11 Chapter (2)

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.

“Mentallypatible,” 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 difort. “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 difort 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 upation.”

“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 pl.”

The prince’s skeptical expression cleared up. “Oh, right. Because of the pl’s maic 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…patibility 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 meanpulsion.”

Rohan met his gaze steadily. “Look, I’m sorry for doing it to you. I had little choice. I don’t particularly like usingpulsion, 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 forpulsion was the main reason he had managed to convince Sirri and the others that he