Rhaif looked at Dorian with a stifled sneer, as though he were vermin to be squashed. But Dorian took a step back. “I should make sure Bala has dinner,” Dorian said. “You know,hospitalityand all,” he added in a smart tone.
Rhaif considered him but didn’t argue. “Yes, you all missed dinner. Including your older,” he muttered, glancing down at the ground before looking over his shoulder to his own Second. “Bard, please have some food brought up to my study for Nyssari. And have the servants prepare a meal for our guests as well. Perhaps Aydra will have returned by the time it is ready and eat with you.”
There was a twinge of sadness in his voice, but he cleared his throat, and in his succeeding words, it was gone.
“Say good night to your brother, Nyssari,” Rhaif told her.
He pushed between them then, merely giving Dorian and Bala a nod. His cloak billowed behind him as he stretched down the hall.
Nyssa held back to speak with Dorian and Bala, to tell them she would try to catch up with them later, but Dorian’s squeezing of her elbow made her frown.
“What?” Nyssa asked, confused by his action.
Dorian shifted, swallowing hard and looking warily from Bard and then down to her. “I don’t want you staying alone with him,” he said in a quiet voice. “Ask Bard to stay with you.”
“What—“ She’d always known the pair did not like each other, but this… this was different. “Dorian, it’s Rhaif. I meet with him at least once a week. He probably wants to go over meeting agendas. I’m fine.”
She started forward, but Dorian grabbed her again. “Nys, I mean it,” he said, and this time Nyssa turned fully to face him.
“I don’t….” But he sighed heavily, deciding perhaps there was no talking her out of going to meet Rhaif, and shook his head when he looked down at her again. “Just be careful.”
Seeing the pain in his eyes, Nyssa wrapped her arms around him and hugged him tightly. “I’m fine,” she assured him again. As she pulled back, she looked at Bala and gave her a smile. “If he tries to get you in trouble, send wind to the sixth floor, the last window on the left circle tower. I’ll send my eagle back to torture him.”
“Come along, Nyssari,” Rhaif called as he paused at the end of the hall.
“Coming!” she shouted back.
For a final time, she looked at Dorian’s worried face. “I’ll be fine,” was all she said before turning on her heel and running to catch up with Rhaif.
CHAPTER FIVE
DORIAN WATCHED NYSSA disappear with Bard down the hall, stomach knotting at letting her go to their brother after what he’d seen Rhaif do to Aydra the day before. Though he knew Rhaif had never hurt Nyssa, he’d also not been aware of what he was doing to Aydra. All he could in his mind see was the way Rhaif had looked at him the day before, the way he’d stood over Aydra and hurt her.
It made him so anxious that he nearly abandoned Bala to follow after and stand outside the door.
He and Rhaif had never been close, but Dorian had tolerated it and decided a long time ago that maybe they were just never meant to be friends. Rhaif had never been fond of him—even before Dorian had watched what happened the night Vasilis died.
It was a night that Dorian had tried to block out for as long as possible, keeping the secrets that Rhaif had asked him to.
The night of Rhaif’s marking, Dorian had heard Vasilis try to manipulate Rhaif and degrade him to the point that Rhaif fell to his knees and began sobbing. He had watched from the shadows of the servants’ tunnel as Vasilis abused Rhaif and tried to force himself on him, and when Vasilis mentioned how he would do the same to Aydra the next day, Rhaif lost control.
His form had risen on his skin like a demon taking over his body. So fast that Vasilis had not had a moment to call upon his own. Rhaif had no knowledge of how to control it, and he’d cracked the bedposts and beat Vasilis’s head into an unrecognizable pulp. Dorian had run into the room, knowing from his own experience that Rhaif would not come back from that form without interference, and Rhaif had rounded on him, grabbed him, and as Dorian fought back, Rhaif’s form dwindled. He had released Dorian with terror in his eyes—as though realizing that he was hurting him broke something inside.
The only thing they ever did together was throw Vasilis from that open window and watch as he splattered against the castle wall and onto the beach below.
Rhaif pulled Dorian’s eight-year-old self beneath his arm and kissed the top of his head hard—the only affection he’d ever received from him as if his true self had seeped through the villainous facade and allowed him to have one moment of a regular being. Tears jerked Dorian’s eyes when his brother gave his hair a ruffle, and he had to grab onto the chair when Rhaif released him forcefully. Dorian held his stomach and tried to stifle the vomit threatening to come up.
He’d never seen someone’s insides before, never smelled blood like that, or watched as a person was beaten to guts.
“What were you even doing up here?” Rhaif asked Dorian, chest heaving, the both of them breathless and anxious from the entire ordeal.
“I… I always use the tunnels to come back from the kitchens,” Dorian replied, his young voice hardly working beneath Rhaif’s hardened stare. “I’m sorry—“
“I could have hurt you,” Rhaif snapped.
Dorian swallowed and straightened. “You could have been lost in the form—“
“Yes,brother, I remember well how our mother chose you two before me.” Rhaif’s voice was a knife through the tension of the room. “I am aware of her personal training with you. There is no need for the reminder.”
