18 Chapter (1)

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 ents 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 sessful 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 unustomed 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 ept 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 mentalpatibility.

Not that he needed any other confirmation of their mentalpatibility 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 smallfort. 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’dpletely otten 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 afortable 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 toing 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 prettymon toe 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