It had been twenty hours since he’d last seen him.
Warrehn was annoyed with himself for knowing that. It was a bad habit he needed to break. There wasn’t any alien drug in his system anymore. He had no excuse for this obsessive behavior. He should stop thinking about Samir all the time.
Unfortunately, it was easier said than done. The mere idea that Samir was considering marrying someone, that someone else would touch him, kiss him, hold him, have him under them—it was—
Warrehn swore under his breath and rolled his chair away from the desk, disgusted with himself.
“Damn you,” he muttered, getting to his feet and marching out of the room.
He had intended to go outside. Clear his head with some fresh air.
But then he was informed by the palace AI that Samir was entertaining callers, and no amount of rational reasoning could have stopped Warrehn from heading there.
“His Majesty the King,” the AI announced as Warrehn strode into the drawing room.
There were eight male and three female guests.
They all bowed to Warrehn—no, not all of them. The striking woman by Samir’s side remained standing upright, proud and poised.
Recognizing her, Warrehn gave a clipped nod. He knew he should have bowed—that was the etiquette. She was the Queen of the First Grand Clan, and she took precedence over all the other monarchs of the planet.
Warrehn barely looked at her face. His gaze was on her hand touching Samir’s bicep, her manicured fingers wrapped around it possessively. Or at least it seemed possessive to Warrehn’s eyes, but he was willing to admit that his judgment might be a little compromised. Or more than a little.
It took him an incredible effort not to stalk over to them and yank Samir away from Queen Kadira’s grip. Since when was Queen Kadira looking for a spouse anyway? She’d always said that she was perfectly content to be alone after her husband had died in an accident. She was also more than twenty years older than Samir, closer in age to his mother—though the age difference didn’t show yet. She was still beautiful.
Taking a deep breath, he shifted his gaze to Samir’s face. Blue eyes met his, wide-eyed and a little wary, but so very soft. So very lovely. It pissed Warrehn off, the way one look completely disarmed him and made him want to stare into Samir’s eyes like a besotted fool.
Was Dalatteya lying? He needed to know.
“Social hour is over,” he said, glancing at the guests in the room.
His eyes widening, Samir shot him a scandalized look. “Um, I’m sure His Majesty didn’t mean it that way—”
“I meant exactly what I said,” Warrehn said. “I need to talk to you. Tell your guests to leave.”
He walked to the window and stared out of it, waiting for everyone to vacate the room. He could see in his peripheral vision that the guests were exchanging stunned looks at his rudeness. He didn’t care. They had no idea how much restraint he was showing by not yanking Samir away from Queen Kadira and not kicking them all out in a much ruder fashion.
When the last guest finally vacated the room, Samir made an exasperated sound. “Are you crazy? That was beyond rude!”
Warrehn turned and stalked over.
He didn’t know what expression was on his face, but Samir’s expression became wary.
He stopped in front of Samir, their faces just a palm’s width apart, and watched Samir swallow.
“Queen Kadira, huh?” Warrehn said. “It’s disgusting. She’s your mother’s age.”
Flushing, Samir glared at him. “She isn’t. She’s just forty-six. And that’s none of your business.”
It was annoying how pretty he was when he was angry. Warrehn wanted to wrap his hands around that pale, lovely neck and strangle him, for turning him into an obsessive, possessive fool who couldn’t stop wanting him even if he’d been betrayed.
“My point stands,” Warrehn said. “She could have been your mother. But then again, you probably like it.”
Samir narrowed his eyes. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“Ever heard of the Oedipus complex? You’re a grown man who still does everything your mommy says. It makes me wonder sometimes about your relationship with your mother.”
Samir punched him. Warrehn caught his wrist and pushed it behind Samir’s back, pulling them flush against each other. Fuck, he wanted to shove him down to his knees and ram his cock into Samir’s throat, Dalatteya and Samir’s possible treachery be damned. Samir was his. His, not Dalatteya’s, not Queen Kadira’s, or anyone else’s. His.
“Let go!” Samir was all but spitting. “How dare you, to insinuate that—that—”
“Get on your knees.”
Samir shot him a half-incredulous, half-furious look. “You’re out of your mind if you think I’ll suck your cock after you just insinuated that I want to fuck my mother. Even if I marry Queen Kadira, that’s none of your damn business! I will marry whoever I want.”