Jamil didn’t move.
He stared at Rohan for a long moment before saying,
“Who are you?”
Chapter 6
For a long moment, there was only silence.
Rohan eyed the prince and opened his senses, trying to determine the extent of the prince’s suspicions. Physically, Jamil felt better than he’d felt in forever, the aftershocks of pleasure making his whole body feel wonderfully loose. But the suspicion that was forming at the back of the prince’s mind was making him more alert by the moment.
Rohan still tried. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Your file says you’re bonded, but I know it’s a lie. Your mind doesn’t feel like that of a bonded person. You don’t feel like a widower, either. So that means your file is a lie.”
Rohan’s jaw clenched.
He gave Jamil a sardonic look. “I don’t think you were in any condition to judge the state of my bond when you were begging me to get deeper in you, Highness.”
The insinuation in his words was unmistakable and the prince flushed, his temper predictably flaring.
“How dare you, you brutish, mannerless cad—” He cut himself off, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. “You’re doing this on purpose. You’re trying to distract me.”
Dammit.
“Who are you?” the prince repeated, his face pale. “If you don’t have a bond, you must be… you must be a rebel.” He spat the word out as if it was dirty, something vile and unthinkable.
Rohan gave him a pinched look. He was perfectly aware where the prince’s hatred for the rebels originated—that was the reason he was here, after all—but he still felt cornered, at a loss what to do, and he didn’t care for the feeling. This wasn’t the plan. He’d never planned to have a conversation with the Crown Prince of the Third Grand Clan, much less expected to get caught in such an idiotic manner.
Rohan glanced around, looking for security cameras, but thankfully, there were none in this part of the royal stables. Thank fuck for small mercies.
Looking Jamil in the eye, Rohan pushed his will and said, “You will walk with me, calmly and without attracting anyone’s attention.” He felt the prince’s will buckle, trying to fight off the compulsion and almost succeeding. Almost. Rohan felt a reluctant twinge of admiration—Rohan was a very strong telepath, with a particular gift for compulsion, and few could resist him when he chose to use it. Rohan wasn’t exactly proud of this talent, but it was useful. He couldn’t afford getting caught. The fact that Jamil had almost managed to throw off the compulsion spoke volumes about his willpower—and the innate strength of his telepathy, considering that the remnants of his marriage bond were still limiting the prince’s abilities.
But it wasn’t relevant now. He needed to get them somewhere they could talk freely before Prince Jamil managed to throw off the compulsion. The prince was still fighting it, even though he was following Rohan obediently enough.
Finally, Rohan reached his room at the back of the stables, let the prince inside, and locked the door. “Sit down on the bed.”
The prince did as instructed, his movements wooden and jerky.
Finding a few cravats, Rohan bound Jamil’s hands behind his back and gagged him.
He took the compulsion off and the prince immediately sprang to his feet, his eyes burning with fury.
“We didn’t kill your husband,” Rohan said.
The prince went very still, his eyes wide.
There was still hostility and distrust in them, but he was listening.
“Sit down,” Rohan said. “Please, Your Highness. I’ll explain. And I’ll take the gag off when you calm down.”
After a moment that felt like forever, Prince Jamil sat down on the edge of the bed, his eyes burning holes into him.
Even now, despite the seriousness of the situation, despite the hostility in those eyes, Rohan felt the same unnerving, sickening pull toward this man, the urge to touch and merge almost maddening. It was frustratingly hard to focus.
Clasping his hands behind his back, Rohan fixed his gaze at some point a little to the right from the prince’s eyes and said, “You’re right: I’m what you would call a ‘rebel,’ though we don’t call ourselves that. Most of the stuff you Calluvians say about us is a lie. We don’t attack civilians. We weren’t the ones who killed your husband.”
Prince Jamil mumbled something through his gag, giving him a demanding look. It didn’t take a genius to guess what he wanted.
Rohan eyed him warily before untying his hands and taking the gag off. He knew it was a gamble, and he was relieved to find that it had paid off: Jamil seemed too distracted by his statement to call for help.
“Prove it,” the prince bit off, not quite meeting his eyes. He likely didn’t want to get caught by the pull between them, either.
“I can’t prove it,” Rohan said. “That’s why I’m here. We need proof that we didn’t do it, that we didn’t commit any of the crimes we’re accused of.”