Good. One or the other sensed danger.
As did Wycke.
“I called on you earlier. No one knew your whereabouts. Where were you?”
“Ah,brother.”If Wycke stressed any harder, the word might break. “You’ve never concerned yourself with where I go or what I do. Who I do.” He folded his arms across his chest, giving the smirk that, in part, earned him the name of Wicked.
“You are the brother of a king. Of course, your comings and goings are my concern.” Radre stalked over to an ornate table and poured himself a glass of wine from a crystal decanter.
Wycke bit back the “Since when?” longing to bounce off his tongue. “I didn’t know you cared.” Honestly didn’t, actually.
“Can’t have you sullying the family name by associating with the wrong element.”
Like you?Creeps didn’t come any creepier than Radre. “I can assure you, brother, Saris keeps me well in hand. Speaking of Saris and hands, how dare you strike her!”
“I can assure you that she wouldn't be standing if I’d hit our sister.” Radre threw back the dregs of his wine like a shot of single malt. “Now, don’t change the subject. She didn’t know your whereabouts either. Or claimed not to.”
Too many things about Radre struck Wycke as wrong. His rigid posture, the clipped cadence of his words, the way he held himself stiffly, movements less fluid than usual. He’d always been an ass, but he’d never been physical with Saris or Wycke before. Appearance and voice were familiar. Radre’s favored dressing style and wearing his hair—in a series of tiny braids today—changed with the winds.
Wycke filled his words with innuendo. He’d avenge Saris later. “Do you tell our dear sister every time you find a new plaything? Hmm?”
Ah, the lovely shade pinking Radre’s cheeks. Rage or embarrassment? No, rage turned his pallor darker.
Wycke fake pouted. “Awww… is poor old Radre’s bed cold these days? If you need pointers…”
“I do not need your help!” Radre snapped. “We’re here to discuss your behavior, not mine.”
Wycke nodded. “Much more interesting. What do you want to know? Please be quick. Two guards are expecting me. They want to show me their… swords.” He waggled his brows, forcing a grin but not dropping his guard.
“Tell me, do any of your lovers have a pet? A cat, perhaps?” Radre arched an elegantly groomed brow.
A growl sounded in Wycke’s mind, along with a gruff,I’m nobody’s pet!How fascinating for Radre to ask about a cat. Due to Chynne’s denials, Wycke honestly answered, “I don’t know anyone with a pet cat. The courtiers of Dhugach prefer dogs. Small yappy things. Not too particular where they pee.” He tipped his head to the side in what he hoped passed for a thoughtful gesture. “On second thought, though, the king’s young cousin kept a fox kit for a time. Do foxes count? Or do foxes fall under the ‘dog’ designation?”
The pink of Radre’s cheeks deepened to purple. “Don’t toy with me, brother. Someone has been passing between realms.”
“What’s that got to do with pet cats?” Wycke tipped his head to the side, feigning befuddlement.
“Don’t play coy with me!”
“You think it’s me? Or that I’m capable of playing coy?” Wycke barked a laugh. “Why, I’ve barely enough magic to tie the sash on my lounging robe.”
Radre narrowed his eyes. Wycke’s skin prickled. Magic! Some of the strongest he’d felt in this realm. Had Radre killed a mage? No, it took greater magic than Radre ever dreamed of to steal power from another.
The dead mages…
Wycke gently slipped a finger over his wrist, out of sight of Radre, ensuring the suppression cuff’s presence.
Radre stalked across the floor and grabbed the collar of Wycke’s black leather jacket. “You’re dressed in the clothing from another realm, and expect me to believe you haven’t traveled between worlds?”
Wycke forced his brother’s hands away. “Would you believe one of the palace mages went world-hopping and brought me this jacket?” Stupid, stupid. He should have changed his clothing before returning here. But based on the many cross-realm beings he’d seen in the human realm, he wasn’t the only one climbing through portals.
“Don’t think you can hide things from me,little brother.”
Wycke folded his arms across his chest, stepping back. With any luck, he’d bought enough time for Chynne to get Piers to safety. “Why are you here?”
“I told you—”
“No! Why are you here in Dhugach? Don’t you have a kingdom to run? Who is minding your lands? Aren’t the mountain passes closed?” Although the temperature remained balmy no matter the season in Dhugach, the snows should be waist deep in Myrgren.