Thinking of his last encounter with Ksar inevitably led him to thinking about what had happened afterward. Rohan’s arms wrapped tightly around him, Rohan’s voice, comforting him and whispering sweet nothings, his firm body pressed tightly against his own, his familiar, masculine scent —
Jamil turned away, wrapping his arms around himself tightly.
Gods.
He wished Mehmer had never died. He wished he’d never met Rohan. He wished he’d never known this deep-seated, raw longing. He’d been happy with Mehmer; he really was. His feelings for Mehmer might have never been as deep and intense, but he had been perfectly happy not knowing that such intense feelings were even possible.
He’d heard somewhere that it was better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all. As someone who had experienced happiness with two different men and then lost them, Jamil wanted to hit whoever had said that. Or perhaps it was true about his relationship with Mehmer: thinking about their comfortable relationship brought a fond, wistful smile to his lips now. Thinking about Rohan just brought a gut-wrenching ache in his soul, a longing so intense he wanted to curl up into a miserable ball of pain and never wake up.
Maybe all he needed was time.
Time supposedly healed everything, right?
The problem was, a part of him didn’t want to heal. That part of him couldn’t seem to let go of his illogical hope that everything would miraculously work out.
I’ll come back to you, Rohan had promised.
At the time, Jamil had almost believed him. It was so easy to believe anything when he was held in the safety of Rohan’s arms and Rohan was looking at him as if he were the world.
Now he hated him for telling him that. Rohan had no right to give him promises he almost certainly wouldn’t be able to keep.
And yet, he still hoped—irrationally, illogically, against his better judgment.
But two days later, that tiny little spark of hope was completely obliterated.
Chapter 25
Jamil was playing with Tmynne when he heard the commotion. “Your Highness! Your Highness!”
Frowning, he looked at the maid that practically burst through the door. “What is the matter?”
The maid was flushed, her eyes wide. “He’s back, Your Highness!”
Against all logic and rationality, Jamil’s heart jumped. “Who is back?”
The maid grinned. “Your husband, Your Highness! He isn’t dead!”
Jamil nearly dropped Tmynne.
“Apparently he just lost his memory and has been living with some hermit who had no clue who he was! Can you believe that? Oh, you must be so happy, Your Highness! Your Highness? Are you all right?”
Jamil sat down heavily, staring unseeingly in front of him. Probably feeling his shock, Tmynne became fussy, trying to wriggle out of his arms. Instinctively, Jamil pulled her closer, his mind still unable to process what was happening.
Mehmer was alive? How? Why— Mehmer was alive!
The shock finally receded, changing to disbelief and joy.
He started smiling, but his smile died before it was fully formed.
Suddenly, he couldn’t breathe.
If Mehmer was alive… if Mehmer was somehow alive, he was still Jamil’s husband. All this time, this past year and a half, he had been Jamil’s husband—which meant Jamil had cheated on him, repeatedly.
Nausea rose to his throat. Setting Tmynne down, Jamil staggered to the bathroom and locked the door with his trembling fingers.
The urge to throw up passed, but he didn’t feel any better. The man he saw in the mirror looked on the verge of passing out, his eyes dazed and his face deathly pale.
He slid down to the cold floor and breathed.
He could hear Tmynne’s confused crying and the maid’s attempts to calm her down. He could hear his own labored breaths. He could feel his body, trembling uncontrollably. Was he having a panic attack?
Get a grip. You’re the Crown Prince.
But this time, this mantra didn’t work.
You’re a father. Your daughter needs you to take care of her.
That worked, somewhat, but not entirely. He didn’t feel like he could take care of anyone at the moment. He wanted to be taken care of.
He wanted Rohan.
The thought made him physically ill, but Jamil couldn’t erase it—just like he couldn’t fight the hot tears that burned his eyes until his vision became blurry as his heart broke all over again.
He closed his eyes and wondered what he’d done in his past life to deserve this.
* * *
Oh, you must be so happy, Your Highness!
Jamil heard a variation of it probably a hundred times as he walked toward Mehmer’s rooms at the other end of the Crown Prince’s wing of the palace. Servants were grinning at him—even the guards had smiles on their normally stoic faces—and the Queen-Consort was beaming at him from the door to Mehmer’s rooms.
“Oh, honey.” She hugged him tightly. “I’m so, so happy for you!”
His mother was still saying something, but Jamil could barely hear her, mostly numb on the inside.