Daromir holds him a moment longer, just to prove his point, as murmurs rise from the room around him. Then he lets go, and Petir crumbles to the ground.
Every Draskoran noble in eyesight looks appalled. They aren’t used to a guard laying hands on one of their own—but none of them steps up to speak. Naoko looks intrigued, and Vana looks bored, which Daromir knows is a mask. He must be as disturbed as Daromir is by Petir’s questions.
Petir can’t know they were involved in the Rakos Tem incident. If he knew anything, he would have done something long ago. This must be about something else—Irenka could have filled his ears with plenty of poison before she died, old grudges passed to a new vessel. But whatever it’s about, Daromir doesn’t want Petir’s drunken rambling to inspire more coherent questions from other people.
Daromir nods at the man who had tried to hold Petir back. “You might want to help your friend out.”
The man bobs his head and goes to do just that. Daromir waits until they’re gone before taking his place again at the edge of the room. Within minutes, the party returns to its normal buzz. The music strikes up again. A servant cleans up the broken glass, and the incident vanishes like it never happened.
The only evidence is the nausea in Daromir’s gut, and Vana’s wine glass filling over and over again.
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CHAPTER SEVEN
Vana
Vana trips halfway up the half-lit staircase. He reaches for the railing, but Daromir already has a hand on his shoulder and an arm around his back. Supporting Vana before he even realizes he’s falling.
“Easy there,” Daromir says. “We don’t need a concussion.”
They wouldn’t share the actual concussion, just the pain of it. But Vana likes the way Daromir talks about sharing everything.
Too bad Vana can’t split his drunkenness with Daromir too. He started drinking long before Petir Bernek confronted him—when Lady Naoko and her servant each found their way to Daromir’s side. Sharing is only good with Daromir. Sharing with anyone else annoys Vana. Especially sharing Daromir’s personal space and attention.
This is better, stumbling up the stairs to his chambers, with only Vana at Daromir’s side, and only Daromir at his. Leaning against Daromir’s solid, reassuring body, Vana says, “Sorry.”
“Good job keeping it together until we left.” Daromir sounds amused.
“You’re laughing at me,” Vana accuses.
“Of course I’m laughing at you. You never get drunk. It’s adorable.”
“Bastard,” Vana mutters, and Daromir’s laughter echoes through the stairwell.
In the parlor, Daromir’s next cruelty is trying to step away. Vana catches Daromir’s sleeve, clinging like a needy child.
“Where are you going?” Vana asks.
Daromir takes both of Vana’s hands, thumbs circling in his palms. “I’m checking the rooms, like always.”
There’s no ice in Daromir’s touch now. Beneath the calluses is a soft warmth only for Vana. This late at night, Daromir’s rugged features don’t seem so stern. His eyes are such a captivating green, brighter than any magelight. He’s the only home Vana has left.
Hand in hand, they’re far too close, the only people in the world, when Daromir asks, “What am I going to do with you?”
Whatever you want, Vana thinks, with such power that he worries he’s accidentally said it out loud. But even that wouldn’t be as bad as what Vana actually wants Daromir to do. Vana isn’tthatdrunk, though. He isn’t foolish enough to dream that Daromir would lean down and kiss him now.
Vana shouldn’t want that. The mere thought of Daromir’s full lips, the soft sound of his breath, shouldn’t blank out Vana’s mind like this. Yet his entire consciousness spirals away on the fantasy. He barely has the willpower to keep from closing the gap himself.
Maybe Vana should have taken another glass at the party. He’s still sober enough to know that kissing Daromir could ruin everything. Wouldn’t it be nice to let go completely?
“Oh, you’re a terrible drunk.” Daromir grins, clearly mistaking Vana’s crisis of conscience for intoxication. He brushes a strand of hair from Vana’s face, and arousal teases through Vana’s skin—until sadness flashes across Daromir’s face. Right when he looks Vana in the eyes.
Vana shakes himself, trying to think what he would normally say. “I’m a wonderful drunk.”
“All right, my wonderful drunk, I need to inspect the rooms. Will you let me go?”
Vana lifts his chin. “Never.”
