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Oh, this was fun. “What else?”
“Well, Camellia Saxon is certainly a succubus, created in the same vile place, which makes her not only Ev’s sister as well as his betrothed, but a soul sucker brought into this realm for the sole purpose of stealing all his spiritual essence. When she finishes with that, she shall, of course, move on to the rest of his kingdom, dragging us all down into the underworld with her.”
I finally laughed too. Fully. And dared anyone not to do the same when presented with that kind of a story. As soon as my head aligned back into place, I side-eyed him, spurting residual giggles. “Do I dare ask what they feel about Brooke Valen?”
His head cocked to the other side. I’d expected a lot of reactions when bringing up the woman, an American who’d grown up on Arcadia, but his open brood wasn’t one of them. “Brooke is…how would you say it in America…a delicate subject?”
“Okay.” I extended both syllables. Delicate didn’t enter my mind when thinking of Brooke, the American senator’s daughter who’d trained with Arcadia’s security forces for years before their leader, Prince Samsyn, fell hard and fast for her. Their legal wedding had been a rushed affair in the mountains to the northeast, but now the pair wanted a romantic ceremony, so a double wedding with Evrest and Camellia had materialized.
“Let me guess,” I finally ventured. “Brooke is a people’s princess because she’s lived here so long, and laid down her life for the country.” There was a story they hadn’t screened from the world. Probably impossible. The drama of how Brooke took a bullet for the youngest Cimarron royal, Princess Jayd, had made global headlines last April. “In normal circumstances, that would make her the ideal bride for Samsyn.”
“Under normal circumstances, yes.”
My shoulders dipped beneath the weight of understanding. “But Evrest had proposed to an American.”
Hisshoulders stiffened. “But Evrest proposed to an American too.”
“And the Pura expected Samsyn to fix that.”
His jaw went taut. “They expected him to do something.”
“And when Samsyn sealed the deal with another American, people’s princess or not—”
“Shit got real.”
My head snapped up. Hearing the vernacular of my language on his lips was like telling me to resist one of Gervase’s margaritas back home. Somehow I did it—with Shiraz’s accidental help. The somber intent in his eyes was still there, reminding me of the rest of his story.
The scary parts.
“That was when the Pura aligned with Rune Kavill?” I had to force out the asshole’s name. When Shiraz nodded tightly, I sighed heavily. “Damn. The terrorist even all the other terrorists hate.”
It was the truth. Kavill was the worst kind of outlaw. No higher purpose or religious mandate had called him to a life of violence. He inflicted destruction because he liked it. He got off on the high, the monetary power, perhaps even the vengeance for abuses suffered during his childhood—or so the psychobabble experts liked to proclaim. Nobody could be certain, because Kavill had concealed all connections to his real identity.
In the meantime, the sicko aligned with “partners” like the Pura of Arcadia, who found new ways to let him wreak chaos over the good King Evrest was trying to accomplish for his land. As a result, his ultimate goal was reached: to make Arcadians tense, angry, and afraid.
Just like the burden I saw in this man’s azure eyes. The weight wasn’t just on Shiraz’s mind. It tore at his spirit. Was it stupid to assume such a thing? Maybe—though from that moment of a stare, I knew that about him. I just…knew. I could see it about him, inside him—that though he’d likely never sit on the throne of this country, he took its leadership as seriously as both his older brothers.
With the same gravity he infused in his next words.
“So.” His dark eyebrows hitched, expectant. “Do you have your answer now, Miss Fava?”
“My answer?” The words drifted out of me. His eyes…I got lost in them all over again. Every new stare I likened to diving into an Arcadian lagoon, where hidden crevices and caves awaited discovery. “My answer about what?”
For a moment, he seemed amused. “About what I plan to do with Ambyr Stratiss.”
Time to get out of the lagoon.
No. Time to think about going home, to the middle of the desert, where I could bake my senses back into clay. I’d harden them in the kiln clearly labeled Do Not Touch.
No matter how badly I’d thought of doing exactly that…everywhere.
Letting him do the same to me…more than everywhere.
He’s. The. Client.
Do.
Not.
