Warrehn gave him a long, scrutinizing look that made something in Samir’s stomach squirm. He suppressed the urge to fidget and touch his hair, unsure why he felt so agitated. Fuck, no other person had ever unsettled him as much as this man did.
“…Um, Your Majesty? Your Highness?”
Samir tore his gaze from Warrehn’s sharp blue eyes and turned to the speaker, feeling a little disoriented.
He stared at the woman blankly for a moment before finally focusing on her face enough to recognize her.
He forced a smile and made some small talk with her, doing his best to ignore the silent man by his side.
It was impossible. He was so hyperaware of him that his attention strayed every time Warrehn as much as twitched a little in his peripheral vision. It was a good thing Samir could do small talk in his sleep.
After some time, he gave in and looked at Warrehn.
He found him looking at him, a deep frown on his face.
Samir gave him a questioning look.
You’re good at it, said Warrehn’s voice grudgingly in his head.
Samir froze, his eyes widening. It should have been impossible for Warrehn to send his thoughts into his mind. They didn’t have any kind of telepathic bond. They weren’t touching. Samir had his mental shields fully up. This should have been impossible. Just how powerful was Warrehn, exactly?
Samir bit his lip, disturbed and intrigued.
“Your Highness?”
Right. He was supposed to be talking to—what was her name, again?
“Next,” Warrehn said flatly, barely glancing at the woman.
The woman flushed, pressed her lips together, and strode away after giving them a stiff bow.
“You should try being nice and polite once in a while, you know,” Samir murmured as another noble started heading toward them.
Blue eyes shifted to him and looked for a moment, before looking away. Samir was left staring at Warrehn’s hard profile.
“I’m plenty nice, considering their thoughts,” Warrehn said without looking at Samir.
“Reading someone’s thoughts without permission definitely isn’t nice. It is a crime—”
“As is murdering people.”
“I didn’t murder anyone.”
“Being aware of a crime and helping the murderer to conceal it makes you complicit.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Samir said.
Warrehn looked back at him, his eyes flashing. “Sure you don’t.”
Samir glared at him, and Warrehn glared back, and Samir wanted to—he wanted to—
“Your Majesty. Your Highness.”
Right.
Samir wrenched his gaze away from Warrehn and smiled blandly at the next person.
He couldn’t hear a word they said.
Chapter 7
Warrehn’ngh’zaver would be the first to admit that he hated being wrong. No one liked being wrong, but it was particularly irritating that Samir had been right: his publicity team was less than impressed with him for his words to Lord Vahir.
“This is a disaster!” his press officer, Ayda, said, pacing Warrehn’s office, looking at the datapad in her hands. “Your approval ratings have never been high, but they have reached a new low now that Lord Vahir has his people spreading the rumor that Prince Eridan left because of your unnatural inclinations.”
Warrehn stiffened. “He did what?”
“He has people spreading the rumor that you wanted to bed your own brother and that’s why Eridan ran off.”
Warrehn closed his eyes and breathed, trying to control his rage.
“Don’t kill him,” Sirri cut in from the couch, studying her fingernails. “I know it’s tempting, but that wouldn’t help anything.”
Warrehn looked at her in frustration. He wasn’t sure what Sirri was even doing here. He certainly hadn’t invited her. He’d never had an easy relationship with her. She was Rohan’s distant cousin he’d basically grown up with. Sometimes Warrehn thought they were almost friends, except they never seemed to agree on anything.
“The sick fuck is spreading the rumor that I want to fuck Eri and I’m supposed to do nothing?” Warrehn bit off.
“Killing him would only make you look guiltier,” Sirri pointed out.
“I can make it untraceable.”
“You? You have about as much subtlety as a bull in a china shop. Leave it alone, War. Let the professionals handle it.” She nodded toward Ayda.
Warrehn sighed and loosened his cravat, leaning back in his chair. “What are you suggesting, then?”
“We can’t deny the rumor—acknowledging it would only make it worse,” Ayda said. “You just need some good press. Some really good press to help your ratings.”
“What kind of press?” Warrehn said, pinching the bridge of his nose. He was already getting a headache.
“You need to show up at various charity events with someone of impeccable reputation, someone well liked and popular among the court and common people—”
“No,” Warrehn said, sensing where it was going.
“Prince Samir,” Ayda finished, as if not hearing him. “He was an amazing ruler for this country during your absence. Your association with him would fix your approval ratings.”
Warrehn frowned. “I thought the regent was the one ruling our clan.”
Ayda said, “Not at all—at least not since the prince turned twenty. Her Excellency obviously had the seat on the Council of Twelve Grand Clans, but it’s not a secret that Prince Samir was the one making decisions in the past four years. Lady Dalatteya is probably the better politician, but Prince Samir is absolutely the superior leader and strategist. They say his grasp of macroeconomics is unrivaled on the planet. Our grand clan has the highest happiness rate across the planet for a reason—and that reason is Prince Samir.”