“I’m not pretending. I am a certified zywern trainer.”

“But it’s not your primary occupation.”

“No,” Rohan admitted. “On Tai’Lehr, having the certificate is like an equivalent of having a piloting license on Calluvia. We use zywerns for transportation, because aircrafts and t-chambers don’t work on most of the planet.”

The prince’s skeptical expression cleared up. “Oh, right. Because of the planet’s magnetic field.”

“Yes.

“You still didn’t answer why you’re here, in my stables.”

“I already told you: your husband’s murder is by far the most high-profile crime pinned on us. We will never be able to be anything but criminals if we’re blamed for killing the prince-consort of the Third Grand Clan. We need proof that we didn’t do it. So here I am. To find proof.”

He watched the prince closely, but he didn’t seem upset by the subject of his husband’s death. The fact that he was leaning subconsciously into Rohan’s space probably had something to do with it. Rohan considered pulling away, but he wasn’t above using every advantage at his disposal. This idiotic Fit had gotten him caught; now it was time for it to be useful. Rohan felt a little bad for manipulating the prince in such a way— but not bad enough not to do it. It might be cynical of him, but there was more at stake than the hurt feelings of one Calluvian prince.

“What could you possibly learn here?” Jamil said.

“Because the case is so high-profile, its details aren’t available to the public. We don’t know how your people came to the conclusion that Prince-Consort Mehmer was killed by us. Everyone just knows that the case was investigated and then sealed by the Third Royal House. So I’m here to find out what kind of proof you have.”

The prince’s eyebrows drew together. Rohan stared at him in bemused fascination. Everything about this prince was so refined and pretty, even the arch of his eyebrows seemed ridiculously elegant. It made Rohan’s fingers itch with the strange urge to mess him up.

“Mehmer’s death was investigated by the Captain of the Royal Guard,” Jamil said, his voice toneless. “I don’t know any details… The Queen was the one who oversaw it. I didn’t—I didn’t ask.”

A wave of foreign grief made Rohan wince and tighten his mental shields, with mixed results. Dammit, this… compatibility was a double-edged sword. He didn’t want to be affected by the prince’s emotions, but it was unavoidable when they were this close.

“We suspected as much,” Rohan said. “I’ve been waiting for an opportunity to get information from your captain, but I haven’t had a chance to get him alone so far.”

Jamil shot him a somewhat suspicious, somewhat amused look. “What do you mean by ‘getting information,’ exactly?”

Rohan’s lips twitched. “What do you think? I could hardly walk up to him and ask him to spill classified information.”

Jamil glared at him, but it seemed half-hearted at best. “Manipulating someone’s mind is despicable.”

Rohan shrugged. “Maybe. But I do what I must.”

“Are all rebels such strong telepaths?” Jamil said. He seemed disturbed—disturbed and morbidly fascinated. “I know that childhood bonds somewhat weaken our telepathy, but is the difference really that big?”

Rohan shook his head. “Not really. Over fifty percent of our people are Class 2 telepaths, roughly thirty percent are Class 3.”

The prince looked him in the eye. “And you?”

Rohan intended to lie. He really did.

He should have.

Instead, he found himself saying, “Class 5.”

Jamil’s eyes widened. He stared at Rohan wordlessly, but he wasn’t afraid. It was the Fit: it made them feel closer than they really were. It was convenient now—Rohan didn’t need the prince to be afraid of him—but it was inconvenient too, since it went both ways. The natural, cozy way their bodies seemed to want to be around each other coated everything in a confusing and frustrating warmth, which constantly derailed his train of thought and made him tell the prince things he definitely shouldn’t have. It wasn’t trust, not exactly, but his instincts insisted that the prince couldn’t possibly betray him. It was fucking ridiculous. Ridiculous and annoying.

Jamil swallowed. “Are you the strongest telepath on Tai’Lehr? Is that why they sent you?”

Rohan pressed his lips together, determined to lie, just to prove to himself that he could. But looking into the prince’s wide green eyes, everything in him rebelled against lying. It was incredibly frustrating—frustrating and irritating. “No,” he found himself saying honestly. “There are a few telepaths stronger than me. But I have a rather unique talent for… persuasion.”

Jamil gave him a flat look. “You mean compulsion.”

Rohan met his gaze steadily. “Look, I’m sorry for doing it to you. I had little choice. I don’t particularly like using compulsion, but it’s a useful gift.”

“I’m sure,” the prince said dryly. “Did you use your gift to ‘persuade’ my stable master to hire you?”

Rohan just nodded. Of course he had. They wouldn’t have hired him otherwise. His talent for compulsion was the main reason he had managed to convince Sirri and the others that he should be the one going: he could always compel his way out of trouble while the others would be at a significantly higher risk. Even the strongest telepaths had trouble making other telepaths do their bidding—it required careful replacing of memories and planting thoughts deep in the subconscious—while Rohan’s talent for compulsion meant that he could just command someone into doing what he needed, no careful memory manipulation needed. Not that he couldn’t do the latter too, if needed. He could. But the benefit of compulsion was that it was fast, which was a significant advantage if he got himself into a sticky situation.

Tags: Alessandra Hazard Calluvia's Royalty Erotic
Source: readsnovelonline.net