldn’t
abandon his family and his people.
“I know it’s selfish,” Rohan said, nuzzling into Jamil’s cheek. “I know
you’d never do it, but fucking hell, it feels like the best idea ever when I’m
with you.” He gave a harsh laugh, squeezing Jamil’s hand and bringing it to
his mouth. “Then again, I’m not good at thinking rationally when I’m with
you. You could tell me to kill someone, and I probably would.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Jamil said, smiling, but his voice was off. He
could barely hold back the confession that made his heart feel like it was
about to burst out of his chest. I adore you. Don’t leave me again.
He didn’t say anything. But he wrapped his arms around Rohan’s
strong back, fingers roaming over the warm, bare skin, and held on.
Just for a little while.
When Rohan’s mouth brushed against his, Jamil parted his lips eagerly,
letting Rohan’s tongue in and sucking on it. Every suck sent a new wave of
bliss through his body and he moaned against Rohan’s mouth, pulling him
in, tighter and tighter until it was no longer possible.
They toppled onto the bed, Rohan’s hips pushing between Jamil’s
thighs, his heavy body pinning him against the soft mattress, stomachs and
erections pressing flush against each other.
Jamil wrapped his legs around Rohan’s hips, looked Rohan in the eye,
and said,
“Get in me.”
Rohan’s dark eyes became glassy.
He stared at Jamil for a long moment, his muscles stiff and his face
tense.
“Yes,” he said, his voice ringing with tension. Desire pulsed between
them, charging the air, bringing a flush to Jamil’s cheeks.
Rohan’s hands stroked Jamil’s bare thighs, kneading the thin, sensitive
skin there, before wrapping around Jamil’s aching, leaking cock.
Jamil moaned, his vision darkening. He could only gasp as Rohan
stroked him, milking his cock for its natural lubricant until he gathered
enough to stroke his slippery fingers over Jamil’s hole. The high-pitched
sound that left Jamil’s lips would be more suited for holo-porn than the
room of a crown prince. Jamil didn’t care. He spread his legs shamelessly
and allowed himself to enjoy the wonderful feeling of having his hole
touched and kneaded. When a thick finger slid into him, he made an
encouraging noise and spread his legs wider.
“Holy fuck,” Rohan said breathlessly, looking at him with dark, glazed
eyes. Jamil arched, enjoying Rohan’s hungry gaze on him almost as much
as Rohan’s fingers moving in his hole. Almost. It had been too long. Truth
be told, he’d always enjoyed getting fucked, far more than he liked being on
top. But Mehmer had wrongly assumed that, as the Crown Prince, he would
want to be in charge in the bedroom too. Jamil hadn’t disabused him of the
notion, ashamed to admit his own preferences, so he had rarely gotten to
experience this.
It hadn’t felt this good with Mehmer anyway. With Rohan, there was
no shame, the intimacy between them killing any embarrassment he might
have felt. With Rohan, Jamil could moan all he wanted, push back onto
Rohan’s fingers and fuck himself on them without being self-conscious
about it. With Rohan, he didn’t have to be the Crown Prince; he could be
just a man, unashamed of his desires. He didn’t have to hide how much he
loved being fucked, how badly he needed it.
When Rohan finally pushed his cock inside, a sob left Jamil’s lips, the
sensation of being filled making his toes curl with pleasure.
“Holy shit,” Rohan grated out, stroking Jamil’s smooth thigh
reverently, as his unfocused black eyes roamed between the place their
bodies were connected and Jamil’s face. “Look at you, sweetheart.”
Jamil realized that Rohan had meant it literally when Rohan merged
their minds, allowing Jamil to see and feel what he felt. Jamil whimpered,
his pleasure doubling as he now could feel how tight he was around
Rohan’s cock, how much the sight of Jamil’s wantonly spread legs turned
Rohan on, how badly Rohan wanted to just fuck him hard, pound him into
the mattress, make him beg for his cock. “You love this, don’t you?” Rohan
said hoarsely, pulling out and watching as Jamil whined and tried to impale
himself on his cock. “You love being fucked. You love cock. You want cock
for breakfast, lunch and dinner, night and day, up your ass and deep down
your throat, don’t you?”
“Please,” Jamil mumbled, feeling delirious with need. “Please, please,
please.”
A muscle clenched in Rohan’s cheek. Rohan’s hands took his hips and
spread his thighs even wider. Their eyes locked, Rohan slammed back into
him.
 Jamil cried out. “Ah! More.”
Rohan gave him more.
After that, it was a blur of pleasure. Jamil was only vaguely aware that
he was moaning, meeting every hard thrust, his fingers digging into
Rohan’s muscular buttocks in order to pull him deeper into himself. They
found a brutal, broken rhythm that was all need, their lust feeding off each
other, the merge urging them to be closer, deeper, more, more, more.
They rolled all over the bed, fucking in every possible position, trying
to sate the maddening desire to be one. It was never enough.
At some point, Jamil ended up on top, fucking himself on Rohan’s
cock.
Rohan stared up at him with black, glazed eyes as Jamil rode him with
shameless abandon, Jamil’s head thrown back and his mouth open in a
soundless cry. Gods, it felt so good, so unbelievably good, the thickness of
Rohan’s cock inside him incredibly satisfying. He didn’t care that his thighs
were already trembling with the effort; he needed this.
So fucking tight and look so pretty taking my cock.
Jamil whimpered, catching Rohan’s thought. He couldn’t help but sink
deeper into the merge, allowing himself to see through Rohan’s eyes again.
Was that him? That moaning, panting, lustful creature riding Rohan’s long
cock as if something possessed it? Lips bitten red, cheeks flushed, his cock
leaking and red against his pale stomach? He couldn’t deny that the image
aroused him. It didn’t help that his thoughts and desires were mixing with
Rohan’s and it felt like he wanted to fuck himself, push Jamil under him
and pound into him until they both saw stars. He was made for his cock—
Rohan growled and rolled them so that he was on top again. Gripping
his hips, Rohan set a furious rhythm. Harder, faster, so good, the thrusts
deep and sure. A roaring filled Jamil’s head as their pleasure built. “Need
you, need you, need you.” He wasn’t even sure whose thought it was; it
didn’t matter. They came, clutching each other and kissing desperately,
Rohan’s hips still grinding into him as the pleasure exploded between them.
They fell asleep like that, their bodies and minds still one.
 Chapter 20

Sunlight filtered through the closed curtains in Jamil’s bedroom,

bathing everything in warmth. Or maybe it was their bond, pulsing with
warmth, affection, and belonging.
Sighing sleepily, Jamil tried to wiggle out of his arms.
Rohan made a protesting sound, his arms tightening. “No, don’t go.”
Jamil laughed, a happy, warm laugh that made Rohan’s chest swell
with affection. No, affection was the wrong word. Possessive adoration.
Fuck, he wanted to hold Jamil in his arms forever. Nine days of this had
been nowhere near enough. He felt like he’d never get enough. It was
probably strange how little he cared anymore that Jamil was male. He felt
perfect in Rohan’s arms, as if he was created for them. Maybe he was. Such
a perfect mental Fit like the one they shared was incredibly rare. It was the
stuff of legends and myths—old stories Rohan usually scoffed at, but now
couldn’t help but wonder if there was a grain of truth to them.
Soulmates. Two people with one soul and opposing personalities that
complemented each other.
Rohan used to laugh at the mere idea of soulmates, but he had to admit
the definition strangely fit him and Jamil. Their personalities really couldn’t
be more different, but Rohan had never fit with another person so well; it
felt like they were two puzzle pieces put together. Sometimes he couldn’t
believe how little he minded Jamil’s prim and reserved nature—he had
always gravitated toward cheerful, easy-going women in the past—but with
Jamil, his prim, proper behavior just made him smile fondly. With Jamil, his
every smile, every laugh, and every naughty smirk was just all the more
precious.
Fucking hell, he couldn’t believe how besotted his own thoughts
sounded. Sirri and Warrehn would never let him live it down if they could
hear them.
“Let go, Rohan.”
He didn’t want to.
“Do you really have to get up?” Rohan said, his voice still hoarse from
sleep and his eyes closed as he pulled Jamil back against his chest.
He could feel that Jamil was smiling. “Yes. I’m the Crown Prince. I
wish I could laze about in my bed until afternoon, but I don’t remember a
time it actually happened. I have a meeting with a councilor, and then I’m
taking Tmynne out. She loves being outside.”
Rohan didn’t say anything, nuzzling into the back of Jamil’s neck.
“You’ve been here nine days, but you haven’t gone to see her,” Jamil
said, his voice very neutral. “Since that first time.”
Rohan opened his eyes. All he could see was the graceful curve of
Jamil’s shoulder, but he didn’t need to see Jamil’s face to know that he was
frowning.
Rohan pressed his lips against that smooth shoulder and sighed. “I
don’t want to get attached, Jamil.”
Silence.
He didn’t need to say anything. They both knew what he meant, of
course.
He’d already stayed longer than he should have, far longer than he had
expected, but it was unlikely to last. Although the Blind was still blockaded
by the High Hronthar’s people, sooner or later, the monks would have to
give up. Frankly, Rohan was surprised they hadn’t given up already. That
apprentice boy must really be valuable for the Order—or for its
Grandmaster—if they still persisted with the blockade. Sirri and Warrehn
had been forced to lie low in the safe house, gradually losing their patience
as days went by. It also didn’t help that the Grandmaster’s apprentice had
turned out to be a handful and had nearly escaped several times already.
Selfishly, Rohan was glad he wasn’t stuck in a tiny house with a frustrated
Sirri, an inpatient Warrehn, and some stubborn, slippery kid hell-bent on
returning to his master.
In any case, the current state of affairs couldn’t continue indefinitely.
Rohan would have to leave soon—to save Warrehn and Sirri from doing
something rash and go home the moment they could get to the Blind. If
worse came to worst, they would activate their TNIT transponders outside
the blind spot, but it would be a last resort. The unregistered use of a
transgalactic transporter would be immediately detected by the Calluvian
authorities, and they couldn’t risk them to be traced back to Tai’Lehr, not at
this point. So it was a waiting game.
But every waiting game had to end. And when it ended, Rohan would
have to leave. It was bad enough that everything in him felt sick at the idea
of leaving Jamil behind. He didn’t need to get attached to the child too.
“I understand,” Jamil said, his voice still neutral as he pulled away
from Rohan and sat up, putting his mental shields up.
Rohan’s hand twitched toward him. Fucking hell, it was unhealthy how
much he hated having any barriers between them. He wanted to be inside
Jamil, always. He had to actually bite the tip of his tongue to stop himself
from saying something he would regret later. It was bad enough that he’d
stayed so long, coming up with pathetic excuses to stay instead of joining
Warrehn and Sirri at the safe house. He had no right to tell Jamil all the
nauseatingly sweet—and disturbingly possessive—things that were
threatening to choke him whenever he looked at him.
He didn’t want to break Jamil’s heart. As long as they kept it casual—
or pretended well enough—it would be easier when he eventually left. At
least he hoped it would be.
Rohan closed his eyes, listening to the sounds of Jamil’s taking a sonic
shower, and then starting to dress. It all felt so domestic. It would be so easy
to fool himself into thinking that he could have this.
He couldn’t have this, not with them being who they were.
In another world, where there was no Bonding Law, he would have
been Jamil’s lord-vassal, which would have made them more than an
acceptable match. Technically, Rohan was more blue-blooded than Prince-
Consort Mehmer had been: he was a direct descendant of a secondary royal
line of the Third Grand Clan. He actually had a claim to the throne if the
current royal line was extinguished. In another world, he would have been
considered a good match for Jamil: royal blood, but an extremely distant
relation so there was no concern about inbreeding.
In this world, none of it mattered.
In this world, Jamil was the Crown Prince while Rohan was the leader
of the ‘rebels,’ which made him a criminal in the eyes of the law.
In this world, they could only live in the moment.
Setting his jaw, Rohan made the decision. “I’ll meet you in Tmynne’s
room.”
Maybe he was making a mistake, one that would end up hurting them
all, but at this moment, it was absolutely worth it when Jamil turned around
and beamed at him, his green eyes bright.
Rohan wished he could capture that smile and bottle it up. He had a
feeling he was going to need it when it all came crashing down on them.
 Chapter 21

Rohan wasn’t ashamed to admit that holding his daughter for the first
time had been the scariest thing he’d ever done. She was just so tiny—Jamil
had laughed at him at that; apparently Tmynne was a lot bigger now than
she used to be. Rohan still felt like he might snap her delicate bones if he
held her too tight or drop her if he didn’t hold her tight enough.
That fear had abated a little since then; he was pretty comfortable
holding the baby now. At least she didn’t seem to mind, watching him with
her beautiful green eyes and smiling at him whenever he made funny faces
at her. She was the cutest thing he’d ever seen.
Yeah, the not-getting-attached plan was going so well.
Grimacing, Rohan shook his head to himself, rocking his daughter
against his chest. She’d been fussy that day, probably picking up on Jamil’s
stress through their bond.
He frowned, thinking about the scandal that had shaken the entire
Calluvian society last evening. An amendment to the Bonding Law had
been passed, allowing not yet married bondmates to petition for dissolution
of their childhood bond as long as the petitioner had reached the age of
majority. The fact that such a bill had actually passed came as a shock: the
Sixth Grand Clan had been trying to pass it for years, without success. But
now not only the bill had passed, but the Lord Chancellor himself had
petitioned to break his childhood bond to Jamil’s little brother, causing an
enormous scandal Jamil had been trying to manage all day.
 Rohan focused on Jamil and his frown deepened when he felt Jamil’s
distress. No, not distress; panic.
What the hell?
Rohan put Tmynne into her crib and walked out of her room, in the
direction he could feel Jamil.
Turning the corner, he nearly collided with him. Jamil looked wide-
eyed and flushed.
“What’s wrong?” Rohan said, pulling him into the nearest room.
Instead of answering, Jamil buried his face in the folds of Rohan’s
cravat and let out a shuddering breath. “I messed up. I’m sorry.”
Frowning, Rohan stroked his back soothingly and kissed his ear,
making Jamil shiver and cling to him, seeking comfort.
Hugging him back, Rohan ignored a twinge of completely
inappropriate arousal. He’d recently discovered that he had a… thing for
Jamil needing him. It was a fucking strange kink he hadn’t even known that
he had until Jamil. Maybe it had something to do with Jamil normally being
so reserved and poised; the fact that Jamil allowed himself to be so
vulnerable with him went straight to his cock—and his heart.
“What happened, love?” Rohan said.
“Prince Ksar,” Jamil said shakily. “He read my mind. I’m not sure what
exactly he saw—I think I managed to make my shields seem low-level like
you taught me—but he was so strong, Rohan—it was—I think he saw you
—us—”
“Breathe,” Rohan said, kissing him on the forehead. “Just breathe,
okay?”
It took Jamil a while to even out his breathing. At last, his muscles
relaxed a little, his body going pliant in Rohan’s arms.
“Now tell me what happened,” Rohan said, his voice gentle enough but
with underlying firmness and control. He had found that Jamil responded
beautifully to that tone. Jamil liked it, liked being told what to do. It seemed
to clear his head. Usually Rohan used that knowledge only during sex, but
now it relaxed Jamil further. He knew Rohan was there for him. He knew
he would take care of everything. Jamil didn’t have to shoulder all the
responsibility.
“I came across Seyn and Prince Ksar kissing. Obviously I demanded to
know what the hell was going on—that bastard had publicly humiliated
Seyn just yesterday. But Ksar ordered me to leave. In my own home! Can
you believe the gall?” Jamil sounded affronted and confused in equal
measure. “And when I refused, he… he got through my shields.”
Rohan tried not to tense up. Jamil was stressed out as it was. He didn’t
need to feel his anger. “How?” he said with a frown. The Crown Prince of
the Second Grand Clan was artificially bonded to Jamil’s younger brother,
which meant that his telepathy was limited. It shouldn’t have been possible
for Prince Ksar to get through Jamil’s shields. Jamil was a Class 4 telepath
now, as far as Rohan could tell. “You’re exceptionally gifted with
shielding. A Class 2 shouldn’t have been able to get through your
shields.” Rohan couldn’t get through Jamil’s shields when Jamil tried to
hide his thoughts, and they were bonded.
Jamil shook his head. “There’s no way he’s Class 2. I felt him, Rohan.
His sheer power was…” He shuddered, tightening his arms around Rohan’s
back. “I never felt anything like that. I barely managed to hide my
telepathic strength and the information about the rebels. He could have seen
anything else. I’m not sure what memories he saw—it was brief—but from
what he said, he definitely saw us.”
“Us?”
He felt Jamil’s embarrassment through their bond. “I think he saw the
memory of the first time I sucked you off,” he said, his voice very prim
despite his words’ vulgarity. “He basically told me to mind my own
business or everyone would find out that I’m a whore who likes being used
by a lowly servant. I think he got the impression that you were my servant
from what you said to me while you fucked my mouth. Remember?”
Rohan’s body definitely remembered. “I do,” he said, clearing his
throat a little. He could see how Prince Ksar might have gotten the wrong
impression from that.
That was the thing about looking into an unfamiliar, incompatible
mind: no matter how strong a telepath was, it was easy to get the wrong
impression from flashes of different memories, especially if the telepath
didn’t receive extensive training in the mind arts. Prince Ksar had likely
seen Jamil’s memories of Rohan in a servants’ uniform and then saw him
spouting that filth while they had sex— and had drawn the wrong
conclusion. Although it was a relief that Ksar hadn’t bothered to delve
deeper into Jamil’s mind, he shouldn’t have been able to get behind Jamil’s
shields at all.
Interesting.
 The Lord Chancellor wasn’t who he appeared to be.
Rohan closed his eyes and stretched out his awareness. He nearly
flinched, sensing an immensely strong telepath in the palace. Prince
Ksar’ngh’chaali. That must be him. His presence was muted, as if he was
hiding his true strength behind shields, but those shields were flickering off
and on at the moment, while Ksar seemed… distracted. Rohan had never
met a telepath so strong. Ksar seemed stronger than even Warrehn. Fucking
hell, could Ksar actually be a Seven?
Rohan opened his eyes. “Are you sure he and Seyn have a childhood
bond?”
He could feel Jamil’s confusion. “Of course they do. I was at their
bonding ceremony. Seyn was bonded to him as a newborn.” He
paused. “Though they probably won’t remain bonded for long now if the
Council approves Ksar’s petition to dissolve their bond.”
Rohan ran a hand through Jamil’s hair absentmindedly. “I still can’t
believe that bill passed.”
“The timing is definitely strange,” Jamil agreed. “But it’s a good sign,
isn’t it? It means the Council might react more favorably to Tai’Lehrians
than we thought.”
“Maybe. But not necessarily. There’s something off about the whole
thing. Knowing the Council and High Hronthar, that bill should have never
passed. Someone powerful must have pushed hard for it.”
“Yes, Lady Zeyneb, the mother of your friend Warrehn’s betrothed. She
wants the bond broken so that her son can marry some other planet’s King.
By the way, I thought you said Prince Warrehn doesn’t have a bond
anymore. How come his betrothed still does?”
“We couldn’t completely remove Warrehn’s bond, because we didn’t
want him declared dead. As long as he is considered missing, Dalatteya has
a legal battle to fight. So we left a thin thread tying Warrehn to his former
bondmate. It’s barely there and it doesn’t hamper his telepathy at all. That
surgery is still considered the most complicated mental surgery performed
by our mind healers to date.”
Jamil hummed absentmindedly, tugging Rohan’s cravat off. He buried
his nose against Rohan’s throat. “I missed you,” he whispered, nibbling on
the sensitive spot there.
Rohan licked his dry lips, his mind fogging with desire so fast he felt
nearly dizzy. “Me, too, love.”
 Jamil laughed against his neck. “It’s been what, three hours? This is
ridiculous. We’re ridiculous.”
‘Ridiculous’ wouldn’t be the word Rohan would choose, but yeah.
What are you doing, Rohan? a voice that sounded a lot like his father’s
said at the back of his mind.
Closing his eyes, Rohan pulled Jamil tighter against him and kissed
him hungrily.
I have no fucking idea.
It was his last coherent thought for a long while.
He knew he was being selfish and reckless, but Rohan couldn’t bring
himself to care as he went down on Jamil right there, sucking his cock
lazily. He’d come to love the thickness and weight of it in his mouth. He
hollowed his cheeks out and sucked gently while his tongue swirled around
the leaking head. He loved this, loved how wet Jamil got for him—but not
as much as he loved eating him out. So Rohan turned him around and
pulled his pants down, exposing Jamil’s gorgeous ass to his hungry eyes,
marveling at the soft, supple flesh, unable to resist the urge to kiss it.
“No,” Jamil managed. “Rohan, not now. I told Seyn to meet me in my
office—” He whimpered as Rohan pushed his tongue between his cheeks.
“Then hurry up, sweetheart,” Rohan told him, licking his hole and
kneading his cheeks greedily. “We can’t have your little brother finding out
how naughty you really are, can we?”
“I can’t, Rohan,” Jamil moaned, his voice shaking. “Not enough time.”
“You can,” Rohan told him firmly, pushing his tongue against his hole.
“You will. Reach back and spread your cheeks for me, love. You know you
want to.”
“Anyone can come here.”
“So what?”
Rohan almost smiled as Jamil’s arousal spiked. His prim, proper prince
was actually delightfully naughty, deep down.
So he wasn’t surprised when Jamil grabbed his own buttocks,
spreading them for Rohan shamelessly. “Please.”
Fuck, nothing turned him on more than the sight of Jamil holding his
ass arched out, begging to be fucked.
Humming appreciatively, Rohan pushed his tongue inside the tight ring
of muscle and began thrusting as deeply as he could, over and over, until
Jamil was gasping, whimpering, and pushing back against his tongue, trying
to get it deeper. Rohan lost himself in Jamil’s pleasure, feeling how badly
Jamil needed this, needed his tongue, needed his cock—anything to fill his
needy hole. Rohan’s jaw was aching already, but he couldn’t stop, wouldn’t
be able to stop even if someone put a blaster to his head. Just a little more,
just a little bit more—
Jamil came with a sob, crying out Rohan’s name, his pleasure hitting
them in a white-hot wave and making Rohan come in his pants like a
teenager.
Afterward, they laughed together as they tried to make Jamil look
presentable for his meeting with Prince Seyn.
“This is all your fault,” Jamil said, still giggling as he pushed Rohan’s
hands away from him. “How do I look?”
Rohan stared at his lovely, flushed face, his disheveled hair and puffy,
red lips. He could only hope Prince Seyn was as self-centered as the rumors
said and wouldn’t notice anything.
“Perfect,” he said honestly, stealing one last kiss.
Jamil was still smiling as he left the room.
 Chapter 22

Twenty-four days later, Sirri commed Rohan. “We have a situation,”

she said, sounding uncharacteristically hesitant.
Rohan grimaced and put his sleeping daughter into her crib. “What did
you do?”
Immediately, Sirri went on the offensive. “It’s your own fault! You
should have been here instead of doing who knows what! Where are you?”
Rohan sighed and repeated, “What did you do, Sirri?”
“I resent that!” she said. “I’ll have you know it was mostly Warrehn’s
idea, not mine.”
Great. That didn’t make him feel better at all. His best friend wasn’t
known for his patience or strategic thinking. When Warrehn got something
into his head, he was like a stubborn, unstoppable bull, leaving only
destruction in his wake. Coupled with the fact that Warrehn was a Class 6
telepath, it wasn’t exactly encouraging.
“What happened?” Rohan said, closing the door to Tmynne’s room and
engaging the security locks. Jamil laughed at him and called him paranoid,
but Rohan slept easier like this. If he had been able to get into the palace, it
meant another high-level telepath probably could too, and he wasn’t taking
chances. Not with his daughter.
 Yeah, great job at not getting attached.
Pushing the thought away, Rohan went into the nearest empty room.
Since he had been reinstated as Jamil’s manservant for appearances’ sake, it
would be strange to be caught taking personal calls while he was
supposedly at work. He could use his compulsion gift only so much before
developing a hell of a headache.
Closing the door, Rohan focused on what Sirri was saying. “Wait, what
did you just say?”
“Warrehn got sick of babysitting the kid and suggested that we actually
use him if we’re stuck here. I mean, War kind of had a point: it’s been over
a month, and the monks are showing no sign of giving up and going away!
Who knows how long it will last? We had to use the kid.”
Rohan pinched the bridge of his nose. “Use him how?”
“I know the plan was to take the kid with us to Tai’Lehr and establish a
contact with his master on neutral ground, but what if we didn’t wait? I
mean, I know it isn’t ideal that here we have no backup if things go wrong,
but there are risks worth taking, right?”
“What exactly did you two do?” Rohan said, knowing that he wasn’t
going to like it.
“We allowed the kid to contact his master through his communicator—
and before you chew me out, obviously I made sure the signal was
untraceable!”
Rohan took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “You can’t know it for
sure. But fine. What’s done is done. What did you have the boy tell the
Grandmaster?”
“What do you take us for? We didn’t let him say anything. I gagged
him and put a blaster to his pretty face. I think that sent the message. All I
had to do was tell the Grandmaster that if he wanted his apprentice alive, he
should meet us tomorrow, alone, at the Blind, and he’d better remove his
people.”
“I bet he took it well,” Rohan said, not knowing whether to yell at Sirri
or laugh. After weighing the risks, he turned on the video feed and found
himself looking at Sirri’s frowning face.
“Actually,” she said, something uneasy in her eyes. “That creep didn’t
react at all. He just stared at his apprentice with that creepy as hell
emotionless expression and then he said: Very well. Like, there was nothing
threatening in his words, but I felt such a chill, it was…” Sirri let out an
uneasy laugh. “I must have imagined it. The important part is, he agreed to
our conditions. We didn’t even tell him the exact spot and time of the
meeting—just told him to turn his identification chip’s beacon on the
moment he arrived at the forest. He actually agreed to it. I was a little
surprised, to be honest. It’s the best possible outcome for us: we can track
him the moment he arrives, but he won’t be able to do the same—he won’t
know when to expect us. It’s as safe as it gets, Rohan. If things go wrong,
we can always just activate our transponders and the Malok-1’s TNIT will
teleport us away. You can’t possibly be angry with us!”
Rohan heaved a sigh. “I still don’t like it.” It stank of a trap, but he had
to admit Sirri was right: if worse came to worst, they would be able to leave
at a moment’s notice when they were at the Blind. “But fine. What’s done is
done. Thanks for consulting with me.”
Sirri flushed. “Trust breeds trust, Rohan. Since you’re still acting fishy
as fuck and refusing to tell us what the hell you’re doing—” She suddenly
narrowed her eyes, looking at the wall behind Rohan. “Where exactly are
you? That place sure seems a lot nicer than the tiny shithole Warrehn and I
are stuck in.”
Rohan ignored the question. “All right, here’s what we’ll do.” He
proceeded to explain his plan. Grudgingly, she agreed, still looking
suspiciously at his surroundings. Rohan could only hope there was nothing
incriminating in the room, nothing that would make it obvious where he
was. His identification chip and communicator’s signals were off, so Sirri
couldn’t trace him that way. It was a small comfort. Rohan knew she
wouldn’t leave the matter alone once he rejoined them tomorrow.
His stomach sank. He switched his communicator off and stared
blankly at the opposite wall.
Tomorrow.
 Feeling oddly numb, Rohan left the room and headed back to
Tmynne’s.
Closing the door softly behind him, he walked back to his daughter’s
crib and stared at the sleeping baby. The familial bond between them pulsed
softly with peace and comfort. She was dreaming of something pleasant,
her small mouth curling into a smile that was both Jamil’s and, somehow,
her own. She was going to be a beauty when she grew up.
Rohan’s heart swelled, his chest so tight he could barely breathe. He
breathed evenly, reinforcing his mental shields so that the turmoil of
emotions inside him didn’t wake her. Their familial bond was no longer the
tiny trickle it was when he’d arrived at the palace more than a month ago,
but a strong stream of affection and protectiveness that flowed between
their minds. It was definitely going to confuse her when he suddenly
disappeared from her life. And it was entirely his fault. Every time he held
her, every time he played with her and had her smile and giggle at him, the
bond became stronger. He’d known that, but he had done it all the same.
Thoughtless. Selfish. Greedy.
Clenching his jaw, Rohan covered his daughter with a blanket, careful
not to wake her.
And then he left.
His feet carried him in the direction his other bond pulled him. If his
bond to Tmynne was like a gentle, calm stream, his bond to Jamil was like a
river during springtime, with more water than the riverbanks could contain.
Their bond had only become more powerful over the past month,
solidifying into something that was, frankly, frightening. It went deeper
than mental or physical attraction. Soul-deep. It was basic, elemental, and it
changed him in ways Rohan hadn’t thought possible.
It should have frightened him.
Rohan had never felt this way about someone. He woke up and went to
sleep holding Jamil in his arms, and it still somehow wasn’t enough. He felt
like he would never get enough, hunger gnawing in the depth of his soul,
hunger like no other. He could never get as deeply into Jamil as he wanted,
could never kiss those soft, plump lips hard enough; it was never enough.
He wanted more, more, and more, every day, sometimes twice or thrice a
day. He felt like a green boy who’d just discovered what his dick was for,
not an adult man with two decades of sexual experience. Of course it didn’t
help that Jamil’s heightened senses made them both horny—it was normal
for people who’d just gotten their childhood bond removed to feel
heightened arousal—but it wasn’t just that. It had been over a month and
Jamil was now completely settled in his skin, fully in control of his
telepathy and his body.
They still craved each other.
Even simply being in Jamil’s presence was satisfying in ways Rohan
couldn’t explain. He liked looking at Jamil, loved watching him smile. It
was—
It was fucking frightening how much he loved it. He couldn’t imagine
not being able to see Jamil every day. The mere thought made his stomach
clench into a tight knot.
Rohan reached Jamil’s office and leaned against the wall, waiting. He
could feel that Jamil was currently occupied, Jamil’s mind focused on the
person he was speaking to.
On the wall, the ancient clock was ticking, the sound regular and even.
Rohan glared at it, feeling a spike of irrational anger at the person who
was taking away the precious little time they had left.
Jamil seemed distracted now, probably feeling him outside the office
and likely feeling his anxiety. Rohan wasn’t surprised when he dismissed
the person shortly afterward.
It was some councilor, who looked annoyed and baffled as he emerged
out of the office. Rohan should have probably bowed to him, but at that
moment he had no patience to act like a servant. He strode into the office
and shut the door behind himself.
“Didn’t we have this conversation?” Jamil said in an exasperated tone
that contradicted his smile. “You can’t keep coming here when I’m
working, Rohan! You know how distracting you are. I can never focus
when you’re around. I’m the Crown Prince. I can’t just…” He trailed off,
his smile fading as he peered closer at Rohan. Rohan, who still stood
leaning against the door, just looking at him intently. Jamil frowned.
“Rohan?”
Rohan bit the inside of his cheek so hard he tasted blood.
He stared at that lovely, dear face, and felt like he was choking on raw
emotion. You’re mine. You should be mine.
He swallowed the words back in. They would only make everything
worse.
“I’m leaving tomorrow. Or rather, tonight. I still have to reach the
Blind on an aircraft.”
Jamil’s face went terribly still. He wasn’t even blinking.
“Tonight?” he whispered.
“Warrehn and Sirri arranged a meeting with the High Adept.
Tomorrow. If all goes well, we’ll go home to plan our approach to the
Council. If it doesn’t go well…” He trailed off, unable to say it.
Jamil smiled woodenly, his smile not reaching his eyes. “You go home
and never come back,” he stated.
His lips thinning, Rohan averted his gaze. Yes, if it didn’t go well, they
would likely never be able to return to Calluvia through the Blind. The
High Hronthar would be stupid not to cut that avenue off after this fiasco.
“It’s okay, Rohan,” Jamil said, in the same toneless voice. “I always
knew it would end this way.” He looked down at his hands and smiled
faintly. “It’s—it’s okay. I hope your meeting with the High Adept will go
well. But if we—if we don’t see each other ever again, I wish you—I wish
you a long, happy life. I hope you remember me fondly.”
Rohan didn’t remember crossing the distance between them as he knelt
in front of Jamil’s chair.
“Don’t do this,” Rohan said roughly, taking Jamil’s hands and looking
him in the eye intently. “Jamil, please.”
Jamil pressed his lips together.
 “I’ll come back,” Rohan found himself saying, a promise he was in no
position to give. He knew he shouldn’t give it, but dammit, he couldn’t bear
seeing that empty, defeated look in Jamil’s eyes.
Jamil shook his head, smiling ruefully. “Even if you do, you won’t be
able to stay with me. You have a duty to your people.” He chuckled. “I
almost wish you really were a lowborn servant. Then I could keep you like
my dirty little secret.”
His attempt at humor fell flat, because Rohan could sense how upset he
really was.
“Sweetheart,” Rohan said hoarsely, kissing his fingers. I’m sorry. I
never wanted to hurt you.
His chin trembling, Jamil stared at him for a moment before lunging
forward and falling into his arms. Rohan squeezed him tightly, pulling him
into his lap. Their lips sought out each together. It wasn’t even a kiss; they
just breathed into each other’s mouths, their arms wrapped in a bone-
crushing hug. Everything felt disjointed, the world a blur of need and
desperation so encompassing that nothing seemed real but the feel of
Jamil’s skin against his mouth and the feel of him in his arms.
“I hate this,” Jamil whispered, his eyes squeezed shut as he clung to
Rohan. “I hate that I’m—that I’m this close to begging you to stay with me.
I knew you’d leave—I knew—but—” Jamil’s voice cracked, and Rohan
held him tighter, closer, his own throat thick with emotion. He couldn’t
stand seeing Jamil so upset—knowing that he was the reason for it—and
everything in him wanted to soothe, to kiss that pain away, to make it better.
But he couldn’t make it better. Not this time.
“I’ll come back,” he said, kissing Jamil’s trembling lips. “I will.”
They both knew how empty this promise was when he had no idea if it
was even possible.
Jamil shook his head, laid his head on Rohan’s shoulder, and
whispered, “Just hold me? Just for a little while.”
His throat tight, Rohan did.
 Chapter 23

“I was starting to forget your face,” Sirri said the moment he joined
them at the appointed place half a tarsec away from the Blind.
Ignoring her, Rohan looked at Warrehn and the kid held in his grasp.
He did a double take, frowning. He had been led to believe the
apprentice was older, but surely this kid couldn’t be older than seventeen.
Despite the fierce scowl on his face, the boy’s features were soft and refined
in a way that was usually lost as boys grew into men.
“How old even is he?” Rohan said, looking at Warrehn.
Warrehn shrugged. “He refuses to say.”
“Old enough to be a pain in our asses,” Sirri said with a scowl. She and
the kid glared balefully at each other.
Rohan’s eyebrows crept up. “Are we sure he’s the Grandmaster’s
apprentice? I didn’t think they encouraged emotion.”
He received a withering look from the kid.
Sirri snorted. “He’s touchy about it.” She glanced at her multi-device.
“We should get moving.”
“Everything clear?” Rohan asked.
Sirri nodded. “Their people really left. Everyone but the Grandmaster.”
 Warrehn’s blue eyes kept glancing around warily. “Doesn’t mean we
aren’t tracked somehow. Let’s get moving.” He shoved the kid forward,
though it was surprisingly gentle for him.
At Rohan’s surprised glance, Sirri leaned to him and murmured, “That
little snake is smart as hell and manipulative like you wouldn’t believe. He
quickly figured out that Warrehn used to have a little brother and learned
how to play on his pity. He almost managed to escape after he convinced
Warrehn that the rope was hurting his wrists and must be loosened.”
Rohan grimaced but didn’t say anything as he followed Warrehn and
the kid. Sirri fell into step with him. Knowing what was coming, Rohan
spoke before she could. “What do your senses say about this meeting? Does
it feel like a trap?”
Sirri shot him a look that made it clear that she knew exactly what he
was doing. “I’m not sure. It doesn’t feel like a trap, but I sense…” She
pursed her lips. “I sense danger. As if we’re going to meet someone the
likes of which we’ve never dealt with.” She smiled uneasily. “It’s probably
just my nerves playing tricks with me. You know my gift isn’t precise.”
Rohan nodded.
“So…” Sirri said. “Where were you all this time?”
“No comment,” Rohan said.
He received a telepathic smack for that. “I’m not a fucking reporter. It
isn’t going to work on me, you ass!”
“It’s none of your business where I was, and it’s neither the time nor
the place to talk about it. Keep quiet.”
Sirri glared at him, but she did become quiet.
They walked for a short while before they finally reached the Blind.
They could no longer trace the High Adept’s identification chip’s signal.
Only powerful electronic devices like the TNIT could work within the
Blind; weaker electronics and the GlobalNet didn’t.
“Can you feel him, Warrehn?” Rohan said, stretching his senses as far
as possible. He couldn’t sense anyone.
 Pulling out a blaster, Warrehn grunted in the affirmative and changed
their direction. The kid in his grip seemed to perk up, too. Rohan wondered
about it. They didn’t know anything about the modern High Hronthar. Did
masters and apprentices have a telepathic bond? Could that kid actually
communicate with his master from a distance?
The thought made him uneasy.
His wariness only increased once he was able to sense the
Grandmaster, too. He was powerful, as expected, possibly as powerful as
Warrehn, but it wasn’t what made Rohan tense. Every grown telepath had a
distinct, recognizable telepathic presence, individual for everyone once the
telepath fully grew into their powers. But Grandmaster Idhron didn’t have
one. His telepathic presence remained elusive, hard to pin down. It was
disconcerting. It was as disconcerting as a person without a face.
A sideways glance at Sirri confirmed that she was just as thrown
off. “Creepy,” she muttered, pulling out her own blaster.
Rohan shrugged, pushing away his unease. They didn’t know what
they taught at the High Hronthar these days. Maybe it was the norm for all
masters.
The man waiting for them in the small clearing looked… jarringly
normal. He was tall, about Rohan’s height, his long, pale hair tied back. He
wasn’t wearing the traditional white, richly adorned robes of the High
Adept. Instead, he was wearing simple dark brown robes that did a piss-
poor job of hiding the fact that the monk was a man in very good physical
shape.
“Master!” the kid said, smiling.
The Grandmaster’s expressionless face didn’t change. His cold eyes
gave his apprentice a quick examination from head to toe before looking at
his captors. Something shifted about him when his gaze fell on Warrehn, but
the emotion was gone so quickly Rohan wasn’t sure what it was. The
Grandmaster looked from Warrehn to Sirri before his gaze finally settled on
Rohan.
“Well?” he said, looking at Rohan and ignoring the other two. “What
do you want?”
 Rohan narrowed his eyes, wondering about it. “You know who I am.
I’m sure you can put two and two together.”
His guess was proven correct when the monk didn’t bother denying it.
“Indeed,” Idhron conceded, his face still blank. Rohan couldn’t read
him at all. “But I am not here to talk about my suspicions. I am here to get
back what you took. Eridan, come here.”
Warrehn barked out a harsh laugh, tightening his grip on his
captive. “You seriously think I’m letting the kid go, just like that?”
Idhron didn’t look away from Rohan. “Tell him to release my
apprentice.” The unsaid threat was more effective than it had any right to
be, considering that Idhron was outnumbered three to one.
“Look,” Rohan said with a sigh. “We didn’t want to get the kid
involved at all, but it was the only way to get you to talk to us on our
terms.”
“And what makes you think kidnapping a simple apprentice would
make me more cooperative?” Idhron said. “He’s just a boy, one of hundreds
of initiates eager to learn from me. I could have him replaced at a moment’s
notice.”
Rohan glanced at the boy in question. Eridan dropped his gaze, but
Rohan didn’t miss the hurt look that flashed in those violet eyes. Even
Rohan felt a little bad for the boy and he didn’t know him at all. Warrehn
was frowning deeply.
“Then what are you doing here?” Rohan said, looking back at the
Grandmaster. “If he’s so worthless to you?”
Idhron didn’t say anything for a moment. “I didn’t say that he was
worthless. It would be a pity to have wasted years of my time on him if I
were to take another apprentice. He is of some worth to me, but you are
delusional if you think I will not sacrifice him if you try to use him against
me.”
Rohan couldn’t sense any hint of deception, and even rationally, he
knew Idhron must be telling the truth. Why would the Grandmaster of the
High Hronthar care about one boy when he had hundreds of initiates eager
to take his place?
It was all for nothing. They’d risked everything for nothing.
Before Rohan could say anything, Sirri chuckled.
“He’s lying,” she said. When Idhron looked at her, she smirked. “Oh,
you’re good. I would have totally believed you. Except I have a feeling that
what you just said is a load of bullshit and if we believe you, we’ll make a
huge mistake.”
On the inside, Rohan breathed out.
“She has a gift for premonition,” Rohan clarified for Idhron. “So shall
we try again?”
Idhron’s lips thinned. He was silent for a while, looking between
Rohan and Sirri before saying, “What do you want?”
“Stop twisting public opinion against us. That’s our first demand.”
“First? I presume there is a second?”
“You’ll clear our name from the murder of Prince-Consort Mehmer,”
Rohan said. “As long as we’re blamed for the murder of a royal, the
Council won’t even listen to us. We’ll be arrested on the spot.”
Idhron stared at Rohan for a long moment.
Unease twisted Rohan’s gut, his instincts screaming that something
was wrong. He got the strangest feeling that Idhron was in his mind, even
though his shields were fully up and undamaged. Frowning, Rohan focused
on his shields and the strange feeling disappeared. He must have imagined
it.
Idhron smiled. It was a strange, jarring expression that seemed
completely out of place on his blank face.
“Very well,” he said, something like cold amusement glinting in his
eyes. “Now let my apprentice go.”
 “Not so fast,” Warrehn said when the kid tried to free himself. “You
aren’t getting him back until you keep your end of the deal.”
Idhron’s expression became stony. “I am not leaving without my
apprentice.”
Rohan thought it was sickening how adoringly the boy gazed at his
master, as if Idhron’s words meant something besides his unwillingness to
keep his end of the deal. Rohan almost felt sorry for the poor kid before
remembering Sirri’s words. Eridan was no innocent boy. He was entirely
capable of manipulating and tricking people to achieve his means, too.
That didn’t mean the kid couldn’t still be saved if they got him away
from Idhron’s influence.
“Sorry, dear, but you understand that we can’t just trust your word,”
Sirri said sweetly.
“I can hardly trust you, either,” Idhron said. “How do I know that you
will let my apprentice go even if I do as you say?”
“You don’t,” Rohan agreed. “But the difference is, you can’t do
anything to us. It’s not in your interests to tell the Council where the rebels’
base is. You don’t want us to be found. That would destroy the social order
the High Hronthar spent millennia establishing. If other Calluvians see how
much stronger we are, they will be scared. There will likely be war, and
Calluvians won’t want to be shackled by their childhood bonds anymore
while the hated ‘rebels’ are so much stronger. You will lose the unlimited
power you now enjoy.”
Idhron’s eyes grew colder as he spoke. “Then why should I do anything
for you if it all ends the same way, either way?”
Rohan hesitated. He glanced at Warrehn and Sirri, knowing that they
would be pissed off. But he’d been thinking about it for a long time. Idhron
was right: he had no incentive to help them. But he could be given one.
“We could help each other,” Rohan said. Unlike his friends, he had to
think about the bigger picture, despite his distaste for everything the High
Hronthar stood for. He was the governor of Tai’Lehr. He was responsible
for the lives of millions of people. The truth was, they couldn’t afford a full-
blown war against a high-tech planet like Calluvia. They would be crushed
like bugs.
Ignoring Warrehn and Sirri’s bewildered gazes, Rohan met Idhron’s
eyes. “The difference is, if you help us restore our reputation, we won’t
remind the Council of the original reason our ancestors rebelled. We won’t
remind them of the ex-member of the High Hronthar who was disgusted by
his Order’s thirst for power, by the web of deception the Order wove for the
Council, using their fears against them. If the Council actually accepts
Tai’Lehrians, there will be no war, and if there is no war against powerful
telepaths, Calluvians will have little reason to want to break their bonds.
We’ll leave the Order alone, and you’ll be able to keep most of your power
if you play your cards right.”
Sirri made a protesting noise, but Rohan didn’t look at her.
He watched the subtle change in Idhron’s eyes. He was actually
considering it. Good.
“As a show of goodwill, we’ll let your apprentice go,” Rohan said,
ignoring the protesting noise from Warrehn this time. “Think about my
offer. Working together would be beneficial for both of us. It’s the only way
that doesn’t involve heavy losses for both of us.”
Slowly, Idhron nodded. “I will think about it,” he said before looking at
his apprentice. “Eridan.”
The boy practically ran toward him. Eridan grabbed his master’s wrist,
who activated his transponder, and they teleported away.
“Are you out of your mind?” Sirri gritted out, turning to Rohan.
“You shouldn’t have given him the boy,” Warrehn said at the same
time.
Ignoring them, Rohan glanced around. “We should go home, too. It’s
not safe to remain here now that we don’t have Eridan as leverage.”
Sirri snorted. “Why, I thought you were now best friends with that
creep?”
 Rohan gave her a flat look and activated his transponder, knowing that
for all their bitching and grumbling they’d do as ordered. They always did.
Next time he opened his eyes, he was on the orbital station again, for
the first time in over a month. He stared at the gray walls and closed his
eyes, trying to adjust to the resounding silence at the back of his mind.
He managed to school his features into a neutral expression by the time
Sirri and Warrehn materialized next to him.
“Now what?” Sirri said.
“Now we go home and fine-tune our plans while we wait,” Rohan said,
without meeting her gaze.
Home.
It didn’t feel like he was going home.
“And what if the Grandmaster won’t accept your offer?”
Rohan said curtly, “He will.”
He strode toward the hangar bay, trying not to think about what he
would do if Idhron didn’t.
 Chapter 24

The first month after Rohan left was… hectic.

Jamil felt almost grateful for the problems their House faced now that
Seyn’s betrothal to Ksar was broken. Jamil was busy trying to do damage
limitation and choose a new fiancé for Seyn. Despite the scandal the broken
betrothal had caused, there were still hundreds of potential candidates to
consider. Seyn had given Jamil and their mothers free reign, oddly
indifferent to who would replace Ksar as his betrothed. Jamil had an idea
about why his brother seemed so dejected, but he didn’t feel like he could
deal with Seyn’s messy emotions when he couldn’t deal with his own.
His days were so busy Jamil barely had time to breathe.
But nights were a different matter.
At night, he was left alone with his thoughts, alone with the dull ache
where his heart was.
He felt hollow, in a way he hadn’t felt even after Mehmer’s death.
Even spending time with Tmynne didn’t help. He hated himself for
searching for Rohan’s features on her face, hated himself for feeling
disappointed that she was looking more like Jamil every day, losing the few
features she had seemed to share with her other father.
It was unhealthy; Jamil knew that. Tmynne was her own person, not an
extension of Rohan. She deserved to be loved for being herself. She didn’t
have to look like Rohan for Jamil to love her. He did love her. He adored
her, now more than ever. She was the main reason why he got out of bed in
the mornings. Her smile was the only thing that filled his heart with joy, no
matter how short-lived.
He still wished she looked like Rohan. It was selfish and irrational, but
he couldn’t change how he felt.
“Jamil!”
He flinched, nearly spilling the tea he was nursing. He focused his gaze
on the Queen. “Yes, Mother?”
The Queen exchanged a look with the Queen-Consort. They both
radiated concern, and Jamil quickly schooled his features into attentiveness
and reinforced his mental shields. He didn’t want to worry them. They
already had another son to worry about.
“Darling, do you wish to take a break?” the Queen-Consort said
softly. “We have been here for hours. You look tired.”
“I’m fine,” Jamil said, straightening up and turning his gaze to the
hologram in front of them. “You want my opinion on Ambassador Denev? I
think… I think he’s a decent man.”
“Hmm.” The Queen looked thoughtful. “He is. It is rumored that he is
going to be the President of his planet soon.”
“And everyone knows how smitten he is with Seyn,” her wife added
with an approving smile. “Which is as important.”
The Queen’s lips thinned. “Certainly. After Ksar’s despicable treatment
of him, Seyn deserves someone who will appreciate him. He deserves to be
happy.”
Jamil wasn’t at all sure that Seyn would be happy with someone like
Denev. He had a sneaking suspicion that anyone not named Ksar wouldn’t
make his brother happy, anyway. But Ksar and Seyn had made their
choices. It wasn’t his place to question them, no matter how badly he
wanted to smack them both sometimes. They had it so easy. All that
separated them was their pride, which, granted, they both had an abundance
of, but still. They had it so easy.
 “Seyn isn’t the only one who deserves to be happy,” the Queen-Consort
said, watching him with a frown. “Are you sure you’re all right, darling?
You looked so much happier in the past few months. We thought you finally
moved on from Mehmer’s death, but now you seem worse than you were in
those first months.”
“We don’t understand, Jamil,” the Queen added.
Jamil bit his lip, searching for words that wouldn’t be an outright lie.
He couldn’t lie to his mothers. He just couldn’t.
“I knew it would be hard,” he murmured, looking down at his
fingers. “But I still—I need him.” His voice wavered and he clenched his
fingers into fists. “I’m a grown, self-sufficient man. I have a daughter I
adore. I shouldn’t feel this way. I know that.”
“Oh, sweetheart,” the Queen-Consort said, her mental presence
reaching out to give him a telepathic hug.
Jamil closed his eyes, allowing himself to soak in her warmth, her love
for him. For a moment, it helped. For a moment, he felt like everything
would be all right.
But then his mother pulled back, and the cold, hollow feeling seeped
back into his chest.
“There’s nothing worse for a mother than seeing her children
unhappy,” the Queen said, her voice toneless. “And knowing that it is our
fault. We were the ones who chose bondmates for you and Seyn. Of course
we couldn’t know that it would end like this, but…” She shook her head,
pursing her lips. “At times like this, I wish the Bonding Law never existed.”
“It’s not your fault, Mother,” Jamil said, forcing out a smile. “So…
Ambassador Denev?”

***
 A few days later, Seyn accepted Denev’s suit.
Jamil tried not to look at Seyn’s false smile or notice the equally false
happiness Seyn was trying to project for his family’s sake.
Part of him wanted to give his little brother a tight hug and tell him he
understood. Part of him wanted to shake him and tell him to get his head
out of his ass and grab happiness that was actually within Seyn’s reach
instead of choosing to be miserable.
He wanted to shake himself, too. Jamil hated feeling so depressed,
hated that he couldn’t even enjoy his daughter’s little achievements without
wishing for Rohan to see them, too. Sometimes he almost hated Rohan,
hated him for reducing him to this… pathetic, needy being. He was the
Crown Prince of the Third Grand Clan, dammit. He needed to pick himself
up and move on. He owed it to his daughter. Tmynne deserved a better
father than this shell of a man he’d become.
So Jamil forced himself to act like a functional sentient being. He
played with Tmynne for hours, he made sure to spend some time with his
family every day, and he buried himself in work.
He still couldn’t sleep, and on the rare occasion he did, he dreamed of a
warm, achingly familiar mental touch, of strong arms wrapped tightly
around him, of a hoarse, slightly accented voice calling him Love, of the
feeling of absolute rightness and completeness that left him hollow once
Jamil woke up, his eyes wet.
When Seyn ended up in the center of another scandal, caught kissing
his ex-bondmate at the ball, it was almost a relief for Jamil. This was
another distraction, another disastrous situation that needed his full
attention.
He didn’t blame Seyn, despite all the problems his behavior had
created for their House.
Jamil stood, quiet, while their mothers chewed Seyn out.
“We just don’t understand, Seyn,” the Queen said at last, shaking her
head. “That man humiliated you in the worst possible way. He treated you
abominably for years—you said you were happy to be rid of him—and now
you get caught kissing him in public—while you’re both betrothed to other
people! I couldn’t look Ambassador Denev in the eye!”
Seyn dropped his gaze. “I’m sorry, Mother,” he mumbled. “I didn’t
mean to put you in an awkward position.”
“Then why, Seyn?”
Seyn lifted his gaze and smiled, a little guiltily. There was happiness in
his eyes, shining bright despite his guilt. “I love him. It’s always been him
for me. He—he proposed to me and everything. He chose me, Mother.” He
looked giddy.
The Queen’s gaze softened.
She sighed. “Oh, Seyn.” She pulled him close and hugged him. “I’m
happy for you, darling. I just wish you and Ksar had worked it out earlier
without hurting other people and creating unnecessary scandals.”
Seyn shrugged, not looking particularly sorry. He really felt happy,
happy in a way Jamil had never seen his brother. And why wouldn’t Seyn
be? He was in love, his feelings were returned, and he could now be with
the man he loved. Of course he was happy.
Jamil averted his gaze. “I hope Ksar knows what he is doing. The
Council is going to be furious with him for wasting their time.” Ksar was an
excellent, highly respected politician, but even he would have trouble
navigating that minefield of his own creation. The Council had made an
exception for Ksar, allowing him to break his childhood bond to Seyn,
something unheard of, and now Ksar’s complete turnabout wouldn’t exactly
endear him to anyone.
Seyn shrugged. “Yeah, but I’m sure Ksar can handle it.”
Jamil smiled a little. Seyn’s complete confidence in Ksar’s ability to
handle anything was rather endearing. Or rather, it would be endearing if
the object of Seyn’s devotion were someone other than Ksar. After Jamil’s
last less than pleasant encounter with Ksar, he found it hard to think of that
ruthless, arrogant man in the same sentence as the word endearing.
 Thinking of his last encounter with Ksar inevitably led him to thinking
about what had happened afterward. Rohan’s arms wrapped tightly around
him, Rohan’s voice, comforting him and whispering sweet nothings, his firm
body pressed tightly against his own, his familiar, masculine scent —
Jamil turned away, wrapping his arms around himself tightly.
Gods.
He wished Mehmer had never died. He wished he’d never met Rohan.
He wished he’d never known this deep-seated, raw longing. He’d been
happy with Mehmer; he really was. His feelings for Mehmer might have
never been as deep and intense, but he had been perfectly happy not
knowing that such intense feelings were even possible.
He’d heard somewhere that it was better to have loved and lost than
never to have loved at all. As someone who had experienced happiness with
two different men and then lost them, Jamil wanted to hit whoever had said
that. Or perhaps it was true about his relationship with Mehmer: thinking
about their comfortable relationship brought a fond, wistful smile to his lips
now. Thinking about Rohan just brought a gut-wrenching ache in his soul, a
longing so intense he wanted to curl up into a miserable ball of pain and
never wake up.
Maybe all he needed was time.
Time supposedly healed everything, right?
The problem was, a part of him didn’t want to heal. That part of him
couldn’t seem to let go of his illogical hope that everything would
miraculously work out.
I’ll come back to you, Rohan had promised.
At the time, Jamil had almost believed him. It was so easy to believe
anything when he was held in the safety of Rohan’s arms and Rohan was
looking at him as if he were the world.
Now he hated him for telling him that. Rohan had no right to give him
promises he almost certainly wouldn’t be able to keep.
 And yet, he still hoped—irrationally, illogically, against his better
judgment.
But two days later, that tiny little spark of hope was completely
obliterated.
 Chapter 25

Jamil was playing with Tmynne when he heard the commotion. “Your
Highness! Your Highness!”
Frowning, he looked at the maid that practically burst through the
door. “What is the matter?”
The maid was flushed, her eyes wide. “He’s back, Your Highness!”
Against all logic and rationality, Jamil’s heart jumped. “Who is back?”
The maid grinned. “Your husband, Your Highness! He isn’t dead!”
Jamil nearly dropped Tmynne.
“Apparently he just lost his memory and has been living with some
hermit who had no clue who he was! Can you believe that? Oh, you must
be so happy, Your Highness! Your Highness? Are you all right?”
Jamil sat down heavily, staring unseeingly in front of him. Probably
feeling his shock, Tmynne became fussy, trying to wriggle out of his arms.
Instinctively, Jamil pulled her closer, his mind still unable to process what
was happening.
Mehmer was alive? How? Why— Mehmer was alive!
The shock finally receded, changing to disbelief and joy.
He started smiling, but his smile died before it was fully formed.
 Suddenly, he couldn’t breathe.
If Mehmer was alive… if Mehmer was somehow alive, he was still
Jamil’s husband. All this time, this past year and a half, he had been Jamil’s
husband—which meant Jamil had cheated on him, repeatedly.
Nausea rose to his throat. Setting Tmynne down, Jamil staggered to the
bathroom and locked the door with his trembling fingers.
The urge to throw up passed, but he didn’t feel any better. The man he
saw in the mirror looked on the verge of passing out, his eyes dazed and his
face deathly pale.
He slid down to the cold floor and breathed.
He could hear Tmynne’s confused crying and the maid’s attempts to
calm her down. He could hear his own labored breaths. He could feel his
body, trembling uncontrollably. Was he having a panic attack?
Get a grip. You’re the Crown Prince.
But this time, this mantra didn’t work.
You’re a father. Your daughter needs you to take care of her.
That worked, somewhat, but not entirely. He didn’t feel like he could
take care of anyone at the moment. He wanted to be taken care of.
He wanted Rohan.
The thought made him physically ill, but Jamil couldn’t erase it—just
like he couldn’t fight the hot tears that burned his eyes until his vision
became blurry as his heart broke all over again.
He closed his eyes and wondered what he’d done in his past life to
deserve this.

***
 Oh, you must be so happy, Your Highness!
Jamil heard a variation of it probably a hundred times as he walked
toward Mehmer’s rooms at the other end of the Crown Prince’s wing of the
palace. Servants were grinning at him—even the guards had smiles on their
normally stoic faces—and the Queen-Consort was beaming at him from the
door to Mehmer’s rooms.
“Oh, honey.” She hugged him tightly. “I’m so, so happy for you!”
His mother was still saying something, but Jamil could barely hear her,
mostly numb on the inside.
“Jamil?” His mother pulled back and frowned at him. “Are you all
right? I know it must be quite a shock, but—”
“I’m fine, Mother.” Jamil forced a smile. “Just shocked. Is he there?”
The Queen-Consort nodded, still frowning.
Wanting to escape her probing gaze, Jamil entered Mehmer’s
bedroom.
The room was as familiar to him as his own. He’d often spent the night
here, falling asleep with Mehmer in his arms. He had been happy in this
room.
He tried to feel it again. Happiness.
He felt a flicker of it when he saw Mehmer on the bed, tended by the
royal physician. Mehmer’s familiar, dear features were slightly sunken and
his skin was uncharacteristically pale, but it was undoubtedly him. Until
this moment, part of Jamil had thought it was some kind of twisted, sick
joke. Now he knew for certain that it wasn’t.
Mehmer was alive.
Mehmer was back.
Everything was now going back to the way it used to be.
Mehmer lifted his hazel eyes and smiled widely when he saw
Jamil. “Hi there,” he said softly, stretching his hand out.
 Jamil walked over, took his hand, and then collapsed by the bed, his
legs no longer holding him up. He buried his face against Mehmer’s chest,
breathing raggedly, as if there was something wrong with his lungs.
Mehmer squeezed his hand and let out an uncertain laugh. “Hey,
there’s no need for that. I’m here now, love.”
Jamil flinched at the word. The voice was wrong, everything was
wrong—Mehmer’s scent, the shape of his hand, the feel of his chest—it was
all wrong. Nausea rose to his throat again. What was wrong with him? Did
he actually want Mehmer to be dead? On Calluvia, marriage was for life.
Mehmer was his husband. He was Jamil’s trusted, lifelong companion.
They’d been best friends since before they could talk. He loved him, for
heaven’s sake.
Mehmer was alive. That was the important part.
Jamil lifted his head and looked into Mehmer’s eyes. “What—what
happened?” he managed. “Where have you been all this time?”
A wrinkle appeared between Mehmer’s brows. “It’s all a little
confusing in my head, to be honest. I didn’t even remember my own name
for a long time. The old man who found me in the woods said I got a head
trauma and was delirious for months. Apparently I couldn’t even keep my
short-term memory—I kept forgetting what happened the previous day.”
“And he didn’t recognize you?” Jamil found it hard to believe.
Something felt off about this whole story. Why was Mehmer’s aircraft
disintegrated, then? Who disintegrated it? And could a head trauma explain
their childhood bond being torn as if Mehmer had died?
Mehmer shook his head. “He’s a two-hundred-year-old man who lives
away from civilization. He doesn’t exactly follow the gossip magazines on
the members of royalty. He didn’t even have access to the GlobalNet. He
had no clue who I was until I remembered it myself.”
Pushing his doubts away, Jamil squeezed Mehmer’s hand and adopted
an encouraging smile he usually used around Mehmer. It felt unnatural on
his face, after so long. “Okay. You’re here now. That’s the important part.”
 Mehmer smiled back and winced, grabbing his head. “Do you mind if
we talk later? My head is still killing me.”
“Of course,” Jamil said, hiding his own relief. “You should rest.” He
gestured to the royal physician to follow him out of the room and turned to
him once they were outside. His mother was nowhere to be seen, probably
gone to tell the news to the Queen.
“How is he?” Jamil said.
“The prince-consort is in satisfactory health, Your Highness. His head
trauma healed rather badly under unprofessional care, but it shouldn’t have
long-term consequences for his health.” He hesitated. “Obviously I also ran
security tests. It is a normal procedure when someone who was declared
dead is suddenly found alive.”
Jamil nodded, wincing a little. There had been precedents of clones of
deceased political figures being sent to assume their position. It happened
rarely but often enough to make security tests the normal procedure in such
cases.
The physician smiled. “I’m happy to report to you that the prince-
consort is indeed back, Your Highness. It is undoubtedly him.”
Jamil thanked the physician and left.
All the way back to Tmynne’s room, he was stopped by the smiling,
excited people eager to tell him how happy they were for him. Jamil smiled
back, thanked them, and continued walking.
He dismissed Tmynne’s nurse and locked the door behind her.
He pressed his forehead against the door, taking in a deep, shuddering
breath.
Tmynne made a demanding sound.
Slowly, Jamil turned around and stared at his five-month-old daughter.
Rohan’s daughter.
His throat aching, he took Tmynne into his arms and cradled her to his
chest.
 Closing his eyes, Jamil breathed in her sweet scent, and keened like a
wounded animal.
 Chapter 26

The thing about living on a planet that didn’t have access to the
GlobalNet was that they got galactic news very delayed. Of course, there
were still ways to get news reasonably fast: Rohan had spaceships
patrolling the Shibal-Kuvasi war zone, and they monitored the GlobalNet
for anything that could be urgent and relevant to Tai’Lehr’s interests. His
people could record the news and deliver them on a shuttle to Tai’Lehr, if
needed. But it wasn’t very efficient, and usually Rohan didn’t insist on it
unless the news seemed of the utmost importance. That was why old-
fashioned paper magazines were still so popular on Tai’Lehr—they arrived
faster on smuggler ships and were generally more reliable than news
distorted incomprehensibly just because someone had heard something
wrong.
That was how Rohan found out.
He stared at the glossy magazine that was deposited on his desk among
many others and at first he didn’t understand what he was seeing.
FAIRY-TALE HAPPY ENDING
THE GOLDEN COUPLE REUNITED
LOVE THAT DEFEATED DEATH
On the cover, Jamil was smiling at a handsome, golden-haired man
who had an arm around Jamil’s waist.
 His vision turned red so fast that for a moment Rohan didn’t even
recognize that man. His brain couldn’t compute it, or maybe refused to.
Distantly, he could understand what the article was saying: the prince-
consort, alive, back with Jamil, fairy-tale reunion, and so on and so forth.
A savage rage clogged his chest. Now Idhron’s amusement made a lot
more sense. Rohan had asked—demanded—that the rebels’ name was
cleared from Mehmer’s murder. Idhron had kept his side of the deal,
technically.
This would teach him to make deals with the devil.
Crumpling the magazine in his hand, Rohan stared unseeingly in front
of him. Part of him, the distant part that was still able to think as the
governor of the colony, knew that it was good news, excellent news even.
With the prince-consort miraculously alive, the main reason for the recent
bad press was gone. Now nothing prevented them from going through with
their plans.
But his thoughts kept returning to that hand on Jamil’s waist, the hand
that belonged to another man, who was touching Jamil as though it were his
right.
But then again, it was. That man was Jamil’s husband. He had every
right to touch Jamil, every right to kiss him, to hold him close, to—
A growl, low and guttural, ripped out of his throat.
Rohan took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to control his rage.
This wasn’t him. He wasn’t a hothead like Warrehn, unable to control
his temper. He had always prided himself on his ability to keep a cool head
and stay in control of his emotions when needed. He wasn’t supposed to
feel like killing a man he’d never met, a man who, by all accounts, was a
good man, only because—only because he coveted that man’s husband.
The thought made Rohan clench his hands into fists. Everything in him
rebelled at the idea of Jamil being anyone’s but his. He felt nauseous
thinking that at this very moment, the prince-consort might be kissing
Jamil’s soft, pretty lips, that he might be putting his mouth and his hands all
over Jamil’s body—
 The thought was maddening, but why wouldn’t he? Under the law,
Mehmer had every right. He was Jamil’s spouse. He’d touched and fucked
Jamil long before Rohan had even met him. He was Jamil’s first: first kiss,
first sexual experience, first love. Jamil was probably beyond happy now.
He sure looked happy in those pictures, with his husband all over him.
Stop thinking about it, damn you. Are you a fucking masochist?
Rohan sagged back in his chair and closed his eyes, trying to calm
himself.
A breath in, a breath out.
It didn’t work.
He wanted a drink.
Get a grip. You have a colony to think about. You can get smashingly
drunk later. Now isn’t the time.
Setting his jaw, Rohan opened his eyes and switched on the intercom.
He told his secretary, “Call an emergency meeting of the Senate, Yiesme.”

***

In the end, after more than half a day of heated debate that lasted well
into the night, they settled on the simplest plan: approach Calluvia as an
official delegation from Tai’Lehr and request an audience with the Queen of
the Third Grand Clan, since she was their monarch. Depending on how the
meeting went, they would request either the colony’s exit from Calluvia or
legalization of their status.
Rohan didn’t like the plan. He’d wanted to approach the Council
directly, instead of approaching the Third Grand Clan first, but he’d been
outvoted, despite having a third of the Senate’s votes. At times like this,
Rohan couldn’t help but think fondly of the time the governor had had
absolute power.
 He felt sick at the mere thought of returning to Jamil’s home as a
stranger and seeing Jamil happy with his precious Mehmer, seeing their
daughter in another man’s arms. It ate at him, like a poison.
“What’s wrong with you?” Sirri said after the meeting was over. “You
were acting like you were at a funeral!”
Rohan turned away, not in the mood for Sirri now.
Truth be told, he wasn’t in the mood for anything. He was tired,
physically and mentally, and ached for that bottle of Shibian vodka he had
at his office and the sweet oblivion it would bring. He didn’t want to think
now, his head too loud and his chest too tight.
“Just leave it, Sirri,” he muttered half-heartedly, walking away from
her.
“Whatever it is, you’d better be at your best tomorrow!” she yelled at
his back. They had another meeting before leaving for Calluvia the day
after tomorrow.
“I will be,” Rohan murmured, a humorless smile twisting his face as he
entered his office and locked the door.
He walked to the mini-bar that he kept mostly for his visitors.
Opening the bottle of Shibian vodka, Rohan took a big gulp, letting the
drink burn his throat.
Tomorrow, he would be at his best.
Tomorrow, he would be the governor his people needed, ready to do his
duty.
But tonight, he was just a man.
 Chapter 27

Prince-Consort Mehmer leaned against the doorway, watching his

husband kiss his daughter good night.
In all the years of their marriage, he’d never seen Jamil look so… soft.
Granted, the child was ridiculously cute, but still. Jamil held the child like
she was the most precious thing in the world, inhaling her scent deeply, as if
she was something more than a tiny person that could only eat, shit, and
sleep.
“She looks like you,” Mehmer said.
Jamil’s back stiffened. Kissing Tmynne on the forehead, he put her into
her crib and murmured something to her nurse.
“Yes, everyone says so,” Jamil said with a smile that didn’t quite reach
his eyes. He all but pushed Mehmer out of the child’s room and closed the
door.
Mehmer raised his eyebrows. Not for the first time, he got the
impression that Jamil didn’t like it when he got close to his daughter—
which was pretty damn weird, considering that Mehmer had been
magnanimous enough to tell his husband that he would raise the kid as his
own. He had told Jamil that he understood that Jamil had needed an heir
and had no choice but to use another man’s genetic material. He had
expected… not gratitude, exactly, but… something other than this strange
possessiveness.
One might think Jamil didn’t want him to be her father.
It wasn’t the only thing strange about Jamil’s behavior.
He seemed oddly distant. Even now, Jamil was striding away toward
his bedroom as if he hoped Mehmer wouldn’t be able to keep up with him.
It was starting to piss him off, to be honest. Mehmer glared at Jamil’s back.
Against his will, his gaze traveled down, to Jamil’s round, perfect ass, and
his cock twitched as he remembered digging his fingers into it as Jamil
fucked him that last night before his… death.
Dammit, he was so horny. He had the most handsome man on the
planet as a husband and he was sexually frustrated as hell, because said
husband had shown no interest whatsoever in pounding him into the
mattress. Hell, Jamil hadn’t even kissed him for real since his return,
treating him as if he had a life-threatening injury. Mehmer had tried to be
patient, he really had—he knew how uptight Jamil could be—but a man had
limits, okay?
Mehmer followed Jamil into his bedroom, determined to get to the
bottom of it—and hopefully finally get fucked.
“Are you avoiding me, Jamil?”
Jamil’s shoulders tensed up. Slowly, he turned around. Mehmer licked
his lips, taking in his strikingly handsome features. Jamil somehow
managed to be gorgeous without looking feminine, his firm jaw contrasting
with his plush, sensual lips and wavy brown locks.
“Of course not,” Jamil said, averting his gaze.
Mehmer scoffed. “Right. I was declared completely healthy three days
ago, but you still haven’t come to my bedroom.”
Jamil’s jaw clenched slightly. He tugged his cravat off. “I have been
swarmed with work.”
Mehmer rolled his eyes. “You always have been. It never stopped you
from fucking me.”
 The old Jamil would have laughed and told him to cease using such
vulgar language.
This Jamil just pursed his lips, a wrinkle appearing between his
eyebrows. He still wouldn’t look at Mehmer.
Mehmer sighed. Jamil had always had a bit of a stick in his ass; it was
probably natural that he’d gotten even more uptight without him.
“Is this about our lack of bond?” Mehmer said. “I mean, I get that it’s a
little awkward now—we feel a bit like strangers, right? But the
awkwardness won’t go away if we don’t make an effort to move past it.”
And by ‘move past it’ he obviously meant fucking the awkwardness out of
Mehmer’s ass.
“It probably doesn’t help that our bond is gone,” Jamil said, turning
away to unbutton his jacket. “A bond makes intimacy easier.”
Mehmer’s eyebrows furrowed. If Jamil thought about sex in terms of
easier, there really was something wrong. They’d always had a good sex
life. Granted, Jamil had never seemed as enthusiastic about sex as he was,
but he’d never denied him a thorough fucking when Mehmer was in the
mood.
“What’s wrong, Jamil?” Mehmer said with a frown, his horniness
forgotten.
Jamil sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I have something to tell
you.” He was silent for a while, his back still to Mehmer. “When you were
presumed dead, I had—I had a… liaison with another man.”
Mehmer blinked. He would have been less surprised if Jamil told him
he was rejecting his crown prince duties. He felt a little hurt too, though he
knew it was irrational. He had been presumed dead. He could hardly expect
his widower to be a monk for the rest of his life.
“Why are you telling me this? Are you feeling guilty about it?”
Knowing Jamil, he was probably beating himself up over it. Mehmer shook
his head with a wry smile. Walking over to Jamil, he took his shoulder and
forced him to look at him. “Is that why you don’t want to touch me?
Because you feel guilty?”
 Jamil’s eyes were full of contradictory emotions. “Of course I feel
guilty,” he said with a laugh. “But it’s not just that.”
Mehmer searched his face.
He let out an uncertain chuckle. “What, you liked his ass so much
better that you can’t get it up for mine?”
Jamil’s expression became pinched. “I never… I didn’t fuck him,
Mehmer. He fucked me.”
Oh.
Mehmer stared at Jamil, absolutely stunned. He’d always assumed
Jamil liked being on top, that he was fine with Mehmer pretty much always
being the one to take his cock rather than vice versa. Fuck, how had he not
noticed that? Except he had. He’d always known Jamil wasn’t as
enthusiastic about sex as him, but he’d assumed Jamil just had a low sex
drive. It hadn’t even occurred to Mehmer that he was being selfish in bed.
“We can switch, I guess,” Mehmer said, his forehead wrinkling. Jamil
was certainly beautiful enough to inspire the desire to fuck him in any man
—any man but Mehmer. Mehmer blamed it on his throwback genes: he was
naturally submissive when it came to sex and had no inclination to fuck and
take. The few times he’d fucked Jamil in all the years of their marriage had
been… not bad, exactly… but definitely weird. Still, if Jamil actually
preferred being fucked too, it would be extremely selfish of Mehmer not to
find a compromise that made everyone happy. “I could fuck you,” he said,
firmer, feigning enthusiasm. “Sometimes.”
Jamil let out a laugh, shaking his head. “I know how much you don’t
like it, so it isn’t exactly arousing to force you into it. And it isn’t—it isn’t
just about sex, Mehmer. I need—” He cut himself off, looking away.
Mehmer frowned again, studying him.
His mouth fell open. “You got attached.”
Jamil flinched. His throat working, he looked down. “It’ll pass. You’re
my husband. You’re… very dear for me. I’ll forget him. I will. I promise.”
 Mehmer wondered if Jamil realized how unconvincing he sounded.
Now that Mehmer looked at him—really looked at him—he could see the
dark circles under Jamil’s eyes, the air of desperation around him. Despite
being tall and muscular, Jamil had never looked so small. Fragile. It
seemed as though he was holding himself together only by sheer force of
will and might break at the slightest provocation.
So Mehmer pushed away his own hurt and wounded pride and tried to
be a good friend. They had been friends before they were husbands, best
friends since before they could talk. This was nothing they couldn’t
overcome. “Hey,” he said softly. “Come here.” He pulled Jamil’s tense body
into a hug and stroked his rigid back until Jamil relaxed slightly in his arms.
The hug was still a little awkward and strange. He wasn’t used to hugging
Jamil and giving him comfort—it was normally the other way around, with
Mehmer being the more emotional, sensitive one. It had always seemed
natural to him: Jamil was the eldest brother, the Crown Prince, and had
always been much better at being the strong, responsible one than Mehmer
was. But at that moment, he could feel that the man he held in his arms
wasn’t capable of being his rock; he was worn thin at the edges and needed
something Mehmer was ill-equipped to provide him with.
“Who is he?” Mehmer said, unsure why he was even asking. He didn’t
know if he wanted to punch the guy in the face for turning Jamil into
someone Mehmer didn’t recognize or demand him to fix Jamil.
“No one you will ever meet.”
 Chapter 28

Jamil sat in the throne room next to his mother, a polite expression on
his face.
He’d always disliked the Court days. In the old days, it was an
opportunity for ordinary people to get an audience with their monarch and
try to resolve their problems. In modern times, it was nothing more than an
opportunity for the nobles to gather and gossip about everyone and
everything.
Jamil could barely focus on smiling and nodding to people who bowed
to him. His sleepless night certainly didn’t help his concentration.
Last night’s conversation with Mehmer both eased his conscience and
made him feel guiltier.
We’ll figure it out, Mehmer had told him, hugging him awkwardly, and
left.
Jamil wasn’t sure how they were supposed to figure it out when even
hugging Mehmer felt just plain wrong—when he wished for another man’s
arms around him, another man’s voice whispering endearments into his ear
—when he felt guilty even for needing comfort, knowing that Mehmer
wanted him to be the strong one.
Until Mehmer’s return, Jamil had forgotten what it felt like to be under
the constant pressure to be someone perfectly in control—to be someone he
wasn’t. With Mehmer, he couldn’t let go even in the privacy of his own
rooms; he always had to play the role of a man who would take care of
everything. Last night, he could see how much his weakness threw Mehmer
off. It had made Jamil feel even worse than he already did. And for the first
time in his life, he felt something like resentment toward Mehmer. Rohan
had never made him feel bad for being less than the perfect Crown Prince.
With Rohan, he could be as weak as he wanted without feeling judged;
Rohan had actually seemed to like being needed.
Jamil winced, realizing that once again, he was thinking obsessively
about Rohan when he should have been thinking about Mehmer, his
husband. His kind, wonderful, understanding husband who deserved better.
These guilty, restless thoughts had plagued him all night. He hadn’t
gotten a wink of sleep, so he found it even harder to focus in the court than
it normally was.
Later, Jamil would blame his exhaustion for his inattentiveness.
As it was, he only noticed Rohan when he lifted his eyes and saw him
practically in front of him.
For a moment, Jamil thought he was hallucinating. It wouldn’t be the
first time he imagined Rohan coming back. But never had he imagined
meeting Rohan in his mother’s throne room.
Jamil stared at him, feeling stunned.
Rohan looked… normal: his tattoos were hidden under his long sleeves
and impeccably tied cravat, and his elegant clothes concealed the raw,
aggressive strength of his body. He looked like the average aristocrat
coming to greet his monarch.
Which he was, Jamil realized dazedly, watching Rohan bow to the
Queen, who sat in her throne beside Jamil.
Queen Janesh nodded gracefully. “I am pleased to finally meet you,
Lord Tai’Lehr. My condolences on your father’s death.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty.”
Jamil shivered at that slightly accented, low voice, so familiar and—
 Stop that. You’re married. You’re in a room full of people who all
watch you, waiting for the slightest misstep.
“Allow me to introduce you to my son and heir, Crown Prince
Jamil’ngh’veighli,” the Queen said, gesturing to Jamil slightly.
Finally—finally—Rohan looked at him, his eyes unreadable.
Nothing happened.
The bond at the back of Jamil’s mind didn’t even stir, as if Rohan
wasn’t right there in front of him. The mental draw that he used to feel
whenever they locked eyes wasn’t there, either.
It made Jamil question his sanity. Was this real? Why could he see
Rohan, but couldn’t feel him at all?
And why, when there was no mental attraction, did he still feel like a
starved person when he looked at Rohan?
Jamil licked his dry lips, hoping he didn’t look as lost as he felt.
“Your Highness,” Rohan said after what seemed like forever, giving
him an impeccable, impersonal bow.
Jamil just nodded, unable to speak.
He was incredibly relieved when his mother did.
“We are so glad to have you here,” the Queen said, smiling
graciously. “It has been a long time since we had a delegation from
Tai’Lehr. You and your people will stay in the palace, of course.”
Jamil’s stomach squirmed with dread. No. Please no. He wasn’t strong
enough.
“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Rohan said with another bow. He glanced
around the court. “May I request a private audience with you, to discuss
matters of the state, Your Majesty?”
The Queen’s eyebrows lifted slightly. “Of course,” she said after a
moment. “But I’m sure you are tired after your long journey. I have
meetings today that I cannot postpone, but I think I have time tomorrow
morning.” She glanced at her secretary, who nodded.
Jamil could barely listen anymore.
Rohan was really there. Rohan had kept his promise and had come
back. Except it didn’t matter anymore, did it?
Jamil swallowed, looking down at his hands.
He was only vaguely aware of his mother and Rohan exchanging some
meaningless small talk, of curious looks directed at Rohan and his people,
of holocamera flashes, of whispers that easily reached his ears.
“It’s been decades since the last delegation from Tai’Lehr.”
“I thought it was impossible to travel through the war zone?”
“They must be here on some important business.”
“Have you seen his eyes? Lord Tai’Lehr’s? I’ve never seen eyes so
black.”
“Forget his eyes, have you seen his skin? He looks like he spends all
day in the sun!”
“Is Tai’Lehr a desert? It must be hot there.”
A part of him couldn’t believe that no one recognized Rohan as the
manservant he’d had for a brief time. But then again, no one noticed
servants. And Rohan had always made sure to either wipe people’s
memories of him or compel them into not noticing him.
“Jamil?”
Flinching, Jamil looked at his mother and flushed, realizing that she
was already on her feet and must have been trying to get his attention for
some time.
“Yes, Your Majesty?” he said, standing up as well. It took an incredible
effort not to look at the man to her right.
I’m married, married, married.
 “Darling, make sure Lord Tai’Lehr and his people are comfortable, will
you?”
Clearing his throat, Jamil said, looking in front of him, “Please follow
me.” He headed toward Weyrn, their Master of the Household, without
looking back but knowing that Rohan and the three people he’d brought
with him were following him. Weyrn had met Rohan when Rohan was a
zywern trainer, but he looked at Rohan as if he was seeing him for the first
time in his life. It made Jamil question his sanity again. It didn’t seem real.
None of it seemed real.
He spoke to Weyrn and asked him to find appropriate apartments for
Rohan’s retinue. Weyrn said something. Jamil said something back. It all
sounded vaguely sensible, but he wouldn’t be able to repeat what they were
saying if his life depended on it.
It was all so surreal.
Jamil’s knees felt unsteady. His body felt like it didn’t even belong to
him anymore, doing things on autopilot, independent from his brain. His
brain seemed to be independent from his heart, too. No matter how many
times he told himself that he was married, that nothing could happen
between them, his heart ached. Ached and hurt. He wanted to turn around,
cling to Rohan, and beg him to take him away, his duty and his husband be
damned.
But of course he couldn’t. He was the Crown Prince. He had a
husband, and it wasn’t the man who was walking a few steps behind him.
Rohan was his lord-vassal. Mehmer was his husband.
Jamil repeated it like a mantra, like a spell, like it was everything he
had to keep himself sane, as he accompanied the guests to their apartments.
Normally, he wouldn’t bother. It was hardly the Crown Prince’s job. Weyrn
could have managed to do it perfectly fine on his own. But Jamil couldn’t
bring himself to leave, not yet. Even the knowledge that there could never
be anything between them didn’t completely kill the primitive joy he was
feeling from Rohan’s mere proximity. He felt more alive than he’d felt in
ages, as if everything was finally right with the world.
Nothing was fucking right with the world.
 At last, they reached the apartments. Jamil struggled to keep a polite
expression on his face as Weyrn showed Rohan’s people their rooms.
Rohan stayed back.
Jamil did, too.
The moment they were alone in the apartment’s living room, Rohan
cleared his throat.
“How are you?” Rohan said tersely, without looking at him, his mind
like an impenetrable fortress.
“Good,” Jamil lied, looking down.
He could see Rohan’s hand clench into a fist. “Congratulations on the
prince-consort’s return.”
Jamil nodded.
“You must be ecstatic.”
His gaze snapped up to Rohan.
Their eyes locked, and everything just… fell away. It wasn’t their bond
or the Fit—their mental compatibility still seemed curiously gone—just
Rohan’s eyes locked with his.
Jamil didn’t know what was in his eyes, but Rohan’s were a bottomless
pit of anger and want. A black abyss. So easily captivating they were. So
easy to fall into.
Jamil’s mind surged toward him, brushing against Rohan’s shields
desperately. Let me in, touch me, touch me, why can’t I feel you?
Rohan’s jaw clenched. He glared at Jamil.
“Sorry,” Jamil murmured, flushing and looking down, absolutely
mortified.
He could feel Rohan’s gaze on his face, intense and heavy. Jamil bit his
bottom lip, and looked up at him from under his eyelashes.
Rohan’s stony expression shattered.
 In two long strides, he was in front of Jamil. His hands were reaching
out to Jamil’s face when Jamil managed, “I’m married.”
Rohan flinched back, like a zywern reined back in.
And it was a good thing that he did, because at that moment, Weyrn
returned, and his eyes were far too curious for Jamil’s liking.
Recovering, Rohan gave him a formal bow. “Thank you for your
hospitality, Your Highness,” he said. He hesitated before he picked up
Jamil’s hand and clasped it with his own.
Jamil barely managed to keep his polite smile.
There was nothing wrong or inappropriate about Rohan’s gesture. It
was a little old-fashioned but still a perfectly acceptable way to show
gratitude and respect.
What was inappropriate was the way Jamil’s pale fingers trembled and
clung to Rohan’s darker ones, unable to let go.
Rohan’s nostrils flared, his jaw tightening.
For a fraction of a moment, Rohan’s fingers squeezed Jamil’s before
slowly dragging back. Jamil almost whined when they did.
Not trusting his face anymore, he walked away quickly.
He had no idea how he got to his rooms.
Once the door was closed behind him, Jamil fell back against it and
looked at his hand. His fingers were still trembling. He was trembling, all
over, like a substance addict who was allowed to see his favorite drug
before it was cruelly taken away again.
With a small sound, Jamil brought his shaking hand to his face,
breathing in deeply, greedily. Rohan’s scent, so familiar and good, still
clung to it, or maybe he was desperate enough to imagine that it did. Jamil
pressed his quivering lips to his hand, kissing and nuzzling it as he shoved
his other hand into his pants, stroking his erection with fast, desperate
strokes, Rohan’s black eyes imprinted behind his eyelids.
It took an embarrassingly short time for him to come.
 When he did, Jamil slid down to the floor and hugged his knees to his
chest, feeling beyond pathetic.
Pathetic. Loose. Unfaithful.
The worst part was the knowledge that if Rohan entered the room at
this moment, Jamil would spread his legs for him immediately, his
conscience be damned. Or perhaps it wasn’t that part that scared him the
most.
He was scared that it wouldn’t feel wrong.
 Chapter 29

“What the fuck was that?”

Rohan tore his gaze away from the zywern enclosure that was visible
from the window of his room. “What?”
Warrehn gave him a hard look, and, after glancing toward the living
room where Sirri and Derrel were talking, he shut the door and crossed his
arms over his massive chest. “The prince.”
Rohan loosened his cravat. “What about him?”
Warrehn gave him a flat look. “Cut the crap. You stared at him like you
wanted to put your mouth all over him. And your shields started leaking
emotions the moment you saw him in the throne room. At first I couldn’t
understand who was causing it, but it didn’t take me long to figure it out,
with the way you looked at him.”
Rohan’s jaw worked. So it seemed even wearing a bond inhibitor
hadn’t helped him to keep himself together. He had hoped that being unable
to feel the mental attraction to Jamil would stop him from being so obvious.
Truth be told, he had hoped that the bond inhibitor would make him not feel
a thing for Jamil—after all, their entire relationship had started because they
had been unable to resist their mental attraction to each other. But the
inhibitor didn’t change a thing as far as his emotions were concerned; it just
made him feel more frustrated because of his inability to feel Jamil’s mind
on a more intimate level than a very superficial one.
“Stay out of it, Warrehn,” Rohan said, his voice more clipped than he
would have liked. “That’s none of your business.”
Warrehn frowned. “Since when is that prince your business? That’s
what I don’t get.” His lips twisted into a rare smile. “I mean, I get the
appeal: he has a gorgeous face and equally nice ass, nice enough to make
even a hetero like you stare, but it wasn’t just lust that I sensed.”
Fighting back the urge to snap at Warrehn not to talk about Jamil in
that way, Rohan averted his gaze. He considered lying, but then he thought
better of it. He did want to talk to someone. If he didn’t talk to someone, he
might fucking explode. He needed Warrehn to talk some sense into him,
before he did something crazy.
The fact that he wanted Warrehn to talk some sense into him probably
said a lot about how on edge he was.
Rohan sighed. “We were involved for months while I was on
Calluvia.”
“Really?” Warrehn said, his heavy brows drawing close. “People call
him Ice Prince. He seems very… proper and cold.”
“It isn’t true,” Rohan said, smiling involuntarily at the memory of the
times he’d managed to make Jamil behave very improperly. He thought
about Jamil’s wide, happy smile and infectious laugh as Rohan kissed his
tummy after kissing Tmynne’s. No, Jamil wasn’t cold at all. He was warm,
so very warm that Rohan wanted to bury himself in him and just enjoy the
delicious warmth surrounding him.
“Fucking hell. You’re in love with him.”
Rohan tensed, but the words of denial got stuck in his throat.
He looked at his friend and didn’t say anything. Couldn’t.
Warrehn grimaced, shaking his head. “Dammit, Rohan. He’s married. I
guess you didn’t know that his husband was still alive when you fucked
him, but now you do. Forget him. They have a daughter together.”
 “She’s mine,” Rohan snapped. He turned away, gripping the
windowsill. And Jamil’s mine, too.
Except he wasn’t. In fact, Jamil’s husband lived under this very roof.
He might be kissing Jamil at this very moment, and Rohan couldn’t do a
thing about it.
“Whatever you’re thinking about, stop before you make everyone in
the palace realize that you aren’t a low-level telepath.”
Taking a deep breath, Rohan closed his eyes and reinforced his mental
shields, trying to rein in his emotions. Warrehn was right. His control, or
lack thereof, was unacceptable. For a high-level telepath, control was
everything. He could actually end up hurting someone. He could ruin
everything they’d been preparing for for years just because he coveted
another man’s husband.
Another man’s husband.
The thought made him sick.
“I was going to come back for them, you know,” Rohan admitted,
looking at the zywern enclosure. He laughed, bitterly. “I thought my status
as a ‘rebel’ was the biggest obstacle we faced. But apparently Idhron didn’t
even have the decency to kill that motherfucker—”
“You don’t mean it,” Warrehn said.
Rohan laughed. “The messed up part is, I absolutely mean it. I wish
Mehmer was actually dead.”
Warrehn didn’t say anything for a long time.
At last, he said, “You should forget about him. On Calluvia, marriage is
for life. You know that.”
Of course he knew that. Things weren’t all that different on Tai’Lehr,
either. Although divorce was possible on Tai’Lehr, it rarely happened,
because people usually married only when they found a decent Fit. Natural
compatibility only got better with time, so divorce was practically unheard
of.
 On Calluvia, divorce wasn’t possible legally, since childhood bonds
were never meant to be broken. Of course, that might change with the
recent amendment to the Bonding Law, which allowed people to petition
for dissolution of their childhood bond. But last Rohan heard, only three
petitions out of thousands had been approved by the Council and the High
Hronthar. He didn’t have much hope that things would really change
anytime soon.
“It wouldn’t matter,” Rohan said with a bitter smile. “Jamil would
hardly want to ditch his throne and his fairy-tale romance to run away with
me.”
“I don’t know him well, but a man happy with his fairy-tale romance
wouldn’t look at you the way he did.”
Rohan told himself not to ask. That way led only to madness.
But of course he did.
“And how did he look at me?” he said, his back still to Warrehn. He
had noticed Jamil’s gaze, of course, but he didn’t trust his own judgment
when it came to this. He was afraid he was just seeing what he wanted to
see.
“The way a married man has no business looking at a man who isn’t
his husband,” Warrehn said gruffly. “You two couldn’t have been more
obvious.”
“You have the advantage of being a Class 6 telepath. If we really were
that obvious, other people would have noticed, too.”
“Maybe they did, but they could hardly come forward and accuse their
married Crown Prince of staring hungrily at his lord-vassal.”
Rohan let out a laugh. “Don’t be ridiculous. He barely looked at me.”
Warrehn snorted. “Sure. But when he did, he looked like he’d drop to
his knees and suck your cock right there if you told him to.”
The cock in question twitched from the image. Rohan couldn’t help but
imagine Jamil’s plump, red lips wrapped around his cock right there in the
throne room, those green eyes looking up at him dazedly as Jamil sucked
him off in front of his own court. Jamil would absolutely get off on it, too,
on being watched by his own subjects as he pleasured Rohan.
Warrehn cleared his throat. “Whatever you’re thinking about, please do
it when I’m not in the room,” he grunted. “Because ugh. Gross.”
“That’s rich, coming from you,” Rohan said.
“At least I never fucked a married crown prince of my own grand clan.
Aren’t you two related?”
“Fuck you. All nobles are related if you want to be pedantic about it.
Our ancestors being brothers a few thousand years ago is hardly a close
relation.”
“Point. But a daughter, really? Have you lost your mind?”
Rohan pulled a face, suppressing the urge to tell him how beautiful and
precious Tmynne was. He knew what Warrehn meant, of course. He had no
right to give away his firstborn. It could lead to a succession dispute if
anyone found out.
“He asked,” Rohan said shortly.
Warrehn’s silence spoke louder than any words.
At last, Warrehn said, “You know you’re like a brother to me.”
Rohan braced himself. It was never a good sign when Warrehn
voluntarily talked about feelings. But of course Rohan knew that he was the
closest thing to family Warrehn had had for the past nineteen years.
Warrehn had been a ten-year-old kid when he’d come to live with them at
Lehr Manor. No one quite knew how to treat him, as Warrehn was
something between a prisoner and guest, until a seventeen-year-old Rohan
had taken him under his wing. Gradually, he became genuinely fond of that
unsmiling, grim-eyed boy, and they built something of a friendship that
grew only stronger as Warrehn became older.
“I used to look up to you when I was a kid,” Warrehn said, his voice
gruff. “I used to think that you had an answer for everything, always so
confident and in control. I’ve never seen you like this: doing stupid,
reckless things that can get you in a shitload of trouble if people find out. To
be honest, it’s a bit of a relief, to know that you’re only a man. But I wish
you’d chosen some other way to fuck up. Because this? Is beyond a fuck-
up. You’re fucked, and you’re going to drag all of us down with you when
this blows up in your face.”
Rohan’s shoulders hunched.
“I know, okay?” he bit out.
“Are you going to stay away from him, then?”
Rohan gritted his teeth.
He tried to say yes.
He wanted to say yes.
But nothing came out.
 Chapter 30

Jamil couldn’t sleep.

He felt too restless and warm, for reasons he tried not to think about,
tried being the key word.
Rohan is here under this very roof.
He’s probably asleep right now, sprawled on his back, as he loves, with
his arms spread wide, his chest rising and falling evenly, all that smooth,
dark skin practically begging for Jamil’s mouth on it.
Or maybe Rohan can’t sleep either, his body as on edge as Jamil’s.
Maybe Rohan is touching himself, his hand stroking that dark, thick cock of
his—
Groaning, Jamil sat up in his bed, grimacing at the bulge in his
underwear.
He refused to masturbate—again. His cock felt oversensitive and his
hole was still a little sticky and sore from his earlier failed attempt to sate
the hunger in him and finally fall asleep.
Throwing on a black sleeping robe over his shirtless body, Jamil left
his rooms. If he couldn’t sleep he might as well check on his daughter. He
might be a terrible husband, but he refused to be a bad father, too.
 It was dark and quiet in the halls of the palace, even the servants long
asleep.
Jamil’s heart jumped in fear when he saw a dark shape leaving
Tmynne’s room.
The other person froze, looking in his direction.
The corridor was too dark to see the person’s face, but something in
the way the man held himself was painfully familiar.
Jamil licked his lips, his heartbeat quickening for an entirely different
reason.
The man headed toward Jamil and stopped in front of him.
Gods.
Jamil took in a shaky breath and leaned heavily against the wall as the
subtle, masculine scent hit his nostrils, so familiar and achingly good.
The other man put a hand on the wall beside Jamil’s face and leaned
in.
His stomach fluttering like crazy, Jamil turned his head to the side,
Rohan’s stubble scratching his flushed cheek and hot breath brushing his
ear. Jamil let out a small whine, his cock so hard he could barely think. He
knew that this was wrong, so wrong, but he needed him, needed something,
anything.
As long as they didn’t—as long as they didn’t touch each other, it was
okay, right? If they didn’t touch each other, if they couldn’t see each other,
if they didn’t speak, it wasn’t real. It could be a dream. This wasn’t really
happening. They were doing nothing wrong: just standing close, breathing
in each other and nothing more, no matter how badly the scant air between
their bodies vibrated with tension and want.
Rohan suddenly shuddered, a sound tearing out of his throat,
something horrible and broken. “Go, damn you,” he bit off.
Jamil went.
 He stumbled into his room and all but fell into his bed. He didn’t even
bother taking his robe off, just kicked his underwear down his legs.
Grabbing the toy that he’d pleasured himself with earlier, Jamil pushed it
back inside him, his other hand fisting his throbbing cock. He whimpered,
his eyes squeezed shut as the encounter in the darkness played in his head,
over and over.
Only this time, he didn’t leave. In his imagination, he let Rohan turn
him around and take him right there, without any prep whatsoever. It hurt,
but he deserved to hurt. It still felt beyond good, his hole wrapping snugly
around Rohan’s thick cock as Rohan fucked him roughly against that wall,
his grip on Jamil’s hips bruising. Jamil could only moan and push back on
Rohan’s cock, uncaring that anyone could come across them, that anyone
might turn the lights on and see their Crown Prince bent over and being
fucked in that corridor like some loose harlot. Jamil would be too loud,
moaning shamelessly, and Rohan would put his hand over his mouth to shut
him up, his hips snapping forward, harder and harder until Jamil was
delirious with pleasure. “Be quiet,” Rohan would say. “Or the entire palace
will find out what a cock slut you are.” Jamil came with a groan, squeezing
around the cock in him.
Jamil opened his eyes and stared at the high ceiling of his bedroom, his
hand still wrapped around his softening cock.
His eyes were stinging.
A slut.
That was what he was, at least where Rohan was concerned.
As long as they were in close proximity, he would never be able to
trust himself.
This time, he had managed to leave.
Would he be able to leave tomorrow?
 Chapter 31

Warrehn wondered if he really was the only one feeling the tension in
the room. He couldn’t understand how other people in the Queen’s office
didn’t seem to feel the taut rope of tension that pulsed between Rohan and
the Crown Prince.
To Prince Jamil’s credit, he put on an admirable mask of indifference,
much better than the one he’d had on yesterday. It would have looked
convincing if his gaze didn’t keep returning to Rohan helplessly, the cord of
tension between them tightening to an alarming degree every time.
Rohan was barely better. He seemed to solve the problem by not
looking at Prince Jamil at all, but his avoidance to look at him was as
suspicious, in Warrehn’s opinion.
Granted, the subject that was being discussed in the Queen’s office was
sufficiently distracting.
“I beg your pardon?” Queen Janesh said, blinking at Rohan. She
exuded shock, as did the Queen’s assistant.
Prince Jamil didn’t seem surprised at all.
Warrehn shook his head, incredulous that Rohan had actually told him
everything. Unbelievable.
 “You heard me, Your Majesty,” Rohan said, meeting the Queen’s gaze
firmly. “My people rejected the Bonding Law a long time ago. We now
wish to legalize our right to do so.”
The Queen sat down heavily in her chair. “You’re saying… you’re
saying that you’re no better than the rebels.”
Beside Warrehn, Sirri bristled, but Rohan’s raised hand stopped her
before she could anything.
“Calluvians speak of rebels as if they’re some kind of lawless
barbarians,” Rohan said softly. “But have you actually seen one, Your
Majesty?”
A furrow appeared between the Queen’s brows.
“No,” Rohan answered for her. “No one has. Because the ‘rebels’ don’t
really exist anymore. It has been thousands of years. The ‘rebels’ are no
more lawless than your average Calluvian citizen. They have a governing
body. The only difference between Calluvians and the so-called rebels is the
fact that the rebels’ government doesn’t force them to take their children’s
choice away. That is all.”
Warrehn felt a twinge of admiration mixed with envy. Sometimes he
really wished he had Rohan’s ability to convince people of whatever he
wanted, something Rohan didn’t even use his compulsion gift for. It was a
skill Rohan’s father and then later Rohan had tried to instill in Warrehn, but
he’d never had talent for diplomacy and politics.
And that’s why you’re in the position you’re now in, a bitter voice said
at the back of his mind. If he’d been smart enough to get allies, Dalatteya
wouldn’t have been able to—
Cutting that train of thought off, Warrehn focused on the present.
“You’re saying that you are the rebels,” the Queen said faintly. She
looked pale, but she didn’t look like she was on the verge of calling for
security.
Rohan nodded, still holding the Queen’s gaze. “In a manner of
speaking,” he said. “On Tai’Lehr, we don’t bind our children’s telepathy
and don’t choose their life partners for them. We give them the freedom to
make their own choices and their own mistakes. We are here to defend that
freedom.”
Something flickered across Queen Janesh’s face as she glanced at
Jamil. Warrehn didn’t even need to probe her emotions to feel her
discomfort. He relaxed slightly, sensing that she’d had her own doubts
about the necessity of the Bonding Law. This might turn out to be easier
than they’d all thought.
They. Sometimes it messed with Warrehn’s head that he thought of
himself as a Tai’Lehrian. He wasn’t. At best, he was their unwilling guest.
At worst, he was their political prisoner. Sometimes Warrehn wasn’t sure
whether he hated them or loved them for everything they’d done for him.
Tai’Lehrians had forced him to stay on Tai’Lehr and prevented him from
going back for his brother, but they had also saved his life and taught him
everything he knew about the mind arts. He’d lived most of his life on
Tai’Lehr, however unwillingly. It was probably inevitable that he started
including himself when he thought of Tai’Lehr’s interests. His friendship
with Rohan played a role, too.
“So you are all unbonded telepaths,” the Queen said faintly, something
like wariness in her eyes as she glanced from Rohan to Warrehn and Sirri
before settling on Derrel, Rohan’s assistant.
It was the latter who answered softly, “I’m happily bonded, Your
Majesty, but it’s a different bond from the one that binds Calluvians. It
doesn’t limit my telepathy.”
The Queen’s gaze returned to Rohan. “What you are confessing is a
crime against the state, Lord Tai’Lehr,” she said, her face blank. “Why are
you telling me this?”
“As Tai’Lehr is still part of the Third Grand Clan, we felt honor-bound
to inform you beforehand of our decision to approach the Council,” Rohan
said. “You are our sovereign, Your Majesty. If you support us, we will not
petition the Council to give us independence from Calluvia. We are more
than content to remain under your reign if you support us.”
The Queen just stared at him for a long moment.
 At last, she looked at her son, who stood by her desk, his back very
straight and his expression carefully neutral. If Warrehn didn’t know better,
he’d think he really was Ice Prince. Cold. Unapproachable. Except that
thread of tension between the Crown Prince and Rohan pulsed with such
longing and hunger it made even Warrehn uncomfortable as hell, and he
was no prude. It was amazing how two people who carefully avoided
looking at each other could create such strong tension that it felt like a
separate being in the room with them.
“Jamil?” the Queen said.
The Crown Prince’s lips pursed slightly, and Warrehn couldn’t help but
notice how sensual they were. Prince Jamil had the kind of face that was too
perfect for Warrehn’s tastes, but his lips were just so damn pretty and red
that it was hard to look at them and not imagine them wrapped around a
cock.
A hard telepathic shove made him suck in a breath as a headache split
his head.
“Stop thinking about him that way.”
Warrehn glared at Rohan, who glared right back, his eyes burning holes
in him.
“That’s priceless,” Warrehn thought at him. “No offense, but if I owe
anyone explanation for ogling the man, I owe it to his husband.”
A muscle started ticking in Rohan’s cheek, his black eyes narrowing
dangerously. It took all of Warrehn’s considerable willpower not to look
away like a coward. Rohan didn’t get angry easily, but when he did, anyone
with common sense knew to avoid him.
Warrehn would be the first to admit he’d never been known for his
common sense. He acted, and then he thought about what he’d done.
“He’s not yours, Rohan,” he told him, as gently as he could. He wasn’t
very good at this emotional stuff, but even he knew that he must tread
carefully. “The sooner you accept it, the better, or you’re going to come to
blows with his husband when you see him.”
 Before Rohan could reply, his attention was snatched by Prince Jamil’s
pleasant, cultured voice.
“Given the recent scandals our House was involved in, this isn’t the
best time for our clan to be involved in a political scandal, Mother.”
Warrehn glowered at him. He’d kind of expected that Prince Jamil
would be on their side, considering his involvement with Rohan, but
apparently it was one thing to suck a rebel’s cock, and completely another
to actually support his cause.
He glanced at Rohan and found his friend watching Prince Jamil with a
face that betrayed nothing. Only his dark eyes burned with fire that Warrehn
hoped was anger and not something else.
“So you think we should stay out of it,” the Queen said, frowning at
her son.
Prince Jamil’s gaze wasn’t on his mother. It was fixed on his own
fingers, which he was stroking mindlessly, chewing on his bottom lip.
In his peripheral vision, Warrehn could see Rohan looking between
Jamil’s fingers and lips, his intense gaze not exactly hateful despite the fact
that the object of his fascination was pretty much screwing everything up
for them. Warrehn would have rolled his eyes if it weren’t pissing him off
so much. Love was such a stupid thing. It turned even the smartest men into
besotted, blind fools.
“I think Tai’Lehrians should petition for full independence from
Calluvia,” Prince Jamil said, still not looking up. “And that you shouldn’t
resist it, Mother. Let them separate from us. Let them live their lives the
way they want.”
That finally made Rohan react: at last, he seemed pissed off, his aura
darkening with anger and something that felt like betrayal.
“May I have a word with you, Your Highness?” Rohan said, his voice
cold. “In private.”
The Crown Prince seemed to stop breathing.
 Slowly, he lifted his gaze and looked straight at Rohan, his green eyes
full of something like trepidation.
His throat moved as he swallowed. “Is that necessary?”
“Yes,” Rohan said sharply.
“Very well,” Prince Jamil said, dropping his gaze again. “We can use
the conference room.”
They went into the adjoining room.
Warrehn didn’t think either of them noticed the thoughtful, confused
look on the Queen’s face.
 Chapter 32

Rohan closed the door and looked at Jamil, who somehow managed to
retreat into the far corner of the room.
“You shouldn’t have done it,” Jamil said, looking down. “My mother
—”
“I don’t care,” Rohan said, closing the distance between them.
He stopped right in front of Jamil, so close that he could feel Jamil’s
breathing on his face. It was ragged, unsteady, just like last night.
Jamil tried to step back, but there was nowhere for him to go. “Step
away from me, Lord Tai’Lehr.”
Rohan laughed. It made his chest hurt. “Seriously, sweetheart? First
you convince your mother not to support us, now this?”
“Don’t call me that,” Jamil said, still refusing to look at him. “And I
did tell my mother to support you.”
Suppressing the urge to grab Jamil and shake him, Rohan said, “No,
you told her not to support us. You know as well as I do that the Council
would never grant us full independence from Calluvia. Tai’Lehr is too
valuable of a colony for that. So that would mean war, a war with a very
predictable outcome. We don’t have Calluvia’s resources.” Rohan’s lips
twisted. “But as long as you never have to see me again, it’s all good, right?
I know it’s awkward to keep seeing your dirty little secret when you’re
reunited with the love of your life, but I didn’t think you were that selfish.”
Jamil’s gaze snapped up to him.
It was like a blow to his gut, those eyes, Rohan’s anger and bitterness
shifting into a familiar hunger like no other. Rohan wanted to punch
himself, to shake it off, to stop wanting a man who clearly wanted to move
on from him and forget that they’d ever been anything to each other.
“I want you gone,” Jamil whispered, twisting the knife further. “I don’t
want to see you anywhere near me.” He let out a harsh laugh, dropping his
gaze again. “I can’t have you anywhere near me. I’m not strong enough.”
Time seemed to stop.
Rohan stared at him.
Slowly, he reached up and took Jamil’s chin into his hand. He tipped
his face up, forcing Jamil to look at him.
Jamil shuddered, his nostrils flaring as their gazes met again. “Don’t
touch me. Please. I’m weak.”
The very air between them seemed to thicken, making it hard to
breathe. Rohan could hear his own unsteady breathing, or maybe it was
Jamil’s.
Closing his eyes, Rohan leaned their foreheads against each other.
Their bond sang from their proximity, clouding his thoughts with subtle
pleasure. Even the bond inhibitor couldn’t work well when they were
touching.
“Maybe we can be weak together,” he said hoarsely.
A small sound left Jamil’s lips. “Please don’t,” he whispered, even as
his hands clutched the front of Rohan’s shirt. “I can’t.”
Rohan looked down at Jamil’s parted lips. “Do you want to?”
Jamil shuddered. Rohan could feel wetness on his face. Tears, he
realized with a sinking feeling.
 “Shh,” Rohan said, his throat uncomfortably thick with emotion. He
wrapped Jamil in his arms and pulled him against his chest. “I’m here, I’ve
got you—please, love, don’t cry.”
Jamil clung to him—there was no other word for it. Rohan’s ribs hurt
from that deathly grip, but he suspected he was holding Jamil just as tightly.
It still wasn’t enough. It was never going to be enough. This felt like a
stolen moment, a goodbye.
Rohan bit the inside of his cheek, staring unseeingly in front of him.
No.
No, dammit. It wasn’t a goodbye. He wouldn’t let it to be, not this
time.
“Come with me,” he heard himself say. The moment he said it, he
knew it was right. He could feel the rightness of it.
“What?”
“Come with me,” Rohan repeated firmly. “You belong with me, not
him. You know it. You and Tmynne—you’re mine. Come with me, to
Tai’Lehr.”
Jamil was very still against him.
Rohan waited, bracing himself for Jamil’s refusal. He fully expected
Jamil to say that he was a future king. He expected Jamil to say that he
couldn’t just leave everything he’d been raised for, everything he’d worked
for all his life. He expected Jamil to say that he couldn’t leave his husband
and his family.
But what Jamil said was, “That would definitely mean war. You’re the
governor of Tai’Lehr. You represent your people. Your own people
wouldn’t understand you, wouldn’t forgive you for risking your reputation
—risking everything—for me.”
Rohan’s heart started beating somewhere in his throat. It wasn’t a no.
He wasn’t hearing a no. “My people would understand. Calluvian childhood
bonds are considered an abomination on Tai’Lehr, something unnatural and
forced. A marriage that is based on a childhood bond isn’t exactly
respected, either.”
Jamil’s hand clenched his shirt. “You would lose all credibility. The
Council wouldn’t even listen to your arguments when you go to them. They
might arrest you on the spot.”
“To hell with the Council,” Rohan said, pulling back a little to look at
Jamil. “If your mother doesn’t support us, the Council’s cooperation is
unlikely anyway.” He searched Jamil’s face. “Forget about the Council.
This isn’t about the Council and Tai’Lehr. This is about you and me. Can
you choose me?”
Jamil’s throat worked. “And then what? We live in sin?”
Unable to stop himself, Rohan kissed the spot beside Jamil’s mouth. “If
this is sin, I don’t care,” he said harshly. “You’re the light of my life. You’re
all I think about. You’re all I want.” He pressed their foreheads together. “I
don’t fucking care about some document that says you belong to another
man. You belong with me. This is right. Can’t you feel it?”
“It doesn’t matter what I feel,” Jamil said, his voice cracking. “I can’t
leave with you. I want to, but I can’t. I can’t do it to you. No matter what
you say, that would ruin everything for Tai’Lehrians. No one in the Council
would respect a man who stole another man’s lawful spouse, who violated
the sanctity of marriage. You are not thinking clearly now, but later, you
almost certainly will regret it. I won’t do it to you—to us. I can’t.”
Rohan closed his eyes, his chest tightening painfully. There was
finality in Jamil’s voice. Jamil wouldn’t budge on this.
He pulled back and looked Jamil in the eye. “But I love you.”
Jamil’s eyes filled with tears. He opened his mouth and then closed it
without saying anything. His throat worked. His green eyes seemed to burn
with ethereal light, intense and all-consuming. Rohan couldn’t look away.
He could look into them forever.
“I love you, too,” Jamil whispered, barely audibly, and stepped away,
his whole being radiating defeat.
 Rohan had never thought hearing a love confession from Jamil would
make him feel so wretched. He wanted to punch someone. He wanted to
rage at the unfairness of it all. Most of all, he wanted to grab Jamil and their
daughter and take them to Lehr Manor, where they belonged.
“No,” he bit off, catching Jamil’s wrist when he turned toward the
door. “No, dammit.”
Jamil’s shoulders hunched. “Let go. Please.”
Rohan stepped forward, burying his face in Jamil’s nape. He breathed
in deeply and said, his voice quiet but full of resolve, “I’ll fix it. I’ll do
whatever it takes. Personally, I don’t need a piece of paper to know that you
are mine, but if you absolutely need to be divorced from Mehmer for that,
so be it.”
“Divorce isn’t possible on Calluvia.” Jamil’s voice was toneless.
Hollow.
“Then I’ll make it possible,” Rohan said against Jamil’s hair. “I don’t
care what it takes, but I’ll do it. Just don’t give up, all right? Please,
sweetheart. For me.”
A pained sound left Jamil’s throat. “I’m scared to hope,” he
whispered. “Every time I start to get my hopes up, I have them quickly
come crashing down. But I need you. I need you so much. I’ve never
needed anyone so much. I feel like I’m losing it.”
Rohan wrapped him tightly in his arms, hating how inadequate it felt.
“May I kiss you? Just once.”
Jamil practically sprang away from him, wide-eyed and blushing. “I’m
married. It would be wrong.” The longing in his eyes said a completely
different thing, but Rohan didn’t push. He didn’t want Jamil to feel guilty—
guiltier.
So Rohan gave a clipped nod, ignoring how empty his arms felt. “You
won’t be married to him for long.”
Jamil shook his head with a faint smile, but Rohan could see a flicker
of desperate hope in his eyes—hope that refused to die—and he’d never
loved him more.
 Silence fell over the room.
They stared at each other.
They had to go; they both knew it. The others were probably
wondering what they were talking about.
“I ruined your cravat,” Jamil said quietly. He stepped closer and
corrected the folds of Rohan’s cravat with an unsteady hand. The touch was
barely there, Jamil’s fingers not even touching his skin, but it made Rohan’s
heart ache all the same. He could so easily imagine them married, and this
being just a regular domestic scene. He would do anything for this to
become possible.
Whatever it takes.
“Fixed,” Jamil murmured, his gaze downcast.
Rohan took him in greedily: his long, dark eyelashes fluttering against
pale skin, the gentle curve of his nose, soft red lips pursed in a slight pout.
Jamil started retrieving his hand, but Rohan caught his fingers and
pressed them to his mouth, inhaling deeply the scent of Jamil’s skin. The
pale fingers in his grip trembled.
“Just give me time,” Rohan said, his voice rough. “You belong with
me.”
A small sound left Jamil’s mouth.
He snatched his hand away and strode out of the room.
 Chapter 33

As soon as they all returned to their apartments after the meeting with
the Queen, Rohan said, “Leave us, Derrel.”
“Of course, my lord,” his assistant said with a bow and left.
“Lock the door, Sirri.”
Warrehn exchanged a look with Sirri. Rohan was in a strange mood, his
shields fully up and his face closed off, a grim, determined set to his jaw.
He had been that way ever since he’d returned to the Queen’s office after
his little chat with the Crown Prince. Unlike him, Prince Jamil seemed more
pleasant and open-minded after their conversation. He’d told the Queen that
after hearing Lord Tai’Lehr’s thoughts he was no longer as opposed to the
Queen giving the colony her support. Warrehn had noticed that despite the
change of opinion, Jamil had completely avoided looking at Rohan. They
both were acting shifty as fuck, in Warrehn’s opinion.
Sirri shrugged and silently did as she was told, even though normally
she would have grumbled about not being a servant.
“What crawled up your ass and died?” she said mildly. “It went well,
didn’t it? Although the Queen hasn’t said yes yet, I can tell she’s a lot closer
to yes than no. And we weren’t arrested on the spot.” She
chuckled. “Success!”
No one smiled.
 “It isn’t enough,” Rohan said, walking to the bar and pouring himself a
glass of Alkeran brandy. “We have to do a lot more than convince the
Queen to ensure success.” He took a swig. “What if we change the plan?”
Warrehn frowned. “In what way?”
Rohan turned his head and looked at him. “Every vote in the Council
will be important. The two votes your grand clan has might become
crucial.”
Warrehn’s heart skipped a beat. “You want me to come forward? Now?
But—” He cut himself off, his mind racing. He’d hate to say he was
panicking, but his thoughts and emotions changed so fast he was struggling
to process them.
Sighing, Rohan walked over and put his hands on his shoulders,
meeting Warrehn’s gaze. “Look, I know it wasn’t the plan. I know we all
thought you would come forward only when we have undeniable evidence
against Dalatteya and her son, but I need your help now. It’s important,
Warrehn. You’re the rightful King of the Fifth Grand Clan. This is your
birthright.”
Warrehn scowled. He hated Rohan’s ability to make it sound so
reasonable when what he was suggesting was pure madness. “A dead king
would be of no use to you. She still sends assassins to fucking Tai’Lehr, and
you want me to live in her palace?”
The look Rohan gave him was a little sad but mostly
uncompromising. “It’s your palace, not hers, Warrehn. You’re the heir to the
throne. You would have been the King already if it weren’t for her. Even if
we can’t yet conclusively prove that she’s the one who tried to assassinate
you, you’ll have the authority to send her and her son away from your
palace. You’re not that ten-year-old anymore. You’re of age, and she’ll have
no power of the regent anymore.”
Warrehn sneered. “What happened to keeping me on Tai’Lehr for ‘my
own safety?’ Your father kept me a fucking prisoner on Tai’Lehr for most
of my life, and now you say that I can go? Just like that?”
Rohan looked at him steadily. “I’m not my father. Unlike him, I trust
you. I trust that you won’t betray us. You could have left at any point since
my father’s death. I wouldn’t have stopped you, and you know it. You
stayed because you chose to.”
Warrehn glared at him, feeling a rush of anger. “You’re worse than
your father, you know. At least your old man wasn’t such a manipulative
bastard.”
Rohan’s hand squeezed his shoulder. “I’m not manipulating you,” he
said, looking him in the eye. “You’re like a brother to me. I know I’m
sending you into the viper’s pit, but it’s because I believe in you. You’re not
the defenseless boy you once were. You’re one of the strongest telepaths
I’ve ever met. You’re one of the strongest men I’ve ever met. You can
protect yourself. I trust you. I need your help, War.”
Fucking hell.
Sometimes he really hated Rohan and his natural leadership ability. Out
of the two of them, Warrehn was the one who was a future king, for fuck’s
sake. Rohan was a more dangerous leader than his father had ever been: he
inspired true loyalty.
“Fine,” Warrehn bit out, shaking Rohan’s hand off.
“Wait,” Sirri cut in, sounding disbelieving. “You said Warrehn was one
of the strongest telepaths you’d met. You met someone stronger than him?”
Rohan’s face was grim. “Well, Idhron is almost certainly a Six, too. But
there’s also the Crown Prince of the Second Grand Clan, Ksar’ngh’chaali.
He could be more powerful.”
Sirri’s mouth fell open. “He’s a Seven? Really?”
Warrehn frowned, a little disquieted, too.
Rohan shrugged. “I think so. But I doubt Ksar has any training, so it all
evens out in the end. It isn’t relevant right now…” He trailed off, a
thoughtful look flickering through his eyes. “Or maybe it is relevant. No
one in the Council knows that Ksar’s such a high-level telepath. It’s
obviously paramount for him to keep it secret.”
“Please tell me you aren’t considering blackmailing a Seven into
helping you,” Sirri said faintly. When Rohan didn’t deny it, she glared at
him. “Are you crazy or suicidal?”
Warrehn snorted. “Just in love.”
Sirri shot him a startled look. “What? What do you mean?”
“I’m not suicidal,” Rohan said, cutting off Sirri’s interrogation. “Even a
Seven will be no match for a trained Six and two trained Fives.”
“Nice of you to ask us,” Sirri said, not without sarcasm.
“Assuming it all goes smoothly,” Rohan said, ignoring her
remark, “we’ll have six votes secured: the votes of Second, Third and Fifth
Grand Clans. These are all some of the most powerful clans, so it’s very
likely that the lesser clans will follow their example. Which is excellent, but
still might not be enough.”
“You want to blackmail someone else?” Sirri said, her voice still
sarcastic and dry.
Rohan returned to the bar and took another swig of his brandy.
“Maybe,” he said, his eyes glinting with something dark and
determined.
Shaking his head, Warrehn swore to himself to never fall in love.
Love was a fucking poison, dangerous for oneself and others.
It turned even the most rational men into reckless, suicidal fools.
 Chapter 34

Calluvian Society Gossip

THE HEIR TO THE FIFTH GRAND CLAN ALIVE

Crown Prince Warrehn’ngh’zaver, who has long been presumed
kidnapped and killed by the rebels, is alive! According to our sources in the
Council, the long-lost prince has been on Planet Tai’Lehr all this time. As
our readers might or might not know, Tai’Lehr is a faraway, industrial
colony of the Third Grand Clan. Prince Warrehn claims that the rebels
actually saved him from assassination by his own bodyguards. Our sources
were not able to determine how Prince Warrehn ended up on Tai’Lehr after
being saved by the rebels, but it is obvious why he was not able to return
until now: Tai’Lehr is cut off from Calluvia by the Shibal-Kuvasi war zone,
and long-range communicators do not work because of the massive deposits
of korviu on the planet.
Many have been curious about the delegation that arrived from
Tai’Lehr a few days ago, but who would have thought that it would include
the long-lost heir to the Fifth Grand Clan?
Rohan’ngh’lavere, Lord Tai’Lehr and the governor of the colony,
personally accompanied Prince Warrehn.
 “My father wasn’t willing to risk the prince’s life by making him
travel through the war zone, but after discussing it with the prince, we
decided to take the risk,” Lord Tai’Lehr told us. He’s a handsome, tall man
with rather exotic features, with a fascinating faint accent we could listen to
forever.
When asked why now, Lord Tai’Lehr was refreshingly
straightforward. “We heard that Prince Samir’s coronation was approaching
and Warrehn felt he owed it to his people not to allow the wrong person to
ascend to the throne, even if he had to risk his life to get here. Preserving
the true line of succession is paramount for all clans, as we cannot allow
civil war to destroy our grand clans from within.”
This Author couldn’t agree more with Lord Tai’Lehr, but it brings up
an interesting point:
What’s going to happen to Prince Samir, who has been raised to be the
King for the past nineteen years?
We imagine the atmosphere will be rather awkward in the Fifth Royal
Palace…

***

Castien Idhron closed the article and set his multi-device

aside. “Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Eridan,” he said, deep
in thought.
“Aren’t you worried, Master?”
Castien shifted his gaze to his apprentice. Eridan was leaning his hip
against Castien’s desk, his bottom lip caught between his teeth as he eyed
his master.
“Worried?” he said. “Why would I be?”
 Eridan huffed, giving him a flat look. “I’m not stupid, Master. If the
regent is removed from the position of power, you’ll lose your influence on
the Fifth Grand Clan. It’s a pretty heavy loss for us.”
Castien observed him carefully. Despite the master-apprentice bond
that they shared, Eridan had his emotions impeccably guarded, which was a
rare enough occurrence to be notable. Castien wondered about the reason
for such guardedness and came up with several possibilities, none of which
pleased him. However, he didn’t push. Not this time.
“You still have a lot to learn, Eridan,” he said. “Sometimes you have
to lose something to win the war. I’m not worried about
Warrehn’ngh’zaver.”
“But he’s a rebel, too. He was with the other rebels who kidnapped
me. They’re all unbonded. Powerful.”
“That they are,” Castien said, eyeing his apprentice’s usually animated
face. As much as he always urged Eridan to be less emotional, seeing his
annoyingly vibrant, emotional apprentice so guarded was strange. And
slightly disconcerting.
Eridan’s lips pursed. He leaned forward, a lock of golden-brown hair
falling into his eyes. “I still don’t understand why you let the prince-consort
return home. Now with Prince-Consort Mehmer’s safe return and the
supposed rescue of Prince Warrehn, the rebels seem like heroes, Master!
With the recent positive press, they’re in a good position to go to the
Council and actually be heard. How can you be so sure that they won’t
betray us? That they won’t tell the Council about the High Hronthar’s
influence on the majority of the ruling monarchs? Lord Tai’Lehr could
easily rat us out.”
“He won’t,” Castien said, flicking his fingers to push the stray lock out
of Eridan’s eyes. “Because he still needs me.”
A wrinkle appeared between Eridan’s brows. “What for?”
Castien thought about the overwhelming desire and love he’d
glimpsed in Rohan’ngh’lavere’s mind, and smiled coldly. “Patience, Eridan.
What did I teach you about patience?”
 “But Master!” Eridan scoffed, his full lips folding into a pout.
Castien averted his gaze.
He found that emotions like love and desire were most useful—when
they weren’t his own.
“Cease being immature, Eridan, and go meditate,” he said coldly. “I
have an appointment now.”
“I hate meditating,” Eridan grumbled just as there was a knock on the
door.
“Your eleven o’clock is here, Your Grace,” his assistant said, bowing
deeply to him.
“Let him in, Irrene,” Castien said before glancing at his
apprentice. “And get a meditation appointment for Eridan with Master Tker.
Right now, if he’s free.”
Eridan scowled deeply and jumped off Castien’s desk. “You know I
hate joint meditations with Tker,” he hissed.
“Master Tker, Eridan,” Castien corrected. “Now go with Irrene.”
With a last dark scowl at Castien, Eridan left, nearly colliding with
Lord Tai’Lehr in the doorway.
“Oh,” Eridan said, blinking, before sending a vicious thought through
their bond, “Patience, huh? You could have just said he had an appointment
with you, Master. Why do you always have to be so frustrating?”
Suppressing his amusement, Castien looked coldly at Irrene. Correctly
interpreting his orders, she ushered Eridan out of his office.
As the heavy door closed behind them, Castien shifted his gaze to
Rohan’ngh’lavere and said, “What can you offer me for my support of the
divorce bill you want to push?”
Tai’Lehr just looked at him for a moment.
“You’re a bastard,” he said, his tone mild despite the hatred that
burned in those black eyes. “What do you want?”
 Castien almost smiled.
He always liked dealing with people who understood how the world
worked.

***

Calluvian Society Gossip

SHOCKING TRUTH REVEALED: REBELS AMONG US?

This Author is delighted to report on another scandal brought to us
courtesy of Lord Tai’Lehr. It appears that accompanying the future King of
the Fifth Grand Chan [read more about the upcoming coronation here]
wasn’t the only reason for Lord Tai’Lehr’s visit to Calluvia. As our readers
know, we at Calluvian Society Gossip normally do not write about such a
boring subject as politics, but this time we feel it is our moral obligation to
give our readers an accurate report of what has happened, as this scandal is
going to have far-reaching consequences for Calluvian society.
Long story short, in this morning’s session of the Council, Queen
Janesh of the Third Grand Clan petitioned on behalf of her colony Tai’Lehr
to allow them not to conform to the Bonding Law.
It wasn’t the most shocking part, however. Apparently the colony
hasn’t been conforming to the Bonding Law for thousands of years already.
“You must understand that it wasn’t our ancestors’ choice to defy the
law.” Lord Tai’Lehr spoke amidst the chaos. “Since sensors didn’t work, the
colony couldn’t know that there was already a settlement of the rebels on
the sole continent of the planet. The few mind adepts of the High Hronthar
that had accompanied the colonists succumbed to local diseases soon after
the colony’s establishment. As there were no qualified mind adepts
anymore, childhood bonds could no longer be created. Our ancestors had no
choice but to disregard the law, especially since the rebels that lived nearby
proved to be healthy, peaceful, and harmless.”
“It has been thousands of years!” Councilor Xuvok spoke up, red in
the face. “You should have informed the Council about it thousands of years
ago, not now!”
Unlike his opponent, Lord Tai’Lehr remained calm. “You are correct,
Councilor. I absolutely agree with you that my ancestors should have been
upfront with the Calluvian Council, which is exactly why I risked my life
crossing the war zone so soon after I assumed the position of the governor.
Surely we cannot be held responsible for the decisions of our forefathers?”
A heated debate followed. Many members of the press were asked to
leave for disrupting proceedings. Councilor Derves demanded that Lord
Tai’Lehr be arrested on account of being dangerous to others, which caused
much confusion, as many members of the Council did not understand what
he meant.
Truth be told, This Author didn’t understand the reference, either.
When asked to clarify, Councilor Derves claimed that the childhood bond
was actually invented to restrain powerful telepaths.
That caused another uproar that only ended when the Lord Chancellor
stood and demanded silence. As usual, Crown Prince Ksar’ngh’chaali
commanded the room effortlessly, despite the recent less than flattering
scandal with his involvement. Councilor Derves couldn’t answer
satisfactorily when the Lord Chancellor had asked him to cite his sources
for such a bold claim.
“So it’s nothing but hearsay,” Prince Ksar said, and Councilor Derves
had to concede that he did not have any proof.
“However,” Prince Ksar continued. “To ease the mind of those
Council members who might have similar fears to Councilor Derves, I think
we all would agree to ask the opinion of an impartial third party that knows
everything there is to know about childhood bonds. We should perhaps send
for His Grace, the High Adept of the High Hronthar, Grandmaster Idhron.”
That suggestion was met with unanimous approval.
 When the High Adept finally arrived and was informed of the subject
of contention, he dismissed Councilor Derves’s concerns.
“It is true that the childhood bond somewhat lessens the raw power of
a telepath,” the Grandmaster conceded, nodding to Councilor Derves
slightly. “However, the extensive research that has been conducted by the
High Hronthar conclusively proves that the difference in power level is not
very big, as evidenced by widowers’ very slight increase of power after
their bondmate’s death. Besides, a bonded telepath has better control over
his telepathy than an unbonded one. Therefore, we consider Councilor
Derves’s concerns unfounded. The High Hronthar can make the research
available to all interested parties if needed.”
“Thank you, Your Grace,” the Lord Chancellor said. “But if that is the
case, where do you think the rumor originated?”
The High Adept looked thoughtful. “That I do not know for certain. I
can only hypothesize that such rumors were spread by people unhappy with
their bondmates. In light of this, perhaps… perhaps it would be prudent to
allow unhappy spouses the legal procedure of a divorce.” He looked at the
Lord Chancellor. “While we are on the subject, I wish to remind the
Council that the current law requires corrections as it is. Until recently,
childhood bonds were not breakable. For the past four thousand years, a
marriage always equaled a childhood bond. But after the recent amendment
to the Bonding Law, that won’t be necessarily the case—you, Your
Highness, are the prime example.”
Prince Ksar inclined his head, conceding the point, which caused a
murmur of displeasure in the Council chamber. While the scandals
regarding Prince Warrehn and Tai’Lehr made most people forget about
Prince Ksar’s recent misbehavior [Read here about Prince Ksar’s
dissolution of his childhood bond to Prince Seyn, his scandalously broken
engagement to Lady Leylen and reunion with Prince Seyn], there are still
quite a few Council members displeased with the Lord Chancellor’s
uncharacteristically irresponsible behavior. There have even been calls to
remove Prince Ksar from the position of the Lord Chancellor, but they were
not supported by the majority.
 “Legalizing divorce does seem like the next logical step,” Prince Ksar
said. “There should not be loopholes in the law.”
That no one argued against, and Queen-Consort Zeyneb took it upon
herself to prepare the bill that would address divorce for the next session of
the Council.
Although his previous concern was dismissed, Councilor Derves
spoke up again. “Even if Tai’Lehrians are not dangerous to us, they still
have the descendants of the renegades among them!”
“With all due respect, Councilor,” Lord Tai’Lehr said. “The only
crime the ‘renegades’ committed was disagreeing with one particular law
that took away their children’s freedom of choice. They didn’t commit any
crimes. They simply chose to leave Calluvia, which is every sentient
being’s right. Do we not live in a democratic world? If we didn’t,
this Council wouldn’t exist in its current form. Back when the Bonding Law
was first introduced, the Council consisted only of the monarchs of the
twelve grand clans; there were no representatives of the middle and lower
classes, such as yourself.”
A murmur ran through the Council chamber. Some members were
nodding, others looked thoughtful.
“Councilors, I understand that granting one colony an exemption from
the Bonding Law might cause discontent on other Calluvian worlds,” Lord
Tai’Lehr said. “But Tai’Lehr is a special case, has always been. We are cut
off from Calluvia and its other colonies by the Shibal-Kuvasi war zone, has
been for centuries, and our culture is extremely unlikely to have any impact
on other Calluvian worlds. Tai’Lehr is a perfect colony to grant an
exemption for.” Lord Tai’Lehr glanced around the Council chamber. “Of
course, if it is too much to ask for, Tai’Lehr is ready to give a petition for
independence to the Galactic Council on the basis of lack of protection
from Calluvia over the past centuries.”
An uneasy murmur rippled through the Council chamber.
Although politics is not This Author’s specialty, even she knows this
is an outcome no one in the Council would like. Tai’Lehr is one of the main
Calluvian sources for the korviu crystals, which are necessary for the
function of transgalactic teleporters. It is also worth noting that when a
colony files a complaint with the Galactic Council about lack of protection
from its home planet, it destabilizes the entire economy as the stocks
plummet.
“Of course, it would be a last resort,” Lord Tai’Lehr added
calmly. “We would prefer to stay part of Calluvia, as it is our home planet
and we have cultural ties to it.” He bowed. “Thank you, Councilors, for
your time. I’ll leave you to discuss this among yourselves.”
As soon as Lord Tai’Lehr left, chaos reigned.
 Chapter 35

“I can’t believe you actually did it!” Sirri laughed and hugged him
tightly. “We did it!”
Rohan smiled faintly as he hugged her back.
This past month had been exhausting and beyond stressful while they
waited for the Council’s decision. Bribes, manipulations, dealings with
bastards like Idhron: it had all made him feel incredibly dirty. He’d always
prided himself on being a pretty fair, decent politician, and resorting to the
tactics that he’d always detested didn’t sit well with him. Many times,
Rohan had been this close to just saying fuck it and appealing to the
Galactic Council.
But he owed it to his people to try to resolve things peacefully, without
completely alienating Calluvia. It was their home planet, their cultural
home, and selfishly, Rohan didn’t want to burn the bridges if he absolutely
didn’t have to. Not that he would have left the planet without Jamil and
Tmynne—he had been ready to grab them and leave had the negotiations
fallen through—but it would have been a last resort. Not to mention that
Jamil didn’t exactly say yes when Rohan had asked him to leave everything
for him. He hadn’t said no, but neither had he said yes.
Fuck, it had been a long month. He’d moved to a hotel and avoided the
Third Royal Palace, unable to bear seeing Jamil with his husband. It was
bad enough that he couldn’t escape the thoughts that plagued him at night,
couldn’t help wondering if Jamil had given up, if he let his husband back
into his bed, if their daughter started thinking of Mehmer as her father and
wouldn’t even recognize him. Those thoughts drove Rohan crazy, fueling
his determination to end this legal battle as soon as possible and take his
family away from another man.
And now he could do it. Tai’Lehr was granted an exemption from the
Bonding Law, and divorce was now legally possible on Calluvia. Part of
him still couldn’t believe that he’d accomplished all of this in just a little
over a month, but it definitely helped that he’d had the support of the two
arguably most powerful men on Calluvia: the Lord Chancellor and the High
Adept of the High Hronthar. Neither of them was what Rohan would call a
friend, but they were excellent allies, because they both had a lot to lose if
the truth came out. Rohan was more concerned about Idhron—he could tell
that Ksar, for all his ruthlessness, was a fairly decent man. Idhron was a
power-hungry bastard, who didn’t seem to care about the means to achieve
his ends. Rohan still had no idea what the High Hronthar had wanted with
Mehmer and Idhron wasn’t exactly forthcoming with the information.
Tearing Rohan away from his thoughts, Sirri grinned, running a hand
over his chest. “I think today calls for some celebration sex. Don’t you?”
Snorting, Rohan pushed her back gently. “I’m flattered, but I told you:
I’m taken.”
Sirri laughed. “Are you still persisting with this? You can’t be taken by
a married person.”
“That will change soon,” Rohan said curtly.
Sirri gave him a look that could only be described as pitying. “Darling,
don’t get me wrong: you are a catch, and a great fuck, but do you really
think the Ice Prince will mire himself in scandal for you?”
“He can get divorced now.”
“He can, but it doesn’t mean he will.” Sirri sighed. “Look, I want you
to be happy, but… You are not naive, Rohan. The law doesn’t matter.
Divorce is still very far from being socially acceptable on Calluvia,
especially for such a high-profile marriage. It will be a scandal like no other
if Prince Jamil suddenly decides to quit his fairy-tale romance and ditch his
husband for someone who barely has a legal standing on Calluvia.”
Rohan’s jaw clenched. “We’ll see. What time is the ball that Dalatteya
is throwing in Warrehn’s honor?”
Sirri stared at him. “Please tell me you don’t intend to deal with your
relationship problems at such a public ball. We need to be there for Warrehn
to make sure his dear auntie doesn’t poison him.”
Rohan shrugged. “No reason I can’t do both.”
Sirri shot him an exasperated look, shaking her head. “Men. Please tell
me you’re actually thinking with your head now.”
Rohan said nothing, turning away.
He was self-aware enough to realize that he wasn’t thinking with his
head. But he had waited long enough, dammit.
He was done letting another man call his family his.
 Chapter 36

“His Royal Highness Crown Prince Ksar’ngh’chaali and His Highness

Prince Seyn’ngh’veighli.”
Jamil glanced toward the entrance to the ballroom as the butler
announced his brother and his fiancé. Seyn’s fingers were linked loosely
with Prince Ksar’s, his head held high as he and his fiancé made their way
through the crowd. Seyn was smiling at Ksar as they spoke quietly, his
silver head leaning close to Ksar’s dark head. They made a beautiful couple
— arrogant and proud, but beautiful nonetheless. It was also embarrassingly
obvious how in love Seyn was. Ksar was harder to read, but Jamil was
pretty sure he didn’t look away from Seyn’s face even once as they spoke.
If the crowd didn’t part obligingly to let them through, they might have
stumbled and fallen, but of course it didn’t even occur to Ksar that people
wouldn’t part for him. Arrogant prick. Jamil wasn’t sure what Seyn saw in
that man.
You’re just jealous, a voice whispered at the back of his mind. You’re
jealous of your little brother’s happiness, of the fact that he can hold his
man’s hand in public.
Jamil swallowed and looked away, his stomach clenching. He was
suddenly acutely aware of how alone he felt in this crowded ballroom. He
probably knew every single person in this ballroom, but he felt utterly
alone, like an outsider, watching other people smile, laugh, and dance.
 What was he doing here?
He should have stayed home, with Tmynne. He had wanted to, but his
mothers insisted that he accompany them to Dalatteya’s ball, arguing that
he’d become a recluse. They didn’t know anything yet.
“Darling, why are you hiding behind this plant?” a familiar voice said
exasperatedly.
“I’m not hiding, Mother,” Jamil lied, forcing a faint smile as he turned
to the Queen-Consort. “The plant just happens to be here.”
His mother quirked her eyebrows skeptically.
Jamil laughed. “All right, fine: I just didn’t feel like socializing.”
His mother didn’t smile. She eyed him strangely. “I think it’s the first
time I’ve seen you laugh in a long time. Walk with me, darling?”
Jamil offered her his arm obligingly, wondering what it was about
mothers that made one feel like a little boy despite being a grown man.
“Where’s Mehmer? I didn’t know he wasn’t going to the ball. I thought
he would just meet us here.”
Jamil suppressed a grimace, acutely aware that people were watching
them. People were always watching them. “I don’t know where he is,” he
said, looking in front of him. He could feel his mother’s observant gaze on
his face.
“Are you quarreling?” she said after a moment. “I have noticed that
you aren’t as… close you once were.”
That’s one way of putting it. Jamil was a little surprised it had taken his
parents so long to speak to him about it, considering they all lived under the
same roof, no matter how big said roof was.
Biting his lip, Jamil hesitated. But there was no point in trying to
postpone this conversation. His mothers would find out soon enough, either
way. He owed it to them to forewarn them before it hit the press.
“I asked Mehmer for a divorce this afternoon.”
 His mother’s hand tensed on his arm. “What?” She forced him to stop
and look at her. “You can’t be serious.”
Jamil held her gaze, refusing to feel like a small boy who had done
something he shouldn’t have.
“But why?” his mother said, frowning. “Sweetheart, every relationship
has rough patches. You used to be so happy together.”
“It isn’t—it isn’t a rough patch. It’s…” Jamil ran a hand through his
hair, at a loss for words. What could he say?
It isn’t just a rough patch if my skin crawls whenever he touches me. It
isn’t a rough patch if I feel like I haven’t been able to breathe properly for
months.
Jamil said none of those things, aware of how utterly insane they would
sound.
He just said, “I don’t love him anymore, Mother.” Because that was the
crux of the problem, wasn’t it? He couldn’t remain married to a man he
didn’t love. It wasn’t fair to either of them. That was why as soon as Jamil
had heard that divorce was now legal, he had asked Mehmer for one. It had
been the most difficult conversation of his life, but he was sick of living a
lie. Regardless of whether he and Rohan could be together or not, he
wanted to stop calling Mehmer ‘husband’ when he felt nothing like one.
The worst part was, Mehmer hadn’t even looked surprised. He’d
known it was coming. He would be an idiot not to, considering that Jamil
flinched away from his touch and they still hadn’t had sex despite Mehmer
being back home for a few months.
His eyes sad, Mehmer had smiled crookedly and said, “So are you
finally going to tell me who he is?”
Jamil had just hugged him. He still loved Mehmer, and hurting him
was the last thing he’d ever wanted. He just didn’t love him like a man; he
loved him like a dear childhood friend, and perhaps he always had. They’d
grown up together, they had shared everything, they had been best friends—
friends who’d had sex with each other. Jamil had thought that that was
romantic love. Now, looking back, he knew he had been incredibly ignorant
about attraction and love. Mehmer had never made his heart beat faster
when he smiled at Jamil. He’d never made him ache for him. He never
made him feel complete the moment he entered the room. Jamil never felt
like he couldn’t live without Mehmer. Of course he’d grieved when he
thought he lost Mehmer, but Jamil hadn’t felt like there was a black hole in
his chest eating him from the inside. He could breathe without Mehmer. He
could heal and move on.
Jamil smiled ruefully. His love for Mehmer was definitely healthier for
his state of mind. If he hadn’t met Rohan, he would have probably been
perfectly happy with Mehmer even without their childhood bond. But after
meeting Rohan, he couldn’t—he couldn’t settle for anything less now. He
had tried, he honestly had, but after months of trying to feel something he
didn’t, he was tired of forcing it. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t make
himself stop loving one man and start loving another just because the law
said he was supposed to.
“I know that another scandal is the last thing our House needs right
now, and I’m so very sorry, Mother, but I…” Jamil trailed off, goosebumps
running up his spine. He lifted his head, his heart beating faster as the bond
at the back of his mind flared to life.
He was here.
“… Jamil?”
Flinching, he looked at his mother. Jamil clasped his trembling fingers
behind his back, trying to school his face into something resembling his
normal expression. Judging by his mother’s frown, he didn’t succeed.
“What’s wrong with you?” she said, laying a hand on his
forehead. “You’re a little warm. And your pupils are dilated. Do you feel
sick?”
Jamil barely stopped himself from flinching away from his mother’s
touch. His skin felt too tight, his body nearly vibrating with tension. Only
with an incredible force of will did he stop himself from looking around the
ballroom, like a starved thing in search of his sustenance.
“I need to—I need to leave,” he said. “I’ll talk to you later, Mother.”
He strode away from the Queen-Consort, ignoring her attempts to stop him.
He needed to get away. He couldn’t see Rohan, not now, not in such a
public setting. If he saw him now, there was a real risk that he would end up
climbing him like a tree and consuming him, their surroundings be damned.
He wished he were exaggerating, but he wasn’t. The mere possibility of
being close to Rohan had him shaking, his heart and body aching with need,
the bond pulsing hungrily at the back of his mind. No. He needed to leave.
He was still a married man. He owed it to Mehmer to behave decently until
their divorce was finalized.
Jamil pushed his way through the crowd, aware he was being
extremely rude but just wanting to get to the nearest t-chamber as soon as
possible.
“Are you running away from me?”
He came to an abrupt stop, staring unseeingly in front of him. Rohan’s
mental voice was low and somewhat amused—and so achingly familiar that
Jamil’s eyes stung from how good it felt to have him inside his mind again.
But it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t a true merge, just a tease of it. He wanted—
needed—more. He wanted to take Rohan’s mind and body inside his own
and fuse them together until they could never, ever be separated again.
“Where are you?” Jamil asked dazedly, every thought about leaving
forgotten. Where are you, where are you, where are you?
“Just behind you, sweetheart.”
Jamil whirled around and almost had a heart attack as the crowd parted
and Rohan was suddenly right there, in front of him.
He looked… Jamil honestly had no idea how he looked. All he could
see was Rohan’s dark eyes. He almost fell into them when Rohan suddenly
brought his shields up.
“No, love, not here,” Rohan’s voice said in his head. “We can’t merge
here. It would be too obvious.”
Jamil stared at him longingly, not understanding.
A pained grimace crossed Rohan’s face. “Dammit, don’t look at me
that way. I’m only a man.” Glancing around, he bowed to Jamil
belatedly. “Your Highness,” he said aloud. “It’s a pleasure to see you.”
 Right. There were people around them. He should probably say
something appropriately princely.
He couldn’t say a word. Jamil could speak eight Galactic languages
perfectly without the translating chip, and yet he couldn’t utter a single
word, painfully aware of the distance between them.
He could only nod, hoping the need eating his entire being wasn’t
obvious on his face.
Rohan stared at him for a long moment, his eyes searing, before he
bowed again and offered a hand. “Will you dance with me, Your
Highness?”
Jamil licked his dry lips, his heart pounding somewhere in his throat
and his stomach clenching in both delight and dread. He didn’t trust himself
at all with Rohan’s arms around him, with Rohan’s scent in his nostrils. He
might end up kissing him and feeling him up right there, in front of all
society to see.
“I would like to get a breath of fresh air,” Jamil said. Distantly, he was
aware that he was behaving inappropriately—he hadn’t looked away from
Rohan’s eyes even for a moment, which was probably making
gossipmongers incredibly happy. Jamil was perfectly aware of it, but he
couldn’t make himself look away. He used to scoff when people said such
things like ‘I could look into his eyes forever;’ now he fully understood the
sentiment. Looking into Rohan’s black eyes felt intoxicating, making him
warm and tingly on the inside, his body alive in every sense of the word.
“After you, Your Highness,” Rohan said, bowing slightly.
Tearing his gaze away, Jamil headed for the terrace, incredibly aware
of the man walking behind him. Vaguely, he was also aware of the curious
stares and whispers following him and Rohan, but at this moment, he
couldn’t make himself care.
At last, after what seemed like forever, they left the crowded ballroom
and stepped out onto the terrace. On any other day, Jamil would have
admired it: the terrace of the Fifth Royal Palace was renowned for its scale
and beauty. It went around the entire palace, offering the opportunity to
admire the most beautiful flowers in the galaxy and incredible views of the
cliffs and ocean below them. At the moment, Jamil couldn’t care less about
the beauty surrounding them.
He walked along the terrace, until the noise of the ballroom was left far
behind and the sound of their footsteps was the only thing he could hear.
Jamil stopped, leaning against the railings. He breathed in the fresh air,
watching the waves batter the cliffs below them. He felt Rohan lean against
the railings, too. Their shoulders brushed. Jamil bit his bottom lip hard,
hoping it wasn’t obvious how badly he was shaking.
“Congratulations,” he said.
“Thank you.”
“Your people must be happy.”
“They are.”
“You should be proud. You were amazing in the Council.”
“Thank you, but I had help. I couldn’t have done it all by myself.”
Jamil almost laughed. Gods, this was ridiculous. Why couldn’t they
speak about what they really wanted to say?
“I think there’s something wrong with me,” he whispered, looking at
the ocean. “I feel like I’m about to jump out of my skin, like I’m about to
fall apart if you touch me—or don’t touch me. What is wrong with me?”
Rohan sighed. “That’s the downside of indulging in too many
telepathic merges with one partner. Your body starts craving it. Normally, it
never becomes this bad, but we’ve been apart too long and it probably
didn’t help that I wore a bond inhibitor for a while.”
Jamil frowned. So that was why he hadn’t been able to feel Rohan
when he returned to Calluvia as Lord Tai’Lehr.
“You aren’t wearing a bond inhibitor anymore.”
“No,” Rohan said, his hands gripping the railing.
Jamil stared longingly at them. He wanted them on his body so badly
his insides literally ached for it. He looked away, trying to distract himself.
“But it was nowhere near this bad the first time you left.”
“The first time I left, we weren’t lovers,” Rohan said. “We were barely
friends. There’s an emotional element to a merge addiction. The stronger
the emotional ties, the stronger it is. We had gotten… very close before I
left the second time.”
Jamil snorted a laugh. “Is that your way of saying that I was
ridiculously clingy and couldn’t spend a few hours without your mind or
cock in me?”
Rohan groaned quietly. “I can’t believe people think you’re very
proper. Ice Prince, my ass.”
Smiling crookedly, Jamil allowed himself to glance sideways at him.
He realized his mistake as soon as they locked eyes, Rohan’s gaze
heavy and dark with want.
Jamil swallowed.
“I was ridiculously clingy, too,” Rohan said with a wry smile, his hand
lifting and hovering by Jamil’s face. “And unlike you, I should have known
better. I knew it would make everything harder when I would have to leave,
but I didn’t do a damn thing to put distance between us. I was selfish.” His
fingers finally touched Jamil’s cheek, the touch barely there. It made Jamil
shiver uncontrollably.
“I’m still selfish,” Rohan said. “I should be in the ballroom, watching
my best friend’s back, not here, putting my greedy hands all over you.”
Jamil’s eyes slipped closed as Rohan’s fingers ran over his trembling
lips.
“Fuck, you’re so beautiful,” Rohan said hoarsely. “I could stare at you
forever. Marry me.”
Jamil’s heart jumped.
He opened his eyes. “So that you could stare at me forever?” he tried to
joke, but it came out embarrassingly unsteady.
 Rohan’s dark, intense gaze seemed to burn him. “Among other things.
Marry me, love.” His knuckles brushed against Jamil’s cheek. “Divorce is
possible now. I told you I’d do it for you, didn’t I?”
“There’s no need to be so smug,” Jamil said with a small, helpless
smile, his heart full of adoration. Fuck, he loved this man. It scared him
how much he loved him.
“I’m not smug,” Rohan said, his lips twisting. “I’m actually pretty
scared of what I’m capable of for you. I’ve done things I’m not proud of,
but I’d do them all over again, and more, for the privilege of calling you
mine.”
With a defeated sound, Jamil buried his face in Rohan’s
shoulder. “Ugh, why do you have to be so perfect? I was trying to be good
and stay away from you until my divorce is finalized, but of course you had
to ruin my good intentions.”
Rohan laughed and engulfed him in a bone-crushing hug that took his
breath away. It still wasn’t enough. But then again, Jamil was beginning to
suspect he would never get enough of this man. His eyes stinging from the
mix of happiness and accumulated pain of the past months, Jamil whispered
fiercely, “I’m never letting you out of my sight again.” His fingers dug into
Rohan’s shoulder blades before running over the width of his back. He
couldn’t get enough. Jamil breathed deeply, feeling drunk on him, unable to
believe Rohan was finally here, in his arms. “I missed you so much. So
fucking much. Tmynne missed you too, but I missed you more.”
Rohan let out a laugh, nuzzling his hair. “How can you know for sure?
Tmynne is a baby. She can’t tell you how much she missed me.”
It’s impossible for anyone to miss you more than I did. He didn’t say it.
He didn’t need to.
He felt a fierce wave of protectiveness and love that wasn’t his own,
Rohan’s emotions leaking through his shields. “Marry me,” Rohan said
tightly, running his fingers through Jamil’s hair. He kissed the side of
Jamil’s face, his lips trembling, desperate. “Be with me. Be mine. Say yes.”
Jamil lifted his head. His eyes were stinging, but he’d never smiled
wider. “Yes.”
 Laughing in relief and elation, Rohan hugged him tightly and kissed
him.
Need slammed into them as their lips and minds finally merged. Jamil
made a whimpering sound, hungry, so very hungry that he couldn’t control
himself, sucking him in greedily. Rohan groaned, kissing him deeper but
trying to gentle their mental connection—he knew it was dangerous to go
too deep after so long apart: they would lose themselves in the merge
completely. But Jamil resisted, pulling him deeper and deeper inside him,
his hunger bottomless.
“I’m here, I’ve got you, I’m not going anywhere,” Rohan thought at
him, kissing Jamil and sinking deeper inside him. It felt so good that they
could barely think, their mutual need and pleasure making them lose all
their inhibitions. Jamil’s hands were fumbling between them, trying to
unzip Rohan’s pants—
“What in the world—Jamil!”
They froze.
 Chapter 37

They sprang apart, breathing hard.

The sudden end of the merge was disorienting so it took Rohan a
moment to focus his gaze on Queen Janesh’s shocked face. Behind her, he
could see the Queen-Consort, who had her hand pressed to her mouth.
Rohan returned his gaze to the Queen, whose expression was quickly
morphing from shock to fury.
Fucking hell.
Glancing down to make sure Jamil hadn’t actually managed to unzip
his pants, Rohan grimaced at the obscene bulge straining his fly and tried to
will his arousal away.
“Please tell me there is a very reasonable explanation for this,” the
Queen gritted out, glaring at Jamil. “That my eyes played tricks on me and
my son wasn’t committing adultery—and in a public place! Is this why you
want a divorce? When your mother told me, I couldn’t believe her, but
now…”
Jamil swallowed, his normally pale face bright red.
Rohan suppressed the urge to push Jamil behind his back. He didn’t,
knowing that Jamil wouldn’t appreciate it, but he did step closer to Jamil,
offering him his silent support and sending waves of comfort and
reassurance through their bond. He felt Jamil relax slightly.
 “Your Majesty,” Rohan said, drawing the Queen’s ire towards him. He
met the Queen’s gaze and said, “I don’t consider it adultery. Jamil is my
bondmate.”
The Queen-Consort made a choking sound.
The Queen stared at him. “I beg your pardon?”
Without looking away from her, Rohan found Jamil’s hand and
threaded their fingers together. “We love each other. We are bonded.”
Jamil’s parents seemed absolutely speechless.
At last, the Queen said, “Jamil is married.” She glared at Jamil. “Have
you lost your mind? I’m still waiting for an answer, Jamil. And stop holding
that man’s hand! Have you no shame?”
Jamil’s fingers only squeezed Rohan’s tighter.
“I thought I was a widower for a year and a half, Mother,” he said.
Rohan could feel how much the situation stressed him out—Jamil wasn’t
used to disappointing his mother—but he didn’t sense any regret or
hesitation. Jamil had made a choice and he wasn’t going to backtrack
now. “I met Lord Tai’Lehr months ago when I thought I wasn’t a married
man.”
“But now you know better,” the Queen said, frowning. “You are
married, Jamil. You have a daughter with your husband.”
Jamil looked down. “You know she isn’t Mehmer’s.”
The Queen’s lips thinned. “As far as everyone is concerned, she is.
Your husband was kind enough to accept her, and you thank him with this?
I’ve never been so ashamed to be your mother. You’re the Crown Prince.
Behave like one.”
Jamil seemed to become smaller with the Queen’s every word.
Rohan snapped. “Enough.”
The Queen shifted her gaze to him, her green eyes narrowing
dangerously. “You’re forgetting yourself, Tai’Lehr. I will speak to you later,
after I speak to my son.”
 “No.” Letting go of Jamil’s hand, Rohan stepped forward, between
Jamil and his mother. “With all due respect, Your Majesty, I will not allow
you to put all the blame on Jamil. He doesn’t deserve it.”
Two spots of color appeared on the Queen’s cheekbones. “How dare
you?”
“No offense, Your Majesty, but Jamil is a grown man. He doesn’t have
to explain himself to you. His life is his own.” He sighed when the Queen
opened her mouth to argue. “Look, do you really want your son to be
miserable? Because he’ll be miserable with Mehmer. He’ll be miserable
without me.”
The Queen scoffed. “Your arrogance knows no bounds—”
“It’s not arrogance,” Jamil said, taking Rohan’s hand again and
stepping forward so that they were shoulder to shoulder. Although he was
looking at his mother steadily, Rohan could feel Jamil’s mental presence all
but cling to him through their bond. He wrapped his own tightly around
Jamil’s, enveloping him in comfort, warmth, and love. Jamil’s eyes became
glazed for a moment before focusing on the Queen again. “Rohan isn’t
being arrogant. It’s the truth.” He looked down before meeting the Queen’s
gaze, his expression open and achingly vulnerable. “I love him, Mother.”
The ice in the Queen’s gaze melted a little. She sighed, shaking her
head. “Jamil, you’re just confused. Don’t you remember how miserable you
were without Mehmer?”
Jamil’s face flushed, his guilt palpable. “I was depressed because I was
missing Rohan, not Mehmer. I’m sorry, Mother—for lying to you. And I’m
sorry for—for this. But I made the decision. I can’t be Mehmer’s husband
when I love another man. It isn’t fair to either of us. You may disown me, of
course. It won’t change my mind. I’ll leave with him.”
The Queen froze. “What?”
Jamil took in a shaky breath.
Rohan squeezed his hand in encouragement.
“I’ll leave with him,” Jamil said, firmer. “And we’ll take our daughter
with us. I’m so sorry—I know that would leave you without an heir, but—”
 “Our daughter?” the Queen repeated faintly. “Tmynne isn’t Lord
Tai’Lehr’s daughter, Jamil.”
“She is,” Jamil said with a small smile, the bond between them
flaring with warmth. “Rohan gave her to me. Because I asked him.”
The Queen’s shock was almost tangible. “This… this has been going
on for so long?”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” Rohan said, brushing his thumb over Jamil’s
wrist. “Tmynne is our daughter. We are a family in all the ways that matter.
I’m done letting another man call my family his.”
Queen Janesh ran a hand over her face. She pulled out a terrace chair
and sat down heavily. Suddenly, a laugh left her lips. “I thought the scandal
Seyn caused was as bad as it could get. As soon as people hear that my
eldest ran away with the leader of the rebels, no one will give a shit about
Seyn’s behavior.”
He could feel Jamil’s confusion and surprise through their bond.
“My mother never curses,” Jamil told him when Rohan sent him an
inquiring look. He sounded scandalized.
Rohan almost laughed. “Your mother is a mere mortal, love. I bet she
curses a lot more when you aren’t around. In twenty years, Tmynne will
probably think that you aren’t capable of cursing either, and we both know
that couldn’t be further from the truth.”
Jamil’s lips twitched. “Maybe,” he murmured, with an impish smile at
him.
Fuck, he was so beautiful when he smiled. He had the prettiest,
loveliest smile in the world. Rohan could look at him forever.
Only when the Queen-Consort cleared her throat did he realize that he
was leaning in, about to kiss Jamil, right there, in front of Jamil’s parents.
Rohan straightened, the back of his neck heating. Jamil was chewing
on his lip and blushing too, but embarrassment wasn’t the only thing Rohan
could sense from him. Jamil wanted to be kissed. It had been too damn
long, and they both were needy, starved for each other. One kiss had been
nowhere near enough to sate their mutual hunger.
With some difficulty, Rohan looked away from Jamil.
His gaze caught the Queen’s, who was watching them with a strange
expression on her face.
“All right, Jamil,” she said. “If this is not something I can change your
mind on, we will do everything as it must be done. You will get a divorce,
and you will marry Tai’Lehr—you did have the decency to propose to my
son, I hope?” the Queen said, glaring at Rohan, though nowhere near as
fiercely as she had before.
Rohan smiled, bowing. “Of course, Your Majesty. Thank you. Your
acceptance means a lot to Jamil.”
The Queen pursed her lips, but he could see a flicker of approval in her
eyes. “At least your bloodline is impeccable,” she said grudgingly.
Behind the Queen, her wife rolled her eyes, making Jamil laugh.
His beautiful eyes shining, Jamil grinned at him and squeezed Rohan’s
hand, his relief and happiness filling their bond like sunshine.
Rohan couldn’t help it: he kissed him quickly on the mouth.
“Tai’Lehr!”
 Chapter 38

“I’m sorry, come again?”

Prince Seyn of the Third Grand Clan stared at his older brother and
wondered if this was just a vivid, elaborate dream. He was still having
trouble processing everything that had happened in the past few days—it
still seemed unbelievable that his so-very-proper brother had been having
an illicit relationship with a rebel under their very noses for months—but
this was too ridiculous.
He received a flat look from Jamil. “Mother insists that I need to have a
chaperon every time I’m alone with Rohan until the divorce is finalized.”
Seyn chuckled, shaking his head. “I’m not even going to talk about the
absurdity of me being a chaperon, but eh, isn’t it a little too late for that?” It
was stupid. Why did it matter, anyway? Everyone now knew that Jamil and
Mehmer were getting a divorce, and Mehmer had already moved out of the
palace and gone traveling until the scandal would blow over. Seyn had felt a
little bad for him, except Mehmer didn’t seem all that upset. If anything, he
had seemed cautiously excited about no longer being constrained to comply
with the stifling rules he had imposed on him since before he could talk as a
future king-consort of the Third Grand Clan. There didn’t seem to be bad
blood between him and Jamil, as far as Seyn could see. They still seemed to
be friends, even if their relationship was a little strained and awkward. In
any case, Mehmer was unlikely to give a shit if Jamil and his future
husband weren’t chaperoned while they were alone.
“It was the Queen’s condition,” the man who was seated next to Jamil
said, his eyes on Jamil.
Seyn was still trying not to gawk at him. When Seyn saw him a few
months ago in the palace, Jamil introduced him as his manservant. At the
time, Seyn had thought it very strange—that man looked nothing like a
royal manservant, with his tattoos, the aggressive set of his chin, and black
eyes that unnerved Seyn a little. To tell the truth, an aristocrat’s attire suited
him much better than a servant’s, but he still had that… wildness about him
that seemed completely indecent. Seyn blushed a little as he realized that
this man exuded raw animal appeal, which was what had really made him
so uncomfortable months ago. It still did. Seyn naturally gravitated toward
more refined, haughty men—all right, toward Ksar—while Rohan’s kind of
male attractiveness just made him feel awkward. He still couldn’t believe
that his very proper brother had a relationship with such a man. Was the
world ending?
“You know how she is,” Jamil said, shifting a little so he was closer to
Lord Tai’Lehr.
Seyn wondered if Jamil thought he was being subtle. It was kind of
amusing to watch Jamil struggle to keep his gaze on Seyn. His eyes kept
returning to Lord Tai’Lehr, and there was such want in them that it made
Seyn a little uncomfortable, to be honest.
“It’s not the only reason we wanted you here,” Jamil said, tearing his
gaze from Lord Tai’Lehr with obvious difficulty. Lord Tai’Lehr didn’t even
bother looking away from Jamil. Seyn felt more uncomfortable by the
moment.
“We wanted…” Jamil seemed to lose his train of thought, his eyes
becoming glazed, for seemingly no reason at all.
Frowning in bemusement, Seyn looked at the two men and focused on
his senses. He was still not very good at this aspect of his telepathy, but
even he could see that Jamil’s telepathic presence was… fused with Lord
Tai’Lehr’s. For all intents and purposes, they looked like one being in two
bodies.
Seyn stared at them, his mouth falling open. Holy—Were they
engaging in a merge right in front of him? Without touching each other? He
hadn’t thought it was possible, but apparently it was. Jamil looked high, his
gaze vacant, a flush on his cheeks and pleasure rolling off his body in gentle
waves. As for Lord Tai’Lehr, his glazed black eyes were still fixated on
Jamil, his body tense with arousal.
Seyn blushed and looked down.
Eh, was he supposed to stop them? Wasn’t it his duty as a chaperon?
One could argue that a telepathic merge was more intimate than physical
joining of bodies.
He almost laughed at that thought. He would be the biggest hypocrite
in the world if he criticized someone for engaging in illegal telepathic
merges. Though he was pretty sure he and Ksar had never been this bad
about it. Jamil and Lord Tai’Lehr were showing all signs of merge
addiction. They must have done it countless times to slip into the merge so
effortlessly—so recklessly and shamelessly. It was obscene. It was as
obscene as if they were having sex in front of him.
Chancing another glance at the two men, Seyn blinked.
Jamil was leaning into Lord Tai’Lehr’s side, his head on his shoulder
and their entwined fingers on Tai’Lehr’s flat stomach. Their eyes were still
glazed. Seyn was pretty sure they were communicating mentally.
Jamil finally glanced at Seyn, his face suspiciously pink. “You didn’t
see this,” he mumbled. He seemed to be trying to look imperious and
commanding, but he failed miserably, considering that he was all but
purring as he snuggled up to his bondmate.
A laugh left Seyn’s mouth. “See what? Nothing to see here.”
Tai’Lehr’s free arm draped around Jamil’s shoulders, pulling him even
closer. He turned his head, his lips brushing against Jamil’s temple. A small
sound left Jamil’s mouth, his lips parting and his eyes becoming completely
glassy. Seyn wasn’t sure his brother even remembered anymore that they
weren’t alone in the room.
Noticing Tai’Lehr’s fixated gaze on Jamil’s lips, Seyn cleared his
throat before things could escalate. Yikes, he never wanted to know what
his big brother was like with a lover. Jamil had been happy with Mehmer,
but their relationship had been nothing like this. He’d rarely seen Jamil as
much as kiss Mehmer in someone else’s presence. He was too proper for
that. Or he had been, at least.
“You said it wasn’t the only reason you wanted to see me,” Seyn
reminded his brother. When Jamil didn’t even react to his voice, Seyn
started getting creeped out. “Lord Tai’Lehr, is my brother all right?”
Tai’Lehr lifted his gaze to him. They were less gone than Jamil’s but
still not completely focused. “He’s fine. And you should call me Rohan.”
“He’s fine?” Seyn said, not without sarcasm. “He doesn’t even seem to
be here, Rohan.”
Rohan’s hand rubbed Jamil’s bicep as he pulled him closer with a
protective arm around him. Jamil buried his face in the crook of Rohan’s
neck, his eyes closing.
“He’s fine,” he repeated. “It’s just been a while. He gets clingy when
we’ve been apart for a long time.” He smiled ruefully. “I’m not much better,
to be honest, but I’ve had the best training in the mind arts Tai’Lehr could
offer. Jamil hasn’t. The merge is more overwhelming for him while I can
still maintain part of my awareness of the outside world.”
Suppressing his curiosity about the training Rohan had received—now
wasn’t the time to discuss it—Seyn asked, “What did you want me here for?
Jamil started talking about it before getting… distracted.”
“We want your help. Or rather, your fiancé’s help. To get the High
Adept’s support, I had to promise Idhron things I’d rather not give him.”
Rohan grimaced. “That man has too much power as it is. You told Jamil
that Prince Ksar was able to get behind Idhron’s shields and get some dirt
on him. If you could convince Ksar to share what he learned, it would be
very helpful.”
 Seyn frowned, his stomach clenching in discomfort as he remembered
his last meeting with the High Adept of the High Hronthar. “I’ll ask Ksar. I
don’t think he’ll refuse to tell you, even though he isn’t exactly your biggest
fan after you all but blackmailed him to support you in the Council.”
Rohan shrugged, not looking very contrite. To be fair, he seemed to be
paying the conversation only marginal attention at best, his gaze on Jamil’s
face as Jamil’s eyelashes fluttered open.
“All right?” Rohan murmured, his voice significantly softer as they
gazed into each other’s eyes. “Feeling better?”
Jamil gave him a smile that Seyn could only describe as
smitten. “Yeah. So much better. Love you.”
Seyn turned away, beyond uncomfortable. A merge was an incredibly
intimate experience and he felt like a voyeur watching it—and kind of
envious. Not trusting his self-control, Ksar allowed them to merge only
when Seyn demanded it during sex. Seyn’s stomach fluttered as he
imagined what a merge with Ksar would feel like outside sex.
He should absolutely find out.
“All right, I’ll get on with it,” Seyn said, clearing his throat. “I’ll speak
to Ksar right now. I’m sure you two will be fine without me chaperoning
you—” He turned to the couple and then promptly turned away,
flushing. “Could you maybe wait until I’m gone before you get into his lap,
brother?”
“Go away,” came a breathless reply between the kissing sounds. “And
you didn’t see anything.”
Laughing, Seyn left.
He was the best chaperon ever, wasn’t he?
 Epilogue

“Mommy, look!”
Shayla looked up from the oven as her seven-year-old daughter burst
into the kitchen, waving a magazine in her hand.
“What is it, Nina?” Shayla said, straightening up, which wasn’t an
easy feat so late in her pregnancy.
Nina beamed at her. “Look, Mom, the prince’s wedding is in this
magazine! There are so many pretty pictures!”
Shayla barely suppressed a grimace. She knew who Nina was referring
to, of course: she’d talked of little else for the past month.
Personally, Prince Jamil’s wedding was one of her least favorite topics.
It was still hard for her to accept that her favorite couple had broken up—
and married different people.
Shayla still remembered how ecstatic she’d been when she heard the
news of Prince-Consort Mehmer’s miraculous return home. She had felt so
happy, as though it was her own husband who had come back to life. When
a few months later it was announced that Prince Jamil and his husband were
getting a divorce, there had probably been no one as shocked and upset as
Shayla was. Irrationally, she had hoped it was all a mistake and her ship
would get back together, except then she read the news about Mehmer’s
rather sudden marriage to a renowned interplanetary magnate. And as if that
wasn’t enough, the Third Royal House of Calluvia had announced Prince
Jamil’s engagement to the governor of Tai’Lehr. Privately, Shayla thought it
was a political match, that Prince Jamil’s family just wanted to save Jamil’s
face after his former husband’s prompt second marriage. So she had ignored
all articles about the engaged couple—until now.
Reluctantly, Shayla accepted the magazine from her daughter and
glanced at the cover.
And then she took a longer look, her mouth falling open.
Oh.
The prince was glowing; there was no other word for it. If she had
thought Prince Jamil was beautiful before, he was ethereal now, his face lit
up with love and happiness as he gazed at his new husband.
As for his new husband… Shayla had to admit that Lord Tai’Lehr
looked as enamored with his bondmate, his dark eyes full of tenderness and
desire. They looked… they looked right together.
Biting her lip, Shayla turned the pages of the magazine, looking at
picture after picture of the newlyweds and royal guests: Mehmer, on the
arm of his tycoon; King Warrehn, staring intently at someone outside the
camera frame; Prince Ksar and his consort, conversing with a group of
some politicians; Prince Harht, sitting so close to his Terran fiancé he might
as well be in his lap. They all looked so beautiful, confident, and happy.
They looked like they’d stepped out of a fairy tale.
Shayla’s gaze finally stopped on the picture where the newlyweds
were holding the one-year-old Princess Tmynne between them, the baby
leaning trustingly into the prince-consort’s shoulder as her parents gazed
into each other’s eyes with so much love and need that it seemed too
intimate for such a public setting. Behind the newlyweds, Shayla could see
Prince Jamil’s younger brother leaning into his own husband as he watched
the newlyweds with a smile.
Shayla realized that she was smiling too when Nina said, “See? I told
you they were cute together!”
 Shayla laughed, raking her hand through her daughter’s hair. “There’s
no need to be so smug, honey.”
Nina wrinkled her nose. “But I was right, Mom! The prince got his
happily-ever-after! A happy ending is loads better than a sad one.”
Shayla looked back at the magazine and smiled wistfully. “Maybe.”
She had to admit her heart felt lighter as she closed the magazine and
turned back to the oven.
“Did you read the bit about Prince Eridan?” Nina said excitedly.
Shayla chuckled, feeling a pang of nostalgia for her own childhood.
Kids grew up so fast. In twenty years, Nina would be telling these stories to
her own kids.
“What about him, darling?”

The End
 From the Author

Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed Jamil and Rohan’s story. Right now I’m focused
on writing the next book in the Straight Guys series. After that, I will go back to this series. The next
book in Calluvia’s Royalty series, Prince’s Master, will be released in 2020. It’s the story of Eridan
and Grandmaster Idhron. Strictly speaking, that book wasn’t supposed to be Book #4 (Warrehn’s
story was), but I’m itching to write it. I love anti-heroes. They’re always fun to write.

If you want to be notified when my next book becomes available, you can subscribe to my
mailing list: http://www.alessandrahazard.com/subscribe/

You can always contact me at my website http://www.alessandrahazard.com or email me at

author@alessandrahazard.com.

Sincerely,

Alessandra
 Calluvia's Royalty series

Currently, there are three books in the series:

#1 - That Alien Feeling

Banished by his parents to the third planet in the Sol system, Prince Harht’ngh’chaali of the
Second Grand Clan is completely fascinated by its inhabitants. Assuming the human name “Harry,”
he tries to pass for a human to survive, but being human is so much harder than Harry expected.
Humans are so confusing.

Adam Crawford isn’t looking for love. Financially secure and good-looking, he’s in a good
place in his life. He doesn’t mean to fall in love with the quirky guy working at the coffee shop near
his office. Harry is ridiculous—and ridiculously endearing. He wears ugly shirts and flowers in his
hair, and he has a kind word for everyone. Adam falls hard and fast.

Little does he know that Harry isn’t what he seems and anything between them is impossible.

Star-crossed love between a human man and an alien prince from a world half a galaxy away.

#2 - That Irresistible Poison

The youngest prince of his clan, Seyn has been betrothed to the crown prince of another clan
since birth. Everyone says he’s so lucky to marry one of the most respected, powerful men on the
planet, but Seyn knows better.
 He hates him with every fiber of his being. Ksar is a cold, uncaring, overbearing bastard who
uses underhanded tactics to achieve his goals and who either ignores Seyn or criticizes everything
about him. Seyn can’t stand him, and he’s willing to do anything to get out of the arranged marriage
to a man he abhors.

But the line between feverish hatred and passion can be very thin, and it turns out that
freedom isn’t as appealing as it once seemed.

Is it messed up to miss a man you loathe?

Is it sick to want his hands on you?

Seyn knows it’s insane. He knows he should stop going back.

But knowing something and doing it are two different things.

#3 - Once Upon a Time

Ice Prince.

Prince Jamil of Calluvia dislikes that moniker, but he has to admit it’s not wrong. He is
responsible and proper, and it’s probably accurate to say that he isn’t good at emotions. After being
widowed, Jamil’s life has revolved around his duties as a crown prince and little else.

But one night it changes.

One night, Jamil meets a man at the royal stables, a man who is the opposite of proper, a man
with eyes as black as sin.

Rohan di’Lehr is everything Jamil should despise. He’s a rude, lowborn criminal. He’s
terrible for Jamil’s self-control. He makes Jamil behave like a wanton man, not the Crown Prince.

They have nothing in common. They have no future together.

He still can’t stay away.

A story of forbidden attraction and love that defies all odds.