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“Miss Fava?”
“Huh?” I exited the daydream, straight into backhanding Samsyn’s massive shoulder. “Hey! What’d I say about that ‘Miss Fava’ shit?”
He smirked, as amused as if a butterfly had struck him. “I was saying, if you need to get a flight out right away, I can possibly get you to Athens. I shall pull one of the SAR helicopters out of duty here, and—”
“The hell you will.” I whacked him harder. And once I backed Ferdinanda out of that china shop, determinedly went on, “It won’t be necessary, Your Highness. Really. My schedule has been cleared for the week.” While it made us both squirm for different reasons, it was still the truth. Ezra had cleared my week based on the hope of staying here to finalize the contract for the wedding. “Please use the helos for the people who need the help. I even promise not to highjack Shiraz’s radio and tell you where to fly them.”
His smirk widened into a grin. “Deal.”
I curled a hand then held it up sideways, preparing to seal that shit with a proper fist bump, but dropped it before Samsyn could make contact. “Wait. Maybe we don’t.” I cocked a contemplative look. “Not yet.”
“The fuck?”
For a second, with his hair pulled back and the post-storm light darkening his eyes, he looked just like Shiraz. I took the resemblance as a good sign—but inhaled for composure anyway.
“You know how much your little brother looks up to you, right?”
He gave a bull’s snort. “’Raz?”
“You have another little brother?”
His lips twisted. “None that I know about.”
Okaaayyy.
Deciding to steer clear of that one, I went on, “He worships you, Samsyn. You have to know that much.”
Apparently, he didn’t—or was fantastic at faking it. “Pssshhh.”
I rocked my head back. Folded my arms. “You saying I’m a liar?”
“I am saying you are ill-informed.”
I knocked my head back into place. Took another huge breath. Came to a crazy decision. What the hell; I was leaving in a few days and would never see him again. “Did you know he’s memorized the details of every military op you’ve ever led?”
Deep canyons developed across his brow. His expression was menacing enough to land him in the 300 front line with Shiraz. “He what? Never mind,” he answered himself, clearly deciding my assertion made weird sense, before another scowl crunched his features. “How the hell do you know that?”
Because he kept me up half the night, bragging about you.
“I just do, okay?”
Rough grunt. “So what about it?”
I took a turn at toeing the leaves, hiding my new smirk. The expression wasn’t native for him, though the words carried Brooke’s bold influence. “You’d be making a dozen of his fantasies come true if you included him in the fun sometime, yeah?”
“If I what?”
His retort yanked my head up, challenging stare already in place. “He’s not a kid anymore. Did you know he can parkour the Astralle Canyon in under fifteen minutes? And that he can reassemble an M16 in two and a half minutes?”
No more 300 references. Now Syn was a seething ork from one of those CGI fantasy movies. “Where the fuck is he getting his hands on an M16? And why?”
“You’re missing the point.”
“I believe I am perceiving the point just fine!”
I dropped my arms. Breathed hard again, trying to stay away from the mental space of a four-year-old-backed-into-time-out. “I’m not talking about dragging him on some midnight raid or bomb deactivation. But even if you did, he’d hold his own—and maybe he just wants the chance to prove that to you.”
He leaned sharply at me, gaze back to being the color of hard ice. “He proves himself every fucking day. He keeps this kingdom on an even financial keel. Every day he makes decisions affecting tens of thousands of people throughout this land. Important decisions. Now he wants to lose a limb, as well? Maybe more than that?”
