Amunkar finally stepped into view.
The warm brown of his skin had the same metallic scales sparkling beneath the surface as Amal did—only his were almost entirely gold. Long hair like fresh-tilled earth was half gathered into a knot on his head, the rest falling over wide shoulders in coiled ropes to his waist.
A heavy, gleaming medallion sitting in the center of his chest caught her eye, suspended on a thick chain and framed perfectly by the deep vee of his knee-length tunic. Along with his tight trousers, the silken, olive threads boasted a subtle shimmer, complimenting the vibrant pattern of his wide-sleeved overcoat. Black, russet, and ivory shot through the deep green color in a pattern both curving and geometric at once, so intricate that Lunara could’ve stared for hours trying to piece it out.
The epitome of looming majesty.
He wrapped his hand around Amal’s shoulder, a thick ring glinting. “If that is the case, it will be handled.” His penetrating, umber stare landed on Lunara.
Hot and cold, and loaded with so much raw power that she actually stopped breathing. It promised friendship and ruin in equal measure, depending on which side of him you fell—not unlike Amal, there.
Shitting stars.
“Anything to say for yourself, Lunara the Moonweaver, Sorcerit of the Evesong with an Elder name, despite the fact that I have never once laid eyes on you and know all of those who boast such status?”
“Amun—”
The Imperial Heir raised a silencing finger at Brand and waited, focused solely on her.
“I have a great many secrets,” she rasped, acknowledging the implication in his words. “Ones that will alter the course of my life when they are widely known, but none of them are as serious as what is being suggested, and Brand knows everything. And believe me, convenient though it may seem, this might be the last place in all of Bordoroth I want to be.”
He studied her, utterly still.
“Second to last, if you’d like me to be specific.”
Too used to Magnus and Vann, Lunara belatedly realized she’d spoken to him as if they were familiar with one another. She dropped into as much of a curtsy as she was willing to risk with that spear-tip still hovering inches from her face, and mumbled a rushed, “Your Highness.”
Which did exactly nothing to thaw him.
He drifted away, his eyes sinking to stare into some middle distance.
What the?—
Searing rage tumbled through the bond, licking like acid through her veins just before Brand’s hand shot down and seized Amal’s weapon, bringing it up to his own chest.
Trembling withhisfury, Lunara stumbled back, straight into Magnus and Vann.
“I’ve been as patient as I am fucking able, watching you threaten my mate,” Brand sneered. “If you’re so bent on violence, you can direct it at me.”
Amal was clearly surprised by the turn of events, an uncertain furrow appearing between her brows. “Your Highness…”
Brand took a step forward, the spearhead jabbing into his sternum.
Amal looked between them, jaw ticking as her lungs heaved. “Brandir, please. Do not make me do this.”
“Brother.” Vann reached up, his fingertips brushing Brand’s forearm. “You know full well she may only relent once she’s assured of Amun’s safety, or he releases her himself.”
“My word is fucking assurance.”
“You’re right, but she doesn’t deserve your ire.” Vann’s voice went quiet. “She’s only doing her sacred duty.”
Eyes darted in every direction, the building tension so thick that Lunara was choking on it.
Not what you expected mixing with Imperials? What did you think was going to happen—hugs and fun, all the time?
Amunkar sucked in a sharp breath. “Enough, Amal. There is no danger. She is who she says.”
They broke apart at once. Amal sagged, withdrawing her spear with obvious relief and mumbled apologies. Brand ignored the warrior entirely.
