A single sexy garment undid everything I’d been trying to do
since she arrived. I was glad I burned it, because if she wore that again and asked me to give her my crown, I might actually consider it.
I wondered how many other outfits she had like it—courtesy of
her handmaid.
This was not going to work. If I had to be alone with her, secluded in a mine, pretending to hate her,she could not wearthat. Absolutely not.
I summoned my assistant and assigned him a task I needed completed by morning. Feeling accomplished, I managed to drift off and get almost an hour of sleep.
When I woke up, I felt the need to check on Delilah again. So, like a complete fucking creep, I did. She was sleeping restlessly. I wondered if she didn’t like her bed. Maybe she’d prefer mine.
Then I started imagining her in my bed.
I stopped myself before I went any further down that rabbit hole and took a very cold shower.
Giving up on sleep, I got dressed and started my day extra early in the castle training room.
I lifted the heaviest weights I could find, over and over, until the pent-up frustration subsided and my mind finally began to clear.
The heavy door clicked, and I saw a certain silver-haired fuck in the reflection of the mounted mirror.
“Titus, we need to talk,” he said.
I didn’t want to talk. I had just burned through my stress, and I knew whatever he needed to tell me at this hour would only agitate me. I racked the bar and sat up, studying his face.
I wondered which mask I needed to wear.
I was trying to determine which version of us was needed for this conversation. Were we going to speak casually—as equals
and friends, like before we had titles? Or did he want me in my crown, formal and sharp with proper decorum?
Normally, with nobody around, I would assume he was Aurelius—my friend. But the energy between us lately had been tense, and he looked stressed. So, it might be Aurelius, the Royal Master of Dragons, requesting an audience with the High Lord.
I let him speak first—even though I knew he was contemplating the same thing. He was deciding which mask would work best in his favor.
He shifted on his feet and still didn’t speak. Whatever he wanted to say, he was nervous.
What did he want?
I gave him an impatient look. He cleared his throat.
“I wanted to set the record straight before you heard any rumors or implications,” he said evenly.
I pulled up my High Lord mask. “Okay. Go on, then.”
“After Draxxinar killed Prisca, you became mentally incapacitated to some degree. Everyone was worried about you. You didn’t move, didn’t speak—you were just… gone.” He hesitated. “I have never attempted to heal a psychological injury with my healing light before, but I felt compelled to try. So, I sent my light at you from behind, and Delilah thought I was attacking you. She called out to warn you, which possibly gave others the impression that I was attacking you as well.”
He was worried about rumors. I was worried about the truth. “I wanted you to know that I would never cross you…brother,” he explained with a small smile.
That word—brother.He knew exactly what he was doing.
Aurelius’s father was a noble high-born, my father’s most trusted advisor, so he was at the castle often. Aurelius, only two years youngerthan me, became the brother I never had. The brother I always wished for. And he knew using that word would defuse any anger I felt toward him and, fuck, he was right.
He rested his hand on my shoulder and gave me a kind smile. I just didn’t know how genuine it was. His words and tone seemed authentic, but they were almosttooauthentic—like he’d rehearsed this conversation several times before coming in here. His body language was off, too. He was nervous… but was he nervous because he worried I wouldn’t believe him? Because our relationship had been shaky with all the possessive tension over Delilah?
Or was he nervous because he was guilty?
