Until Mehmer’s return, Jamil had forgotten what it felt like to be under the constant pressure to be someone perfectly in control—to be someone he wasn’t. With Mehmer, he couldn’t let go even in the privacy of his own rooms; he always had to play the role of a man who would take care of everything. Last night, he could see how much his weakness threw Mehmer off. It had made Jamil feel even worse than he already did. And for the first time in his life, he felt something like resentment toward Mehmer. Rohan had never made him feel bad for being less than the perfect Crown Prince. With Rohan, he could be as weak as he wanted without feeling judged; Rohan had actually seemed to like being needed.
Jamil winced, realizing that once again, he was thinking obsessively about Rohan when he should have been thinking about Mehmer, his husband. His kind, wonderful, understanding husband who deserved better.
These guilty, restless thoughts had plagued him all night. He hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep, so he found it even harder to focus in the court than it normally was.
Later, Jamil would blame his exhaustion for his inattentiveness.
As it was, he only noticed Rohan when he lifted his eyes and saw him practically in front of him.
For a moment, Jamil thought he was hallucinating. It wouldn’t be the first time he imagined Rohan coming back. But never had he imagined meeting Rohan in his mother’s throne room.
Jamil stared at him, feeling stunned.
Rohan looked… normal: his tattoos were hidden under his long sleeves and impeccably tied cravat, and his elegant clothes concealed the raw, aggressive strength of his body. He looked like the average aristocrat coming to greet his monarch.
Which he was, Jamil realized dazedly, watching Rohan bow to the Queen, who sat in her throne beside Jamil.
Queen Janesh nodded gracefully. “I am pleased to finally meet you, Lord Tai’Lehr. My condolences on your father’s death.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty.”
Jamil shivered at that slightly accented, low voice, so familiar and—
Stop that. You’re married. You’re in a room full of people who all watch you, waiting for the slightest misstep.
“Allow me to introduce you to my son and heir, Crown Prince Jamil’ngh’veighli,” the Queen said, gesturing to Jamil slightly.
Finally—finally—Rohan looked at him, his eyes unreadable.
Nothing happened.
The bond at the back of Jamil’s mind didn’t even stir, as if Rohan wasn’t right there in front of him. The mental draw that he used to feel whenever they locked eyes wasn’t there, either.
It made Jamil question his sanity. Was this real? Why could he see Rohan, but couldn’t feel him at all?
And why, when there was no mental attraction, did he still feel like a starved person when he looked at Rohan?
Jamil licked his dry lips, hoping he didn’t look as lost as he felt.
“Your Highness,” Rohan said after what seemed like forever, giving him an impeccable, impersonal bow.
Jamil just nodded, unable to speak.
He was incredibly relieved when his mother did.
“We are so glad to have you here,” the Queen said, smiling graciously. “It has been a long time since we had a delegation from Tai’Lehr. You and your people will stay in the palace, of course.”
Jamil’s stomach squirmed with dread. No. Please no. He wasn’t strong enough.
“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Rohan said with another bow. He glanced around the court. “May I request a private audience with you, to discuss matters of the state, Your Majesty?”
The Queen’s eyebrows lifted slightly. “Of course,” she said after a moment. “But I’m sure you are tired after your long journey. I have meetings today that I cannot postpone, but I think I have time tomorrow morning.” She glanced at her secretary, who nodded.
Jamil could barely listen anymore.
Rohan was really there. Rohan had kept his promise and had come back. Except it didn’t matter anymore, did it?
Jamil swallowed, looking down at his hands.
He was only vaguely aware of his mother and Rohan exchanging some meaningless small talk, of curious looks directed at Rohan and his people, of holocamera flashes, of whispers that easily reached his ears.
“It’s been decades since the last delegation from Tai’Lehr.”
“I thought it was impossible to travel through the war zone?”
“They must be here on some important business.”
“Have you seen his eyes? Lord Tai’Lehr’s? I’ve never seen eyes so black.”
“Forget his eyes, have you seen his skin? He looks like he spends all day in the sun!”
“Is Tai’Lehr a desert? It must be hot there.”
A part of him couldn’t believe that no one recognized Rohan as the manservant he’d had for a brief time. But then again, no one noticed servants. And Rohan had always made sure to either wipe people’s memories of him or compel them into not noticing him.
“Jamil?”
Flinching, Jamil looked at his mother and flushed, realizing that she was already on her feet and must have been trying to get his attention for some time.