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“Me? Imprudent?” Baris turned to face his brother. Baris debated every decision. Planned every detail and possibility. “I always put the needs of the kingdom above my own.”
“Until you are angered, then you become reckless.” Vekele planted his hands on Baris’ shoulders and forcibly spun him back around. “Stop moving. If I do not apply the ointment correctly, you will have a scar.”
“Hardly my worst feature.”
“Yes, but it is easier to hide your rotten personality by saying nothing.”
Baris laughed, but in the mirror, Vekele’s expression remained serious.
“You were reckless with the Starshades.”
“That was years ago,” Baris replied. Then, feeling the need to defend his actions, “They forced my hand. It was necessary.”
“I do not disagree, but you placed yourself in a dangerous situation.” Vekele tore open a package and applied the bandage to the wound. “What if our intelligence had been incorrect and the Starshades had more arms or guards?”
“It was not.”
“You used yourself as bait. I do not approve.”
“I do not seek your approval,” Baris said, his voice growing cool.
“I am very much aware that you are my sovereign and I am your subject, but I ask you to consider how your actions impact me and my mate the next time you decide to play bait.”
“I do not understand why you waited years to bring up your concern,” Baris said. His brother spoke as if those events were recent and not long settled.
“Today was unnerving. My mate says I ignore my emotional baggage unless I trip over it. The baggage is a metaphor,” Vekele added, as if he did not expect Baris to understand. He drew his shoulders back and lifted his chin. “Your behavior has grown increasingly erratic in the last year.”
Baris pulled a fresh shirt over his head, his shoulder screaming in pain. His health had steadily declined over the last year. Ignoring the condition and outlasting it by sheer stubbornness had not worked. While he had been able to hide it from the court with Harol’s medical care, Vekele noticed. The blasted male noticed everything. Baris knew the Symbiote Death Syndrome affected his mood and ability to think critically on days when his head pounded; he did not believe it made him erratic. He said, “I consider all my actions. I do not act on impulse.”
“And the Khargal ambassador? Was that well-considered?”
Baris growled in frustration both at the finicky ties on the shirt that refused to cooperate and with Vekele.
“I do not wish to argue with you,” Vekele said.
“You are very good at it.”
Vekele waited patiently while Baris fumbled with the ties. He did not offer to help, which placated Baris. He was perfectly capable of dressing himself. He did not want his brother’s pity, and Vekele certainly understood what it felt like to be the recipient of well-intentioned yet still insulting pity.
“I am very good at it,” Vekele agreed, once the last tie was fastened. “Now, your shadows. Do not tell me that you do not wish to discuss it. If I can jest about my eyes, you can tell me why you did not summon your shadows to protect yourself.”
Baris hesitated from more than wishing to avoid pity. The truth was a weakness; for the king to admit it, even to his brother, was asking for a dagger in his back.
No. This was Vekele. They shared more than a relationship based on genetics and birth order. He was his confidant. His friend.
His only friend these days.
“Forgive me. Old habits,” Baris said. Before he could share the details of his situation, Vekele’s mate, Sarah, and her bonded beast, Ghost, entered the room. She carried a steaming mug. Baris caught the distinctive aroma of moon root tea.
An audience. How delightful.
“Harol told me to make you drink this,” she said, handing the mug to him. “What’s going on?”
Vekele pressed his lips together. Baris raised his brows in return.
Sarah’s gaze bounced between Vekele and himself. “I feel like you two just had a whole-ass conversation without saying a word, and frankly, rude. I don’t have your sibling telepathy.”
“We are not telepathic,” Vekele said.
