Harry mock-glared at him but couldn’t help smiling. “You love me.”
Adam’s dark eyes smiled back. “I do.”
Chapter 26
The twin moons shone brightly, bathing the gardens in pale light.
“What did you want to talk about?” Seyn said, sitting down on the first unoccupied bench they’d come across, his gaze settling on the blue flowers opposite the bench.
Aware of the other guests that had suddenly decided to take a stroll through the gardens, Ksar took a seat next to Seyn, a palm’s length between them.
He stared at the flowers, too, as silence stretched.
A night bird sang a hauntingly beautiful song from one of the trees. Knowing the Regent of the Eleventh Grand Clan, the bird must have cost a small fortune.
Seyn chuckled. “Are we just going to sit here in silence?”
Ksar pursed his lips to stop himself from saying that he wouldn’t mind.
Pathetic.
He looked down at his own hands. “Are you really choosing Denev?”
There was silence for a while.
At last, Seyn said, “Yes. He makes the most sense. My mothers approve. And he’s nice.”
Ksar’s lips twisted. No one would describe him as nice.
“Is he?” he said flatly.
Beside him, Seyn bristled. “He is. He’s handsome, well mannered and—and lovely. He looks at me like I matter.”
Ksar laughed.
“What’s so funny?”
He looked at Seyn. “You think you didn’t matter to me?” His voice sounded hollow even to his own ears, all wrong.
Seyn’s lovely lips folded into a scowl.
Gritting his teeth, Ksar looked away.
“You had a funny way of showing it,” Seyn said, his tone hostile, even though there was something uncertain about the way he’d said that. “You’ve never given a damn about me.”
“Not giving a damn has never been an issue,” Ksar said with a humorless smile. The problem was the opposite.
“Don’t do this,” Seyn said tightly, resentment coloring his voice. “Don’t you dare do this!”
Ksar looked back at him. “Why?” he said. “If you’re so happy with your choice, it shouldn’t matter what I say. I shouldn’t matter.”
Seyn glared at him. “Shut up—go away! Leave me alone!”
Ksar looked from Seyn’s furious eyes to his trembling lips and back to his eyes. “Is that really what you want? I promise I’ll leave you alone and never speak to you again if you say it like you actually mean it.”
Seyn continued to glare at him.
He was so damn beautiful when he was angry.
Seyn opened his mouth and closed it. Some emotion appeared in his eyes before Seyn set his jaw and said firmly, “Leave me alone.”
Something in him gave a painful twinge, a heavy and unpleasant feeling settling low in his stomach.
Ksar told himself that this was to be expected. It had been ridiculous even to entertain the idea that his…fixation on Seyn might not be completely one-sided. Why would it not be one-sided? He had treated Seyn abominably for years.
This was for the best. He wasn’t any good at…emotions. He should stick to what he was good at: his duty to the Ministry, his duty to the throne, and his duty to his family. Emotions and wants were messy. He didn’t need them. It was good that Seyn was telling him to leave him alone—Ksar was honest enough with himself to admit that he wouldn’t have been able to do so otherwise. Seyn had always been his weakness—the feisty, spirited, argumentative boy that could get under his skin like no other, the only person capable of making him irrational, overly emotional, and reckless. This was for the best.
With a clipped nod, Ksar got to his feet, ignoring the hollow feeling in his chest. There was nothing hollow in his chest. He was perfectly healthy. Perfectly fine. It was all in his head.
He was hardly heartbroken.
He was just…
Ksar clenched his jaw and looked down at Seyn for the last time, taking in his bowed silver head and long fingers gripping the edge of the bench. Although Seyn looked fine, he felt upset, exuding misery, desperation, and anger.
Ksar’s hand twitched toward him and he curled it into a fist. No. Seyn had made his choice. He would respect that. It was a good thing that at least one of them was thinking rationally.
Ksar turned away, but then paused. There was one more thing that needed to be said.
“For all it’s worth, I’m sorry,” he said. His voice sounded hoarse and unsteady—nothing like him. He didn’t think he’d ever apologized in his life, but it felt right to say those words now.
They still felt inadequate.
Everything about this felt inadequate, because a part of him still insisted that the young man he was saying goodbye to was his and only his, forever. He wanted to snarl those words out, he wanted to grab Seyn and refuse to let go, he wanted to kiss him and mark him up, so everyone could see whom Seyn belonged to.
Ksar grimaced, utterly disgusted with himself. He had given his word that he would leave Seyn alone if Seyn told him so. He might not be a good man, and he might keep his word only when it suited him, but this time he would. He owed Seyn that much. He refused to be the possessive, controlling ex who couldn’t let go when his lover moved on. He would stop thinking of Seyn as his. He would stop looking for him at every social function—at least he would do his best. He had no right to him. This—whatever that hollow feeling in his chest was—it was of no consequence. One didn’t always get what one wanted; such was life. He wasn’t entitled to happiness. People like Harry fell in love and got to be happy. People like him did their duty. He would marry Leylen, he would tolerate her, and he would treat her with perfect politeness. What he wanted was irrelevant.