Violet wings vanishing. Iridescent blood on the flagstones. That broken body could have been Nevander’s. An echo of Midnight’s blade piercing Nevander through. After all Nevander has done for him, Seren should be able to comfort his guardian.
Seren should be grateful. He should be kind. But this keeps happening.
“I’m all right.” Nevander wears the same wary mask he wore in the dueling circle. Like he’s watching for Seren’s next move. Or Seren’s weaknesses. “I’d feel better taking care of you.”
“She could have killed you,” Seren says, still brittle.
Nevander reaches out. “Have a little more confidence in me, my prince.”
Gods and spirits, Seren wants to.
He flings himself forward, and Nevander catches him, ready before he is. Seren clutches broad shoulders as Nevander liftshim, one hand firm beneath his ass, the other tender against his face.
The kiss is easy. Nevander’s lips are sweet and soothing. Seren soars, his mind falling blank. They both need this. Nevander needs to provide, and Seren yearns to be sheltered.
A groan disappears between their lips. Seren isn’t sure whose. Nevander’s hand shifts behind Seren’s head, holding him in pace, knocking his crown of flowers askew.
The next moan is definitely Seren. A thin, desperate sound. He could unravel here, taking shameless advantage of Nevander’s protection. Just like he has every night for weeks.
Except his chest tightens beneath his beautiful new clothing. It fits so perfectly, but his ribs clench painfully beneath leather and silk. Straps and buttons dig into his sensitive skin like chains. He’s trapped. The chains wrench tighter and tighter with Nevander’s every caress.
Brow furrowing, Seren kisses harder. His legs tighten around Nevander’s hips. If he could just forget himself in the secure embrace—
Nevander breaks away, rasping, “What’s wrong?”
Seren shoves away to the floor. He can’t forget, and frustration boils past his control. “I can’t do this.”
Nevander stills. “What do you mean?”
Seren left Wymond, traveling from realm to realm, amazed by magic and people he never could have imagined. But in some ways, he’s still exactly where he started.
Or worse.
“You want me to be a king,” Seren says, tugging at his perfect gloves. “But I’ve never felt so fucking helpless.”
“You aren’t,” Nevander says, then catches himself. He has that watchfulness again, searching for fractures to mend. “I know this is overwhelming. I should have prepared you for the possibility of challenges. But you have power, and you have allies.”
Seren laughs, sharp. “I thought this was a partnership, but Morana was right. I’m a child. A puppet.”
“I’m not your puppeteer,” Nevander says, and months ago, Seren wouldn’t have seen the subtle tension in his jaw. The wariness.
Not yet panic. Nevander still believes he can solve the problem.
But Seren refuses to be solved tonight. He finally understands how Tansy must feel. “You forced me to name you as my champion. I can do whatever I want, as long as I want what you think is best.”
“I was the best choice,” Nevander insists. “There wasn’t time—”
“Lysandra said you never summoned her,” Seren snaps, shocking Nevander silent. Seren continues, softer and crueler. “You’ve been maneuvering me this entire time.”
Nevander says nothing. Behind him, firelight flickers across the portrait of Seren’s family.
Seren’s being manipulative, like Alard always accused. He doesn’t care about Lysandra or the crown. He cares about Nevander and—perhaps for the first time—himself.
“You’re a clever puppeteer,” Seren continues softly. “You could have persuaded me instead of forcing me. I might not have noticed you pulling the strings.”
Nevander’s jaw clenches into a lump of iron.
Seren presses on, stinging himself with his own words. “The last time you fought on my behalf, you asked if I still wanted to escape. What if I’ve changed my mind? What if I want to escape this prison after all?”