Page 232 of Primal Bonds

Marjani nodded at Fane. He knew she sensed the truth in Jewel’s words, same as him. “Go ahead. I’ll see you at dinner.”

He hesitated. Gods, he hated to leave her. Still, what choice did they have but to follow Sindre’s orders? The king had made it clear he wanted both Fane and Marjani at the dinner. Whatever he intended, it involved them both.

“She’ll be fine,” Jewel repeated. Her gaze caught his. “I promise.”

He gave a curt nod and headed back to his room, hating how helpless Sindre made him feel. It was like playing cards with a hand you weren’t allowed to see. But what could Fane do but play out the hand?

In his apartment, he dragged off his ruined clothes and threw them into the garbage chute. Unlike Marjani, both his shoes had remained on and somehow made it through the attack with only a few scuff marks. He left them on the floor next to the closet and headed into the bathroom. He’d have liked a soak in the tub, but he contented himself with a hot shower and a shave.

He racked his brains for a way to save Marjani. Maybe if he signed on to serve Sindre for another ninety-nine years? But he was afraid there was nothing he could offer that the king wanted more than her.

With a muttered curse, he set down his razor and strode naked out of the bathroom.

His father was sprawled on the easy chair, long legs stretched out, a beer in his hand. It was like looking into a mirror—the two of them had the same blond hair, dark brows and narrow face. A poet’s face, his mom had said.

Arne grinned up at him. “There’s my boy.”

That was his dad. Always sure of his welcome. Fane hadn’t seen him in years, and he acted like they’d just met last week.

“Hi, Dad.” Fane glanced at the door, which apparently he hadn’t locked. “Just come in and make yourself at home, why don’t you?”

“I have, thank you.” Arne raised the beer bottle to Fane and then stood up, arms open wide. “Now give your old dad a hug and act like you’re glad to see me.”

“You know I am.” Fane hugged him back. “Where the hell have you been, anyway?”

“Oh, here and there.” Arne slapped him on the back. “I hear you're having dinner with the king.”

“You’ve been talking to Roald.”

Arne waved his bottle noncommittally and settled back into the easy chair. “Why don’t you get dressed and we’ll have ourselves a chat?”

“I’d like that.” Fane headed into his closet, emerging a few minutes later in clothes fit for a dinner with the king: black leather pants and a collarless shirt in a fae material that changed from navy to light blue when he moved. Clasping a gold bracelet around his wrist, he turned the wood chair to face Arne and sat down.

“So. Let me guess.” He leaned back in the chair, fingers interlaced behind his head. “Roald ordered you to bring me to my goddamned senses. Give up the fada female, and stop embarrassing the family.”

His dad chuckled. “Something like that.”

“Consider it done. And the answer is no.”

The skin around Arne’s blue eyes crinkled in amusement. “Fair enough. Roald is breathing fire, though. Something about how you owe him and the Morningstar name. Oh, and he threw in something about diluting a bloodline that can be traced back to the first fae warriors.”

“Like hell. I’ve been at the court for sixty turns of the sun, and in all that time, he’s spoken to me less than a dozen times. I don’t owe the man a bloody thing.”

Arne’s good-looking face turned serious. “Forget Roald. He’s always growling about something or other. And he’s a fine one to be talking about diluting bloodlines—he mated with my mother, after all. No, it’s the king you should be worrying about. He makes a powerful enemy.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Fane sat up and leaned forward, hands on his thighs. “I love her, Dad.”

“Lovers come and go. Life’s too short—”

“And time goes by,” Fane finished for him. “Yeah, I know. But…” He stared unseeingly down at his bare feet. “I think she’s my mate, Dad.”

“I see.” Arne took a thoughtful sip of beer. “That changes things.”

“No kidding.”

“You can’t hide from the king. It might take a decade, but he’ll hunt you down.”

Fane dragged a hand over his wet hair. “So we’ll bargain with him.”

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