It was a small comfort. He was judging himself.
“You have a meeting at ten o’clock. Your visitor is waiting for you in your office, Your Highness.”
Fuck. He’d completely forgotten about it.
Jamil took a deep breath and pushed Rohan off. “I’ll be in my office shortly,” he told the AI, shivering as the merge finally snapped. He wasn’t cold. The environmental controls of the palace were excellent, keeping all rooms at a comfortable temperature at all times. He couldn’t be cold. It was all in his head.
“Don’t do it again,” he told Rohan, trying to straighten his cravat with awkward, trembling fingers.
Rohan pushed his hands aside and started working on his cravat. “You wanted it as much as I did.”
Pursing his lips, Jamil said, “I didn’t.”
Smiling wryly, Rohan tapped Jamil’s bottom lip with his thumb. “You can pout and deny it all your want, but it’s kind of pointless, sweetheart. I was inside of you. I know what you felt. You were this close to coming in your pants.”
Blushing, Jamil glared at him. “You’re an uncouth, vulgar swine.”
Rohan looked at him with something like fascination. “I’m actually really not. I guess you bring out the worst in me, Your Highness.”
Jamil shivered. How did this man manage to make the proper form of address sound so dirty?
“There’s no need to be embarrassed,” Rohan said, brushing his thumb against Jamil’s burning cheek. “You know it’s pretty common to come during an intense merge.”
When he just looked at Rohan blankly, those black eyes narrowed. “It’s never happened to you,” Rohan stated.
“Of course it hasn’t,” Jamil said, unable to believe they were really discussing this. “I’ve never merged with anyone but you.” Mehmer had suggested it a few times, but Jamil had refused each time, uneasy about engaging in such a deep, invasive connection.
Rohan stared at him, his expression very still and strange. “I’m your first?”
Scowling, Jamil pushed him away. Walking over to the mirror, he looked at his reflection. To his surprise, his cravat was tied perfectly, hiding the marks on his neck. “You’re good at this,” he said, eyeing the tidy folds. “Where did you learn to do it?”
Behind him, Rohan was straightening his own clothes. Jamil refused to think about how they had gotten so disheveled.
Rohan shrugged. “Aren’t you late for your meeting?”
Jamil’s eyes widened.
He strode out of the room, unable to believe that he had gotten so distracted—again.
Irresponsible. Irresponsible, reckless, and dangerous, considering who he was meeting with.
Jamil stopped in front of the door to his office and took a moment to arrange his thoughts in some semblance of order. He re-built his mental shields, taking care to hide any thoughts of Rohan di’Lehr at the deepest corners of his mind.
At last, feeling as ready as he could be, Jamil entered his office.
The sole occupant of the room turned away from the windows and looked at him, his face expressionless.
Although the man was around Jamil’s age, not old by any stretch of imagination considering that Calluvians generally lived over one hundred and fifty years, he seemed… not older, exactly, but dignified. Stern. Silver-white straight hair fell to the man’s shoulders, not softening his broad, classically handsome face. Ice-blue eyes met Jamil’s, their expression unreadable.
Although it was Jamil’s eighth meeting with him since Mehmer’s death, this man still remained a mystery to him.
To be fair, it was probably a job requirement, considering who this man was.
Master Castien Idhron, the High Adept of the High Hronthar, the Grandmaster of the P’gni Order, the Head Mind Healer: this man held many titles. He was one of the most powerful men on the planet, recently promoted after the death of his predecessor. Although there were rumors that he’d achieved his high position by dubious means, Jamil had never been afraid of him.
But now he was. Because this man was likely the most skilled telepath on the planet, and he was going to look into Jamil’s mind. And for the first time, Jamil actually had something he would like to hide.
“Your Highness,” the High Adept said with a shallow bow that seemed more like a nod. Although Jamil was the Crown Prince of the third largest grand clan of Calluvia, the High Hronthar had always stood apart from the regular social hierarchy. The monks of the Order seemed to care very little for politics, their lives dedicated to the mind arts. It was said that they strove to achieve total control over their bodies and minds, purging all emotion.
Frankly, the monks had always made Jamil a little uneasy.
“Your Grace,” he said evenly, bowing deeper. “My apologies for my tardiness.”
Master Idhron didn’t bother to assure him that he didn’t mind waiting. Jamil winced inwardly. The High Adept was a very busy man. Of course he had better things to do with his time than wait for him. Really, it was an incredible honor that such a high-ranking mind healer was handling his case personally.