PROLOGUE
The facility was quiet now.
Thyaar walked two steps behind the Emperor through the blood-scrubbed corridors, watching Daaynal's broad back and trying to get his head to stop spinning.
It wasn't working.
The last three days had made a complete draanthing mess of everything he thought he understood. He'd expected to be arranging a funeral… Raaevik's funeral. Because that was what happened when a sub-commander decided to sleep with his Emperor's matched mate.
Except that Daaynal hadn't ordered the execution. He'd handed Raaevik a ship.
And then it turned out Raaevik was Izaean.
Thyaar's jaw worked as he tried to make that all fit in his head. Draanth, he had a headache.
He'd fought beside that male for years. Years of shared watches, rations, and blood on different battlefields. That hadn’t stopped him from grabbing Raaevik by the collar, shoving him into a maintenance closet, and telling him exactly how he was going to die if he didn't get his head straight as soon as he’d seen what was happening. Trall… He'd even committed treason himself by not reporting Raaevik.
And apparently, the whole time, Raaevik had been sitting on top of the rage mutation like unexploded ordnance.
Always knew there was something wrong with you, brother.
He'd said it as a joke…as an insult, because that was how they worked. Because Thyaar was better at insults than he was at anything that sounded remotely like feelings.
Turns out he hadn't been wrong.
He just hadn't been right enough.
Izaean. The black armor. The eyes. No wonder he'd always been so locked down. So relentlessly, exhaustingly controlled. He hadn't been holding himself together.
He'd been holding something else back.
And Emily Evans had been the thing that finally?—
"Thyaar."
He blinked.
The emperor had stopped walking. He stood in the middle of the corridor, arms folded over his chest and one eyebrow arched.
Thyaar's ears went hot.
"I'm sorry, Your Majesty." He kept his voice level. Professional despite the mortification crawling up the back of his neck. "I didn't catch that."
The Emperor looked at him for a long moment.
"No," Daaynal said, his voice mild. Dangerously mild. "I noticed."
Thyaar squared his shoulders and met the Emperor's gaze. He said nothing because there was nothing to say that wouldn't make it worse. You didn't ask the most powerful male in the known galaxy to repeat himself. You just stood there and took the hit.
Daaynal studied him with those sharp green eyes and then, unexpectedly, a smile curved his lips.
"I asked," the Emperor said, "whether you believe Raaevik knew."
Thyaar thought about it. Actually thought about it, not the reflexive answer that would move the conversation along and get him the draanth out of there the fastest.
"No," he said. "He thought he was losing his mind." He paused. "I think that's why he was so—" He stopped. Started again. "He held the line harder than any male I've ever served with. I used to think it was stubbornness."
"And now?"
