With scoffing derision, Barnabas led him toward his father’s study. “So what did you hear?”
“It was a report on my father’s daily habits and that the enemy knows I’m Lil’s wingman.”
Closing the door to the study so that they were alone, Barnabas appeared less than impressed with the revelation. “Everyone knows you’re Lil’s wingman. That’s not much of a report, burr.”
Crossing his arms over his chest, Bastien gave him a drollno-shitglare. “It means there’s a spy in our ranks. Someone sending reports to the Eudorans about our routines. I know what I heard.”
“Bas… you’re under a lot of stress.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Just that sometimes our minds play tricks on us. Don’t you think that if there was an imminent threat to the royal family that I’d be the first in line to nip it before it blossomed into something dangerous?”
Barnabas’s calm, reassuring tone began to soothe his ragged nerves. His uncle was right. A large part of his job as the prime commander was keeping up with just such espionage. Especially while they were at war. If a threat were looming, Barnabas would be the first to know.
His uncle patted him on the shoulder. “Now tell me again what happened? Start from the top.”
“I was getting on my airbike.”
“That your ødara won’t allow you to ride?”
“Yeah.”
“And what? You were planning to run away from your responsibility?”
That pissy, pithy tone rankled. As did the obvious condescension. Honestly, he was getting really sick of the way his uncle and brother looked down on his every word and deed as if he had a head injury and they had to wipe his ass for him. “Not permanently. I just wanted to clear my thoughts for a few minutes.”
“Mmmm. Well, it seems to me that your subconscious picked up on that and ran with it. Probably out of guilt, it concocted this elaborate death plot to make you fear for their safety so that you wouldn’t flee, but rather stay here and face what you’ve done.”
Bastien gaped at his censure. He’d taken full responsibility for everything from the beginning. At no time had he denied it or tried in any way to get out of a single bit of this. Hell, he’d even gone alone to the Wyldestarrins and told both Alura’s mother and father what had happened and assured them that he wouldn’t scandalize their daughter. Whereas Barnabas’s sons would have forced an abortion and then exiled Alura out of the empire, he was marrying her and giving both mother and child his full protection.
For that matter, Barnabas had ruined the lives of three different women that Bastien knew of.
So had Bastien’s father. Well, not three, but he knew of one in particular the courtiers whispered about whenever they didn’t realize he could overhear them. A massive scandal that had almost ended his parents’ marriage.
To this day, Barnabas paraded mistresses around his wife and children with no regard for either. So how dare the hypocrite stand there and lecturehimabout morality and responsibility!
“Meaning what, Uncle?”
Barnabas narrowed his gaze on Bastien, but that was the only sign he gave of his anger as he refused to answer the question. “Did you record any of the conversation?”
“No. I didn’t think to.”
“Then how can you be so sure you heard what you think you heard?”
Because he wasn’t an idiot. But he knew that look in Barnabas’s eyes. Bastard wasn’t listening. And no amount of argument would sway him. Bastien had bashed his head against this wall enough to know the migraine before it began.
Sighing, he backed out with as much dignity as he could. “Maybe you’re right.”
“Of course I’m right. Now be a good boy and return to your wife. She’s been looking for you. Don’t you think you should take her home and consummate the wedding?”
Not really. He’d rather set fire to his crotch.
But his uncle was right. This was expected of him.
“Fine. Thank you, Barnie.”
There was a subtle yet visible tensing at the nickname Barnabas despised. “Any time, slim.”
