Page 14 of Zepharali: Lord of the East Winds (Lords of the Wind Book 3)

Zepharali

Zepharali got out of the shower and wrapped a thick towel around his waist. He didn’t want to leave the silence of his bath chamber, but he couldn’t hide in there any longer.

He opened the doors. Lyan released Dyan and placed Zepharali’s robe around his shoulders while his partner went to one of his wardrobes and removed his evening wear.

“Are you feeling better?”

“I was never feeling bad.”

Lyan exchanged a silent communication with his lover before returning his attention to Zepharali.

They had also coaxed their way into Zepharali’s bed to use his winds to solidify their love and ignite their passion for each other to a new height. When they were done, they’d had no further use for him.

They wouldn’t love him the way he needed, but he accepted their sworn allegiance and lifelong servitude as his hands.

“My lord.” Lyan sat him at his dressing table and began to ready him for the setting of his suns. “Word is already spreading of the foreign presence atop the Kipmis Mountain.”

Zepharali was quiet, still in deep thought with his heart, while his winds whispered of prophecies and promises.

Dyan held up clothing for his approval—a wheat-colored leather vest and brown linen breeches—but he wasn’t paying attention.

Lyan massaged Zepharali’s scalp with a comforting touch he’d always enjoyed, but tonight, the touch felt wrong.

Lyan raked his fingers through his long, blond dreadlocks, preparing to style them in one of his many grand creations. Zepharali stopped him.

“Leave them down this eve.”

Lyan threw another inconspicuous glance at his lover.

“And who are we trying to impress, my lord?” Lyan smiled, all cute and sexy. “You only leave your locks down when you are courting.”

That was true. His hair was one of his most attractive features, but that was not why he requested it—mostly. He just didn’t want to wait much longer to return to Lazaar.

“As you request, my lord,”

Lyan spritzed his roots with an elixir he crafted from the natural essences of Scáthanna and fanned some of his locks over his shoulder, allowing the rest to fall down his back.

Dyan must’ve sensed his restlessness and wasted little time dressing him.

Zepharali could barely remain still while they smoothed honey-infused moisturizer over his arms before clamping on his leather wrist and biceps bands.

As usual, the two surveyed their handiwork, nodding their approval.

“Magnificent as always, my lord,” they declared in perfect unison.

Bolting across the room, he threw one of his cloaks over his shoulders, not wanting to waste another precious minute.

He didn’t even allow his detail to get into formation for his departure before he was out the doors of his chambers and moving down the corridor.

He could hear his six personal guards—his daughters from an Amazon queen—keeping pace with his long strides.

“Father, if you seek the tribrid, he’s in—”

“I know exactly where he is.”