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He expected his brother’s anger, but what he received was another sly smile. Toren’s gut clenched. He’d seen that same look far too many times. From the day his magic tutor had called his power ungovernable to the moment he’d exiled his brother after their mother’s suspicious death, every difficult or terrible time in his life had been greeted by Ber’s enigmatic smirk. Now, it no doubt heralded trouble.

“Then I should deliver my terms for the inheritance challenge now, lest I mar the happy event,” his brother said. There it was. Except…was it Toren’s imagination, or did Ber’s grin dim? Ah, not likely. “As my own blessed union was irrevocably ruined, I can hardly imagine dealing the same blow to my brother. I trust you’re prepared to listen?”

Did he have a choice? Toren’s fists clenched. If this was a trap, it was one he couldn’t avoid. Not with the inheritance law. “State your terms. Then leave.”

Ber’s laugh sliced uncomfortably through the dining hall. “Not in front of others. This is for you to hear alone. Unless you’d like to force the issue? By tradition, Icoulddemand to live in the palace until the inheritance challenge is complete.”

“You’re suggesting you meet alone? No,” Mehl snapped, half-rising before Toren gripped his arm once more.

Grudgingly, his husband dropped back into his seat.

Toren caught his breath against a surge of power. Although he’d wanted to store as much energy as possible in case he needed to use it against his brother, Toren had to concede another tendril to Mehl’s channeling. It was either that or incinerate them all in a surge of fear and rage. For the threat was undeniable—if he didn’t agree to a private meeting, Ber would insist on remaining, and that would place Ria and Ryssa under constant threat of harm.

And if Ber learned that Ria was already pregnant…

“I’m afraid this matter is for those of Eyamiri blood,” Ber said. “Though if you’d prefer I stay, Mehl, I suppose you can have the room beside yours prepared, since my status as prince wasn’t revoked with my exile.”

A terrible oversight, that. Even so, Toren gave Mehl’s arm a warning squeeze. “No. We will settle this today.”

It went against Toren’s every instinct, yet he couldn’t refuse. For the sake of all, he had to get his brother far, far from the palace.

* * *

If Mehl had thoughthe hated the stifling expectations of his current role before, it was nothing to the helpless anger he felt at royal convention now. For the second time in a single day, he had to resist the urge to spring from his seat and draw his blade. Not that this situation would have been any better when he’d been a mere bodyguard. He would have had evenlessauthority to react then.

“I am king, and thus privy to the rules of the inheritance challenge,” Mehl bit out.

Ber’s smile didn’t waver. “Not this one. In any case, don’t you have others to guard?”

The prince’s gaze shifted to Ria and Ryssa—a telling motion. It was the third time Ber had looked toward Ryssa, and the mention of “others” implied he expected Mehl to guard both women. But why would the king be protective of a simple companion in a situation like this? Either Ber knew Ryssa’s identity, or he had somehow discerned that Ria was pregnant.

“We have to get him out of here,”Toren sent, his mental voice tight with strain.

Unfortunately, that was true. “It is not acceptable for the High King to be so unprotected.”

“Fine.” Ber shrugged. “Macoe may remain at a distance.”

It was too easy a concession. And why Sir Macoe? Mehl’s fingernails dug furrows into the tablecloth. As king, it was perfectly logical that he accompany Toren, not the captain of the guard. Ber had to be planning some trickery, and he would use his brother’s lingering—if deeply buried—affection to do it. There was no other reason for him to isolate Toren.

“Macoe, escort Prince Ber to my private receiving room. I will join you when dinner has concluded,” Toren announced, his voice taking on that implacable authority that meant it would be a waste to argue. “Our meal should not be disrupted for such a minor inconvenience.”

Though the prince hadn’t been here in centuries, he inclined his head, spun on his heel, and strolled from the room like a guest well-acquainted with the High King’s own receiving room. Not a sound could be heard except the clack of boots-on-stone and the rustle of the prince’s clothes. Even when Ber and Sir Macoe disappeared through the door, no one made a single noise.

Toren lifted his glass. “Ignore my brother. There is no reason for his unseemly behavior to disturb our dinner.”

Then somehow, Toren picked up his fork and began to eat.

* * *

Every bite Riatook rolled down her throat like a rock, jagged and unyielding. She couldn’t have managed more than a few nibbles, but her stomach was too full of anxiety to fit much food, anyway. How was Toren eating as though it was any other dinner? Ryssa, too. If Ria hadn’t been close enough to see the strain in their demeanor, she would have thought both of them entirely unfeeling.

When Toren tipped back his head for a sip of wine, Ria exchanged a frustrated glance with Mehl. Like her, he was mostly pretending to eat, though he appeared to consume more than she could. Was he also nervous? Surely, a warrior would handle the tension better than the average person.

“I’m unsettled, too,”Mehl whispered into her mind.“Although in this case, I don’t want to be sluggish. It’s best to eat lightly if there’s an imminent threat of battle.”

Bile crept up the back of her throat.“Do you think it will come to that?”

Mehl let out a low curse that had Toren eyeing him.“I should not have said that. I didn’t mean to make you more afraid.”