He slowly unclenched his hands, pushing a deep exhale past his teeth. He refused to meet Kol’s gaze, instead focusing on the wall over the god’s shoulder.
It was the only bit of rebellion he could muster.
Kol smiled, amused and unbothered, and turned to the herald waiting patiently at the door. “Please bring in our guest.”
The young boy nodded and darted away. A few seconds passed before footsteps rang in the hall toward the open double doors.
Andrian’s heart twisted and shuddered in his chest as a young man strode into the great hall.
Shining golden hair, brushed away from his face in perfect smooth waves. A strong jaw and straight nose, skin pale with an undertone of gold. Instead of the golden-brown eyes of his father, this man carried traces of their mother. Not quite Andrian’s rich purple blue, but a soft pale gray.
Gabriel Laurent. Andrian’s younger brother and heir to the lordship over the northern keep of Antoris.
He was also aman. Shock slapped Andrian across the face at the realization that his baby brother had grown up, leaving the shy little boy of his memories behind.
That same shock was echoed in Gabriel’s expression when his wandering eyes found Andrian. He halted in his tracks, boots scuffing across the polished marble.
“Andrian?” Disbelief coated Gabriel’s voice—a man’s voice, not the boyish one Andrian remembered. “What are you doing here?”
“He is my guest! And it’s nice to meet you, Gabriel Laurent.” Kol’s smooth voice wound around Andrian like a serpent. The god sidled up beside Andrian, hands sliding smoothly into his pockets.
Gabriel’s shocked gaze grew wider, bouncing between Andrian and Kol, catching and noting all their similarities.
Under any other scenario, it might’ve been comical.
Now it only tugged harder on Andrian’s hate and rage.
Gabriel pulled together his composure, relying on his years of political training to do so.
Had Gabriel suffered the same cold indifference from their father as Andrian? Had he felt the same desperate desire to please a father who would never be satisfied?
Somehow, Andrian doubted it.
“The honor is all mine, Your Eminence,” Gabriel said smoothly, bowing deeply at the waist. “I’ve heard a great many tales of you and your promises to Onita from my father. The moment I received your call, I knew I could not refuse.”
Something prickled in Andrian’s gut at the too-practiced greeting. He narrowed his eyes, assessing his brother in a new light. The last he’d seen Gabriel, his brother had been no more than six, a bit of a spoiled child that their father had brought to court for the same reason he’d brought Andrian at that age.
A prize to be paraded about. A trophy to display before the rest of the court, a political chess piece to wield on their boards in petty quests for power.
Not for the first time, Andrian wondered what sort of man Julian Laurent had raised Gabriel to be.
Would his little brother be a potential ally, or a threat?
Kol chuckled. “Such perfect words. You are clearly the pride of the Laurent family, and for good reason.” Andrian felt Kol’s sharp, stinging glance against his cheek. He tightened his jaw, grinding his teeth, but refused to turn.
Nerves slipped past Gabriel’s facade. “I had a strong role-model in my older brother. I’d say our family was blessed for many reasons.”
“Hm.” Kol took a step toward Gabriel. “Yes, certainly ablessedfamily. Even though your father has ended up being such a disappointment.”
Gabriel stilled, a muscle feathering in his jaw. He glanced again at Andrian—a seeking, questioning look—before returning his attention to Kol.
So, hedidn’tknow that their father currently resided in the cells beneath their feet. Interesting.
Andrian’s brother opened his mouth, but?—
“It is no matter,” Kol said. “Now that you have joined us, I think the Laurent name will soon be fully redeemed.” His red-gold eyes flashed, shadows leaking from his shoulders. A subtle threat. “I do hope that you will not be a similar disappointment as your father. Especially with your mother’s bloodline, far more loyal than any that exists here in Onita.”
Gabriel’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?—”
