Page 54 of Bonds of Hate

Logan waves the question away like it doesn’t matter. “Busy elsewhere, I assume.”

Cillian has been missing-in-action all day, but this is the first time I realize just how strange that is. “I thought he was supposed to be your personal guard.”

“Exactly,” Logan snaps. “Doesn’t make him my damn babysitter.”

I exchange a look with Poe, both of us catching the defensive edge in Logan’s voice. Something isn’t adding up here.

“Look,” Logan continues, running a hand through his disheveled hair, golden strands standing on end like stalks of grain. “This morning’s council meeting brought the news that they’ve escalated the investigation into Ander’s death to an emergency inquest. The council is certain he was murdered.”

Poe scoffs. “The king won’t stand for that.”

Logan delivers his reply with a devastating solemnity. “It was the king’s idea.”

Unease creeps up, icy fingers tapping down my spine. “So, we’re fucked then?”

Firing squad is too good for the assassination of a royal, much less a blood crime. Princes assassinate each other. It happens. But they typically ensure someone else takes the blame for their crimes. The king will have no choice but to string us up by our toes in the public square so the entire city can watch as we’re flayed alive.

I did always want to go out with a bang.

Ever the optimist, Poe lets out a long sigh. “What do we do?”

“Cooperate with the investigation only as much as we have to. Make sure we cover our tracks and keep them covered.” Logan says with the easy confidence of royalty, like someone who has never encountered an insurmountable obstacle in his life.

“Oh, is that all?” I drawl.

Logan glares at me, catlike eyes as unfriendly as they get. “Without an obvious motive, the inquirer won’t have any reason to focus on me.”

I raise my eyebrows as Poe makes a noise that could be a laugh, but becomes a choking cough when Logan’s glare turns his way.

“Spit it out,” Logan demands.

Fine, I guess we’re just stating the obvious today. “You know, if we had some idea what actually happened, keeping the inquirer in the dark might be easier.”

“It was personal. That’s all you need to know.”

Abruptly standing, Logan stalks to the bar cart along the wall. He doesn’t allow any of the palace staff into his apartment when he is present, but they still keep the liquor discretely stocked. He makes a drink without offering one to anyone else and knocks it back before making a second one.

I grapple with a sudden surge of annoyance. Logan might be the prince, but that doesn’t automatically make him in charge enough to shut down any discussion. We’re supposed to be a pack, not just some random subordinate Alphas happy to snap up his scraps.

Logan has always been a smug prick. I usually find his posturing more amusing than irritating, but the last few days have been more brutal than usual.

I don’t like secrets. They itch at my skin and burn at my blood like a spreading infection. Him not trusting us enough to tell us everything makes me want to burn all of this to the ground.

A full glass of whiskey clinks on the table as Logan sets it down next to me.

He releases a heavy sigh, then squeezes my shoulder before returning to his chair. “My only real brothers are in this room. You already know as much as I can tell you right now.”

I take a healthy sip of whiskey, letting the burn of it wash away as much of the unease churning in my gut as it can. “Love you too, brother. But that line is only going to work for so long.”

Leather creaks as Poe shifts in his seat. “What about Cillian?”

Logan finishes his own drink and slams the empty glass down on the table hard enough to crack it. “What about him?”

“You said your real brothers are in this room,” Poe prompts. “Does that mean he doesn’t count?”

Logan glares down at his glass as if blaming it for being empty. “Cillian is a beta. It isn’t the same.”

Poe leans forward, a look I recognize as trouble on his face. “He hasn’t been around much lately.”

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