It was a clean answer, neat and polished. Nothing about the female who didn’t choose him. Who was now pregnant by another Drakkon. And, absolutely nothing about Zara.
Their drinks arrived, deep amber spirit for Elian, green mineral wine for Liora, and a cold, dust-pale draught for Hektor.
They turned toward the tables?—
—and he saw her.
Zara. Glowing under string lights, cheeks flushed, curls tied back with lazy charm. And Pythorus, seated so close their elbows brushed. She smiled at something he said, soft, unguarded, lovely.
Hektor’s chest locked.
Don’t react. Don’t?—
Too late.
Liora followed his gaze and whispered, “Whoopsie.”
Elian winced. “We didn’t know they were here.”
“It’s no big deal,” Hektor said briskly, so brisk it was absurd.
He steered them to an empty spot. Unfortunately, directly across from the date. The gods clearly had a sense of humor and no mercy.
From here, it was impossible to ignore Zara’s smile or how she leaned toward Pythorus. If he turned his head, he’d look ridiculous. If he didn’t, he’d stare like a lunatic.
So he sat. Sipped. Pretended.
“Elian,” Liora murmured behind her glass, “are they…going to kiss?”
No, they weren’t. Of course they weren’t. Except—they might. Obviously, they might. This was a date. People kissed on dates.
“They’re on a date,” Elian exhaled. “That doesn’t mean?—”
Pythorus laughed. Zara leaned in, bright-eyed.
Hektor’s heartstopped,and he couldn’t keep the memory from hitting him. The way she tasted when he kissed her, warm and unmistakably hers. The way she fit in his hands, soft where he needed her to be, real in a way that grounded him. The idea of another male touching her like that, learning those same reactions, sent a sharp, ugly flare through his chest. Jealousy burned hot and possessive, fierce enough that it startled him.
If he touches her face, if his lips touch any part of her, I will incinerate this entire district.
The siblings watched him, wide-eyed.
“Maybe,” Elian said lightly, “you should…interrupt?”
Hektor didn’t think.
Hemoved.
One moment, he was sitting. The next he was standing at their table like an execution order had been stamped.
Zara and Pythorus snapped their heads toward him, startled and clearly mid-something.
“We need to talk,” Hektor said, voice low and flat.
“Um.” Zara blinked. “Okay?”
He motioned, more command than request. She rose, confused but compliant.
Behind her, Pythorus muttered under his breath with exquisite relief, “Thank the ancestors.”
