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Tears! When he hadn’t cried in years—not even when his father died. Not even when his own mother betrayed him and helped his uncle take the throne. Not even all those times recently when he’d felt so alone. But now all that unshed pain and misery came bursting out of him and he couldn’t seem to stop.
“Take it easy—steady now,” came the deep, sexy, unbearably soothing voice again, only this time much closer. Kalen struggled to open his eyes and realized that he was somehow enfolded in the Tygerian’s arms and being led over to a large piece of bench-like furniture. He was eased down onto it, and the handsome Tygerian prince knelt down beside him, looking up at him.
“What about this one?” the other Tygerian asked, putting a hand on Dartan’s shoulder.
“You’ve attacked one of my guards!” Kalen managed to say, still feeling hysterical.
Kalen heard Garet’s voice chime in then, still mouthing off and causing trouble at the door.
“Do you two need help in there, Prince?”
“Be quiet,” the big man snapped at him with cold and heavy menace, even though he never even raised his voice. “And wait outside.” He pushed him out and shut the door firmly in his surprised, red face. A furious knocking started up, and Florin ended it abruptly by slamming one huge fist into the door as a warning that shook the door in its frame.
The big Tygerian took another look at Dartan, still kneeling dazedly in front of him and another at Prince Kalen, who was swaying unsteadily on the bench.
“I think I may have overreacted a bit,” Dartan said.
“Oh, do you think so?” The other Tygerian, the one Kalen had last seen on Belline, looked down at him. He seemed amused, rather than angry, and Kalen bristled in Dartan’s defense.
“AreyouPrince Mikol?” Kalen said, feeling incredulous and hardly daring to believe it.
“At your service. And you’re Prince Kalen, I believe. It seems we meet again,” Mikol said, gazing at him, looking stern now, with an unreadable expression in his eyes.
He was still speaking—Kalen could see his lips moving, but it had all become just meaningless noise. Nothing was registering inside Kalen’s brain. He could feel his eyelids fluttering, and he thought,Oh gods, I’m going to faint,though if he did, it would be the first time he’d ever done such a thing in his life, and what a sterling time it was to begin now.
He glanced back at the Tygerian prince and again at Dartan, who refused to look up at him and was staying there on his knees where the Tygerian had put him. Everything seemed fuzzy and surreal.
Then again, if ever there were a time to start swooning like some girl, now would probably be that time.
“What’s wrong with you?” the prince was asking, taking hold of Kalen’s shoulders and peering down at him. “You there, on the floor, has this ever happened to the prince before? Should I call for a doctor?”
“Huh? Uh, I-I don’t know, Your Highness. I think maybe he just needs a moment. He seems to be in shock.” Dartan started to get up, apparently decided against it after darting a look at Florin’s face and crawled on his knees over beside Kalen to touch his leg. “Speak to me, Kalen. Are you all right?”
Kalen shook himself and pushed Dartan’s hand away, feeling deeply embarrassed by his unmanly behavior. He tried to stand up but fell back down on the bench. All right, he’d just stay there a moment then and rest. It had been an eventful morning—to say the least.
Meanwhile, the big Tygerian was helping Dartan up and depositing him on the bench next to Kalen.
“You can sit next to the prince for now,” he told Dartan, who looked a little dazzled by all that had happened. “But behave yourself. I’m watching you.”
Both Tygerians were looking down on the two of them with something like interest tinged with deep suspicion. The prince gave Dartan a cold glare when he put his arm around Kalen protectively.
“Just who are you, sir?”
“I’m Captain Kajeer, Your Highness, of Prince Kalen’s personal guard,” he replied, trying to bow while still sitting down.
“I see. I don’t believe we’ll require your assistance at this meeting, Captain, but thank you. Kindly wait outside the door. You too, Florin, if you don’t mind. I have some things to talk about with Prince Kalen in private.” He looked down into Kalen’s face. “If His Highness has recovered.”
“I’m fine,” Kalen snapped and jumped to his feet only to have to sit back down again quickly. He tried again and managed to make it over to stand by the porthole, his back to the room. He held tightly to the window frame to keep himself upright.
In the reflection of the glass, he could see Dartan flinching as the big Tygerian hauled him to his feet when he apparently didn’t get up quickly enough and manhandled him out the door. Dartan gave Kalen one last doubtful look over his shoulder but allowed himself to be more or less pushed out in the hallway by the Tygerian, who strong armed him in a custodial manner. Kalen kept gazing out the porthole as if there were something to see besides the endless blackness outside, feeling shaken and confused and trying to wrap his mind around this new development.
He’d thought he would never again see this man, but here he was, standing just behind him, waiting for him to collect his thoughts. How could that even be possible? How could the man he’d last seen in Belline be the actual prince of Tygeria? It was extraordinary, and he could see the reflection of the prince staring at him with a similarly odd expression as if he thought the same thing. Kalen straightened to his full height and turned around, hoping he was ready to face whatever was coming.
Prince Mikol didn’t seem surprised to see him here, which had to mean he already knew. But how? Had he observed him as he arrived and recognized him? Had he then been sent for to explain himself? To be questioned like a…like a…common person, so that the betrothal could be called off? Not long ago, he wouldn’t have minded—might even have welcomed that. Maybe he still did. He just didn’t know anymore. But now that possibility sat like a cold lump of mush in his stomach—which, come to mention it, was a perfect description of that first-meal he’d eaten not long ago—and he felt sick with dread. How his uncle would laugh about this when he found out. The thought straightened his spine.
“I suppose you have questions for me,” he said, raising his chin mutinously in the air.
“A few, yes.”
