Finally, stomach empty, the world slowed to a more sedate pace.
“Wha’?” Leander uttered, realising someone had spoken directly to him.
The demigod was still glaring at his hands and tried to wipe them along the building to clean them of vomit, before deciding it was pointless and wiping them on the finely embroidered jacket he was wearing. Then he paused in his motions. What thefuckwas he doing?
Grumbling to himself, he removed the jacket and threw it into his pile of vomit. He could collect it tomorrow, if indeed he remembered the events of this night.
Finally, he looked into the stormy eyes of his rescuer. He blanched. Once again, Desanne’s exiled prince had found him in a compromising position.
Spectacular.
“I’m fine.” Leander said unnecessarily as he straightened up and took stock of his situation. It could be worse, he supposed.
Leander staggered—that was the best way to describe his gait—down the street. He didn’t get far before he toppled over.
The ground didn’t race up to meet him, however, because the fall was controlled by Jarryn, whose strong arms kept Leander mostly upright.
“Where are you going?”
“This way,” Leander replied thickly, pointing vaguely forward, as if that should be obvious. He glanced up atJarryn. The alcohol blurring his vision didn’t make the man any less beautiful.
“I think we should return you home, Lord Leander,” Jarryn said slowly, concern etched across his features.
“No.”
“…Excuse me?”
“Did that man box you around the ears?” Leander’s speech was slightly less slurred, and it gave him courage to continue speaking. “I said no.”
Blue eyes flashed. “Do not walk away from me, Leander. Are you injured at all?” The authoritative tone was back, quiet, but Jarryn probably knew that he never had to raise his voice to get what he wanted.
Too addled to fight, Leander allowed Jarryn to take his arm and guide him through the streets of Saeren. “No, I’m not hurt.” He was just a little shaken up, and his head hurt. But that was probably nothing he didn’t inflict on himself.
He realised they were not going to the Talius residence, but towards the royal palace.
Leander said nothing to argue against this destination, however, choosing instead to expend all remaining energy on putting one foot in front of the other.
It was effortful, each step. His feet felt uncommonly heavy and his free arm, the one not being held by Jarryn, was swinging wildly at his side, causing him to lose his balance every few steps.
“I will send word to your father so he doesn’t worry.”
“I’d rather you didn’t.”
“I will.”
Leander scowled. The only thing Flavian would worryabout was the rumour mill. He wouldn’t care about his youngest son’s wellbeing.
“Have no fear, I will be delicate in my missive.”
Once inside the palace, Jarryn guided Leander down darkened corridors to his own apartments.
“I am concerned about a head injury and that won’t be plain until you are sober, so you will be here for at least a few hours.”
“I don’t think?—”
“Your remaining here is not up for debate, Leander.” Jarryn interrupted, somewhat harshly. “You will either stay here overnight, or I will have some orderlies strap you to a gurney and take you across to the infirmary, where you will remain until the physicians are satisfied.”
Biting his lower lip, Leander slumped down onto one of the plush chairs in the room. He knew he wouldn’t win.
