“No,” he bit off, catching Jamil’s wrist when he turned toward the door. “No, dammit.”
Jamil’s shoulders hunched. “Let go. Please.”
Rohan stepped forward, burying his face in Jamil’s nape. He breathed in deeply and said, his voice quiet but full of resolve, “I’ll fix it. I’ll do whatever it takes. Personally, I don’t need a piece of paper to know that you are mine, but if you absolutely need to be divorced from Mehmer for that, so be it.”
“Divorce isn’t possible on Calluvia.” Jamil’s voice was toneless. Hollow.
“Then I’ll make it possible,” Rohan said against Jamil’s hair. “I don’t care what it takes, but I’ll do it. Just don’t give up, all right? Please, sweetheart. For me.”
A pained sound left Jamil’s throat. “I’m scared to hope,” he whispered. “Every time I start to get my hopes up, I have them quickly come crashing down. But I need you. I need you so much. I’ve never needed anyone so much. I feel like I’m losing it.”
Rohan wrapped him tightly in his arms, hating how inadequate it felt. “May I kiss you? Just once.”
Jamil practically sprang away from him, wide-eyed and blushing. “I’m married. It would be wrong.” The longing in his eyes said a completely different thing, but Rohan didn’t push. He didn’t want Jamil to feel guilty—guiltier.
So Rohan gave a clipped nod, ignoring how empty his arms felt. “You won’t be married to him for long.”
Jamil shook his head with a faint smile, but Rohan could see a flicker of desperate hope in his eyes—hope that refused to die—and he’d never loved him more.
Silence fell over the room.
They stared at each other.
They had to go; they both knew it. The others were probably wondering what they were talking about.
“I ruined your cravat,” Jamil said quietly. He stepped closer and corrected the folds of Rohan’s cravat with an unsteady hand. The touch was barely there, Jamil’s fingers not even touching his skin, but it made Rohan’s heart ache all the same. He could so easily imagine them married, and this being just a regular domestic scene. He would do anything for this to become possible.
Whatever it takes.
“Fixed,” Jamil murmured, his gaze downcast.
Rohan took him in greedily: his long, dark eyelashes fluttering against pale skin, the gentle curve of his nose, soft red lips pursed in a slight pout.
Jamil started retrieving his hand, but Rohan caught his fingers and pressed them to his mouth, inhaling deeply the scent of Jamil’s skin. The pale fingers in his grip trembled.
“Just give me time,” Rohan said, his voice rough. “You belong with me.”
A small sound left Jamil’s mouth.
He snatched his hand away and strode out of the room.
Chapter 33
As soon as they all returned to their apartments after the meeting with the Queen, Rohan said, “Leave us, Derrel.”
“Of course, my lord,” his assistant said with a bow and left.
“Lock the door, Sirri.”
Warrehn exchanged a look with Sirri. Rohan was in a strange mood, his shields fully up and his face closed off, a grim, determined set to his jaw. He had been that way ever since he’d returned to the Queen’s office after his little chat with the Crown Prince. Unlike him, Prince Jamil seemed more pleasant and open-minded after their conversation. He’d told the Queen that after hearing Lord Tai’Lehr’s thoughts he was no longer as opposed to the Queen giving the colony her support. Warrehn had noticed that despite the change of opinion, Jamil had completely avoided looking at Rohan. They both were acting shifty as fuck, in Warrehn’s opinion.
Sirri shrugged and silently did as she was told, even though normally she would have grumbled about not being a servant.
“What crawled up your ass and died?” she said mildly. “It went well, didn’t it? Although the Queen hasn’t said yes yet, I can tell she’s a lot closer to yes than no. And we weren’t arrested on the spot.” She chuckled. “Success!”
No one smiled.
“It isn’t enough,” Rohan said, walking to the bar and pouring himself a glass of Alkeran brandy. “We have to do a lot more than convince the Queen to ensure success.” He took a swig. “What if we change the plan?”
Warrehn frowned. “In what way?”
Rohan turned his head and looked at him. “Every vote in the Council will be important. The two votes your grand clan has might become crucial.”
Warrehn’s heart skipped a beat. “You want me to come forward? Now? But—” He cut himself off, his mind racing. He’d hate to say he was panicking, but his thoughts and emotions changed so fast he was struggling to process them.
Sighing, Rohan walked over and put his hands on his shoulders, meeting Warrehn’s gaze. “Look, I know it wasn’t the plan. I know we all thought you would come forward only when we have undeniable evidence against Dalatteya and her son, but I need your help now. It’s important, Warrehn. You’re the rightful King of the Fifth Grand Clan. This is your birthright.”