第2章 Chapter 1

Jamil couldn’t sleep.

He tossed and turned in his huge, empty bed for what felt like forever, but sleep evaded him, no matter how tired he was. Of course it also didn’t help that he had a splitting headache.

Sighing, Jamil sat up. He squeezed his eyes shut and reached mentally to the remnants of his marriage bond. If he concentrated hard enough, he could almost feel Mehmer at the other end. He knew it was just a delusion. The High Adept had checked his mind and confirmed that Jamil’s bond was tornpletely. He’d said that it was normal for a widower to imagine that they could feel their deceased bondmate. The phenomenon was widely known, and he urged Jamil to block off the bond.

The pain will soon fade, the mind adept had said. All you will feel is absence.

Jamil had almost laughed in his face, because it didn’t exactly soundforting. But then again, it wasn’t like the mind adept would know. The monks of the High Hronthar were the only people on the pl who didn’t have to be bonded. They didn’t know what it felt like to share a telepathic bond with another person since early childhood. They couldn’t even imagine what it felt like to have such a cherished bond and then lose it. They had no clue. Sometimes Jamil envied them that.

Sighing, Jamil got out of his bed. If he wasn’t going to get any sleep tonight, he might as well go for a walk.

Or a ride. Yes, a ride might be exactly what he needed. Perhaps it would distract him from his headache and do something to the restless tension under his skin.

Feeling a little better at the prospect of a ride, Jamil slipped out of his rooms and headed toward the royal stables.

The palace was quiet at night. His mothers were likely already asleep in their wing, his sister was visiting a friend on another pl, and Seyn was likely still sulking in his rooms over his latest fight with his betrothed.

The only people Jamil came across were the guards and the asional servant. They bowed to him hastily, hiding the surprise in their eyes.

Glancing down at his white nightwear, Jamil wondered if he should have changed into more appropriate clothes. It might be night, but he was still the Crown Prince. But fuck it; if he couldn’t be less than perfect in his own home in the middle of the night, he would go insane.

The night was a little chilly but nice.

The two moons, high in the sky, illuminated the grounds with their pale, bluish-silver glow.

Shivering slightly in his thin shirt, Jamil strode toward the stables.

That part of the palace was definitely not quiet. He could hear the sounds of the animals even from afar. The stables of the Third Royal House were one of the largest on Calluvia, and their zywerns were famous across the Union of Pls for their impable breeding and grace. The stables had always been Jamil’s pride and joy. Whenever he had free time, which wasn’t often, he came here to watch his zywerns or take one for a spin over the palace grounds.

He hadn’t been here since before his husband’s death, too deep in grief to even think about something that brought him joy. Maybe he was finally healing, a little.

The sound of a zywern’s cry made him snap his head toward the training enclosure nearby.

Jamil’s eyes widened.

There, behind the standard security force field fence, designed to hold back wild animals, a magnificent black zywern was bucking wildly, trying to shake off its rider. The sight was a little unnerving. A zywern wasn’t easy to ride even when it was already tamed. A wild one was a nightmare to handle. Jamil had tried to break an untamed zywern when he was an adolescent and had ended up with a back injury. The Queen had been beyond furious. You could have died, she had told him. Jamil knew she was right. It had been reckless of him. Even professional trainers struggled taming these beasts; his teenage self stood no chance.

Jamil looked from the zywern to its trainer. The lights around the training enclosure were bright enough, but from the distance, he didn’t recognize the man. Whoever he was, he was a hell of a rider. His seat was perfect, confident and steady despite the wild bucking of the powerful animal under him. As Jamil watched, the zywern’s bucking gradually lessened as it got tired. Finally, it seemed to give up trying to dislodge the man on its back.

The rider leaned down and murmured something into the zywern’s ear, stroking its quivering side. To Jamil’s astonishment, the man released the gravitational bindings on the zywern’s wings. Was he suicidal?

Immediately, the zywern bucked, sensing freedom, and took flight. Jamil was sure the man would be thrown off in an instant and break his neck. But, to his utter surprise, the rider managed to hold on as the zywern started trying to shake him off its back, flying erratically over the training enclosure, the force field the only thing preventing it from flying away.

Even despite his concern, Jamil had to admit the sight was awe-inspiring: a huge black beast with magnificent wings and a rider, also all in black, holding on stubbornly against all odds. Twin moons shone brightly in the night sky, illuminating the battle of wills between a man and a beast.

The man won.

Jamil watched in amazement as the man managed to make the zywern land, the animal breathing heavily and shaking but allowing the rider to get off its back without attempting to attack him.

He’d never seen anything like that. Taming wild zywerns took ages, not—not this. Professional trainers waited months between getting a zywern to stop bucking under its rider and attempting to fly it. It just wasn’t done.

Who was this man?

Frowning, Jamil strode toward the training enclosure. “Do you have a death wish?” he said as he approached the fence.

The man was kneeling, stroking the zywern’s quivering belly, his back to Jamil.

“Go away,” he said in a low,manding voice.

Jamil stared at him in astonishment. No one dared talk to him in that kind of tone, much less his employees. This man likely didn’t know who he was talking to, or he wouldn’t dare.

“You just ignored at least a dozen safety protocols,” Jamil said, almost glad for the opportunity to dress someone down. His head was throbbing, the headache from his torn bond almost unbearable at this time of the night, and the frustration in him was building, wanting an outlet.

“I said get the fuck out of here,” the man said, irritation creeping into his voice. “You’re making him agitated.”

Jamil’s concern and mild annoyance turned into anger. “Do you even know who you are talking to?”

“I can put two and two together,” the man said, his large, brown hand still stroking the zywern’s quivering belly. “Such a posh voice can’t belong to a lowly servant—not to mention that a servant would have more fucking sense than to interrupt me while I’m working.”

Jamil flushed. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been reprimanded by anyone in such a way. He glowered at the man’s back, searching for something to say, something that wouldn’t sound petulant. Jamil didn’t do petulant, dammit. His younger brother was the one prone to throwing a fit like a spoiled brat if he didn’t get his way. Jamil was the responsible one.

Except at the moment, he didn’t feel like being responsible. He wanted to put that man in his place. How dare this brute speak to him that way?

“Look at me when I’m speaking to you,” Jamil ordered, straightening himself to his full height. He usually didn’t like using his height to intimidate someone, but something in him itched to make sure this man knew that Jamil was his better. It was a ridiculous feeling, something primitive and territorial, but he couldn’t quite control it.

Slowly, the man got to his feet.

Jamil felt a little disappointed, because the other man was about the same height as him, which wasn’t an easy feat. There wasn’t a hint of fat in the man’s body, his shoulders wide and his body rippling with muscle. Unlike Jamil’s gym-toned physique, this man’s muscles were clearly the result of hard manual work—there was a restrained strength about him, something lethal, precise, and perfectly in control.

The man enabled the gravitational bindings on the zywern again before finally turning around.

The harsh reprimand died on Jamil’s lips the moment his gaze met the man’s black eyes. They were sharp and unnaturally intense, impossible to look away from. Something at the back of Jamil’s mind lurched, craving, his breath leaving his lungs in a gasp.

The man’s gaze darkened, his nostrils flaring.

As though in a trance, Jamil felt the man approach him—he literally felt it, the heady, hungry feeling at the back of his mind increasing the closer the man got.

“What the…?” the man bit out, glaring at him with wild, half-crazed eyes, before shoving his face against Jamil’s bare throat and breathing.

Jamil shuddered, a whine leaving his lips as the stranger’s nose pressed below his ear, against his telepathic point. The touch made his telepathy go wild, a weird kind of pleasure, unlike anything he’d ever felt, spreading through his mind. He felt intoxicated, gasping for breath as the stranger shoved his face tighter against his skin, breathing shakily.

“What the fuck?” the man gritted out before ripping himself away.

They stared at each other, wide-eyed, bewildered, and angry.

Jamil tried to speak, but nothing came out. He was shaking so badly he didn’t know what he was feeling: a weird mix of revulsion, need, and something else.

So he did the responsible, princely thing: he turned and fled.