“It’ll get better,” Jamil said, his expression turning wistful as his gaze shifted to his daughter. “Give it time.”
Seyn looked at him curiously. Time had certainly seemed to help his brother. Jamil did look loads better. His green eyes were brighter, his complexion healthier. He’d gained the weight he’d lost after his bondmate’s death and now he was almost as built as Ksar. He looked startlingly handsome, younger, and at peace with himself. He no longer gave off grief and misery.
Seyn was unsure why he hadn’t noticed the changes in his brother before. Was he really as self-absorbed as Ksar said?
The thought made him frown. He’d accepted a long time ago that he had something of a tunnel vision where his relationship with Ksar was concerned, but it was no excuse for barely paying attention to his family.
“You look good,” Seyn said. “I’m happy for you.”
His shoulders tensing, Jamil shot him a startled look. “What? What are you talking about?”
Seyn’s eyebrows crawled up. Did his brother sound flustered? No, he must have imagined that. Jamil didn’t do flustered. “Fatherhood suits you. I’m glad Tmynne’s birth changed your life for the better.”
Jamil exhaled and his shoulders lost tension. “She did,” he said, shifting his gaze back to his daughter.
Seyn gave his brother a long look, wondering.
The door suddenly slid open and a man Seyn didn’t know walked into the room as if it were his own.
The man came to a halt upon seeing him, his casual attitude changing. He gave Seyn a stiff bow, with his hands clasped behind his back—the way only servants bowed to members of the royal family.
Seyn frowned. The man was obviously a servant, but he didn’t hold himself like a servant. There was nothing subservient or particularly respectful about his posture.
Seyn studied the man. He was tall, perhaps Jamil’s height or slightly shorter. He was broad-shouldered and well muscled but wiry, as if he was all raw muscle and virile power with no fat at all. His skin was unusually dark for their clan, his features sharp and strange. His dark hair was cut very close to his scalp. There was black paint peeking out of his sleeve—or perhaps it wasn’t paint at all. It resembled those permanent tattoos Seyn had seen on some planets.
The overall impression the servant gave off was wild. He reminded Seyn of a bird of prey. A predator. What was a man like that doing as a palace servant? Actually, why had he entered the Crown Prince’s rooms without as much as a knock?
Seyn glanced at Jamil, expecting him to reprimand the servant—his brother wasn’t one to tolerate insolence—but Jamil just raised his eyebrows at the strange man. “Yes?”
Seyn stared at his brother incredulously.
“You’re late for your meeting with the King-Consort of the Twelfth Grand Clan,” the man said. He had a faint accent Seyn couldn’t quite place.
“Ah, yes,” Jamil said, tearing his eyes away from the other man’s and picking up his multi-device from his desk. “Let’s go, Seyn. I would like you to be there, too. You know the Twelfth Grand Clan’s colonies better than I do.”
Seyn followed him out of the room, glancing back at his niece uncertainly as the door slid shut. “Are you seriously going to leave Tmynne with that strange man?”
“She sees him more often than she sees you,” Jamil said, looking straight ahead.
Pushing aside the pang of guilt—he really should spend more time with his family instead of sulking because of Ksar—Seyn said, “Who is he?”
“My manservant.”
Seyn blinked. “He looks like a thug, not a manservant!” He came to an abrupt halt. “Wait, is he the servant you let—” He cut himself off when Jamil shot him a withering look that promised death if Seyn dared finish that sentence.
Seyn grinned, shaking his head. He’d never thought his prim, proper brother had it in him. “I can’t believe you! Where did you even find him? He looks dangerous!”
“You know,” Jamil said in a very mild voice, “someone who keeps falling on his enemy’s cock really has no room to talk.”
Seyn’s mouth fell open. Jamil never used such vulgar language. It seemed he had touched a nerve.
“I don’t!” Seyn said belatedly, his face warm. “It happened just a few times and is never going to happen again!”
Everything in Jamil’s expression screamed skepticism.
Seyn scowled. “Anyway, it’s none of your business. It’s completely irrelevant to the subject at hand.”
“It’s not irrelevant. Have you not noticed that Ksar is the gold standard against which you measure other men?”
Before Seyn could refute that utterly ridiculous claim, Jamil pinned him with a look. “You do. Don’t even try to deny it. You find nice, humble men boring. You naturally gravitate toward arrogant and haughty ones, the more confident the better. You judge me now because you can’t imagine being attracted to someone of a lower class—someone so unlike Ksar.” Jamil’s lips twisted. “Start judging me when you figure out how to stop gagging for Ksar’s cock.”