Raphael grimaced. “That’s family for you. Can’t live with them, can’t throw them into columns without risking an international incident.”
I huffed. “I can’t believe you’re joking about this. I have so many questions about that.” Exhausted as I was, I had no clue where to begin in my list of questions.
Silence for a beat, then— “For the record, I didn’t throw him into a column for dancing with you.”
I let the silence speak my skepticism before responding. “I could feel your emotions. I thought I was going to vomit. You clearly didn’t like me dancing with him.”
“It wasn’t just the dancing.” His throat bobbed. “You were in his arms, laughing and smiling. You and I had fought, with you declaring this was nothing more than a dalliance to you, and all I could do was watch as he had his arms around you with no intent of letting you go. Then he kissed you, and all I could think was I had your lips just earlier and lost you.”
I winced. “He didn’t even kiss me, you know. He pressed his lips to the side of my mouth. It was all a ploy to provoke you.”
“Did you want him to kiss you?” he asked.
“Well, no.”
“Then let’s leave it at me doing it because he touched you like that without your consent.”
I snorted. Sure. And next I’d plan a vacation in the eighth hell because it was known for its relaxing herbal teas. “Congratulations. It was part of a bet your brother was using to rile you up. One that earned us a dinner with him before we can go.”
If that was the least of the consequences of tonight’s disaster, I’d send a special prayer to Lixa as thanks for our good luck.
He groaned, and I chuckled. The sound was almost boyish.
“Brothers, huh?” I murmured.
“Indeed.” He moved an arm away, reaching for something. A moment later, his thick suit jacket slid over me. I hadn’t even realized it had come off in the fray. The fabric smelled like him, engulfing me as he tucked me against his chin. “Sleep, my sweet viper. I’ll keep watch.”
And because I knew he would, I shut my eyes and let the sleep take me.
Chapter Forty-Six
Samara
Raphael insisted on carryingme the entire way from the forest back to the castle. He paid no heed to the stares through Limanos—no, that wasn’t accurate. If anything, he stood taller, imperious with me in his arms, his jacket from last night still around me. Despite our disheveled state, no one questioned Raphael even once.
“Demos is going to be really annoyed,” I grumbled against the crook between his arm and shoulder as we made our way through the hallways.
“With any luck, he won’t know we’re back until we’ve had a chance to bathe,” he replied as we rounded the corner to our chambers.
“Or at least until I pick the twigs out of my hair.”
His chuckle thrummed against my chest. “And here I thought perhaps you were trying to start a fashion trend.”
“Is that what the leaves in your hair are?”
I waited for Raphael’s retort, but he’d halted in front of our door. He paused a moment to set me down. Then he threw open the door.
There was the southern king in our chambers, sitting on our couch, one ankle crossed over his knee. His arms were spread wide over the back of the frame, with a mostly empty goblet dangling from his fingers. A half smirk was carved on his face, obviously expecting our arrival and hoping to have caught us off guard.
“Julian.”
Raphael subtly positioned himself between us. Without the masks, their shared blood was obvious. Mirror images of the same lean build, same angular jaw, same long legs. But though their features may have been identical, they wore them differently. What was seductive and lethal, equal parts allure and danger on Raphael, seemed like a big joke from Julian. A joke only he was in on.
He almost looked no worse for the wear from yesterday’s brawl, but there was a distinct change in his presence. Julian could act like everything was a joke, but there was the same deadly energy radiating from him that I’d recognized around Raphael. He just worked to disguise it under finery and a flippant tone.
“And here I was wondering if you’d done something like run off without saying goodbye,” Julian drawled. “My feelings were hurt.”
“Your feelings aren’t my priority,” was Raphael’s curt response.
