Once Upon a Time (Calluvia's Royalty 3)

That was how Rohan found out.

He stared at the glossy magazine that was deposited on his desk among many others and at first he didn’t understand what he was seeing.

FAIRY-TALE HAPPY ENDING

THE GOLDEN COUPLE REUNITED

LOVE THAT DEFEATED DEATH

On the cover, Jamil was smiling at a handsome, golden-haired man who had an arm around Jamil’s waist.

His vision turned red so fast that for a moment Rohan didn’t even recognize that man. His brain couldn’t compute it, or maybe refused to. Distantly, he could understand what the article was saying: the prince-consort, alive, back with Jamil, fairy-tale reunion, and so on and so forth.

A savage rage clogged his chest. Now Idhron’s amusement made a lot more sense. Rohan had asked—demanded—that the rebels’ name was cleared from Mehmer’s murder. Idhron had kept his side of the deal, technically.

This would teach him to make deals with the devil.

Crumpling the magazine in his hand, Rohan stared unseeingly in front of him. Part of him, the distant part that was still able to think as the governor of the colony, knew that it was good news, excellent news even. With the prince-consort miraculously alive, the main reason for the recent bad press was gone. Now nothing prevented them from going through with their plans.

But his thoughts kept returning to that hand on Jamil’s waist, the hand that belonged to another man, who was touching Jamil as though it were his right.

But then again, it was. That man was Jamil’s husband. He had every right to touch Jamil, every right to kiss him, to hold him close, to—

A growl, low and guttural, ripped out of his throat.

Rohan took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to control his rage.

This wasn’t him. He wasn’t a hothead like Warrehn, unable to control his temper. He had always prided himself on his ability to keep a cool head and stay in control of his emotions when needed. He wasn’t supposed to feel like killing a man he’d never met, a man who, by all accounts, was a good man, only because—only because he coveted that man’s husband.

The thought made Rohan clench his hands into fists. Everything in him rebelled at the idea of Jamil being anyone’s but his. He felt nauseous thinking that at this very moment, the prince-consort might be kissing Jamil’s soft, pretty lips, that he might be putting his mouth and his hands all over Jamil’s body—

The thought was maddening, but why wouldn’t he? Under the law, Mehmer had every right. He was Jamil’s spouse. He’d touched and fucked Jamil long before Rohan had even met him. He was Jamil’s first: first kiss, first sexual experience, first love. Jamil was probably beyond happy now. He sure looked happy in those pictures, with his husband all over him.

Stop thinking about it, damn you. Are you a fucking masochist?

Rohan sagged back in his chair and closed his eyes, trying to calm himself.

A breath in, a breath out.

It didn’t work.

He wanted a drink.

Get a grip. You have a colony to think about. You can get smashingly drunk later. Now isn’t the time.

Setting his jaw, Rohan opened his eyes and switched on the intercom. He told his secretary, “Call an emergency meeting of the Senate, Yiesme.”

***

In the end, after more than half a day of heated debate that lasted well into the night, they settled on the simplest plan: approach Calluvia as an official delegation from Tai’Lehr and request an audience with the Queen of the Third Grand Clan, since she was their monarch. Depending on how the meeting went, they would request either the colony’s exit from Calluvia or legalization of their status.

Rohan didn’t like the plan. He’d wanted to approach the Council directly, instead of approaching the Third Grand Clan first, but he’d been outvoted, despite having a third of the Senate’s votes. At times like this, Rohan couldn’t help but think fondly of the time the governor had had absolute power.

He felt sick at the mere thought of returning to Jamil’s home as a stranger and seeing Jamil happy with his precious Mehmer, seeing their daughter in another man’s arms. It ate at him, like a poison.

“What’s wrong with you?” Sirri said after the meeting was over. “You were acting like you were at a funeral!”

Rohan turned away, not in the mood for Sirri now.

Truth be told, he wasn’t in the mood for anything. He was tired, physically and mentally, and ached for that bottle of Shibian vodka he had at his office and the sweet oblivion it would bring. He didn’t want to think now, his head too loud and his chest too tight.

“Just leave it, Sirri,” he muttered half-heartedly, walking away from her.

“Whatever it is, you’d better be at your best tomorrow!” she yelled at his back. They had another meeting before leaving for Calluvia the day after tomorrow.