His eyes sharpened, his face somehow becoming harder. He glowered at them, his telepathic presence emanating strong dislike, loud and clear.
Samir’s practiced smile froze on his lips. He glanced at his mother for guidance, but Dalatteya’s face betrayed nothing. Unlike Samir, she held Warrehn’s gaze unflinchingly, radiating polite indifference, like a queen deigning to speak to someone far beneath her.
“Nephew,” she said, smiling.
All the whispers ceased as everyone waited for Warrehn’s reaction.
“You’re not my aunt,” Warrehn said, his voice as hard as his face.
Samir blinked, still stunned by his attitude. He had thought Warrehn would at least keep the pretense of politeness. All the royals did, regardless of their personal feelings. It was just the way things were done. No one said what they actually thought in court. Except for Warrehn, apparently.
Dalatteya’s smile turned cloyingly sweet. “I know I’m not your aunt by blood, my dear, but you did call me Auntie when you were a boy. I’d like you to keep calling me that.”
Warrehn stared her down. “And I’d like you to move out of my house, Auntie.”
A ripple of scandalized whispers broke through the crowd.
Dalatteya’s smile froze. For the first time, she looked unsure, clearly thrown off balance by Warrehn’s attitude, before her eyes narrowed, a dangerous glint appearing in them.
Samir frowned. There were two ways this could go: things would escalate to a full-on civil war, or he needed to somehow break the tension and calm everyone down, and fast, before the gossip spread.
So he stepped forward, smiling, and walked over to Warrehn. “I’ve missed your sense of humor!” he said, raising his voice just enough to be heard, and hugged him.
It was like hugging a statue. Or rather, something made of durasteel. Warrehn was rigid against him, his telepathic presence like a live wire. He really was very tall and broad, making Samir feel small—and he was very far from being small.
A few seconds passed.
Then, Warrehn none too gently pushed him away and glowered at him, with a mix of bewilderment and obvious dislike in his gaze. “What the—”
“I know, you look so different from how I remember you, too!” Samir cut him off, beaming at him. “But I’d recognize your awful sense of humor anywhere!”
Warrehn glared at him. “I don’t—”
“Let’s go, I’ll show you your room,” Samir said, grabbing his hand and all but dragging him toward the front door, away from the curious eyes and gossipmongers. The guards by the front door bowed to them, their impassive faces a stark contrast to the curiosity they emanated.
Samir dragged Warrehn into the nearest room. He shut the door and dropped his smile as soon as they were alone. “Are you out of your mind?” he said, turning to Warrehn. “I don’t care about your issues with my mother, but you shouldn’t talk that way to her in front of the entire court! You’ll just make all of us the subject of nasty gossip.”
“What makes you think I care?” Warrehn said in a flat voice.
Samir opened his mouth and closed it without saying anything, looking at the older man in silence, at a loss for words. He’d never met a member of royalty who didn’t care about their reputation and public image.
Warrehn’s lips twisted. It was kind of amazing how such an objectively handsome man could look so unattractive. Warrehn’s features were classically handsome, but the deep frown between his finely shaped brows and around his mouth made him look almost ugly. His thick, slightly curly honey-brown hair was the only soft thing about him, his jaw hard and square and dusted with dark stubble. Blue eyes glared at Samir with such derision it was a little unnerving—and Samir wasn’t an easily unnerved man.
“I can’t stand politicians, liars, and traitors,” Warrehn said in the same toneless, gruff voice. “And you and your mother are all of those things.”
So that answered the question of whether Warrehn suspected the truth or not.
Warrehn stepped closer, looming over him. “I can’t prove your guilt—yet—but I want you out of my sight. Out of my house.”
Samir lifted his chin, his heart beating so fast it nearly made him dizzy. “I don’t know what you’re implying. If you’re trying to imply that I was somehow involved in the attack on you, let me remind you that I was five at the time.”
“You were,” Warrehn said, looking him in the eyes with the same hard expression, radiating dislike. “I’m sure it wasn’t your idea at the time. But you’ve been more than content to benefit from your mother’s treachery as you sat on my throne, spent my money, and slept in my bed.”
Samir flushed. “I didn’t sleep in your bed,” he bit out, more bothered by Warrehn’s words than he would have liked.
“You know perfectly well what I mean.”
Samir pressed his lips together, hating that he couldn’t refute it. No matter how hard he had tried to justify his mother’s actions, his inner sense of fairness and conscience didn’t approve of them. But he couldn’t exactly say it.