Page 48 of Over the Emerald Valley
“Stand down,” Ottah ordered his men as he palmed Temaj’s hip.
If Solon could injure with his eyes alone, Ottah’s hand would be a smoking mound of charred flesh for that casual groping.
Ottah continued, “Escort the general out of the restricted wing and return to your posts. I’ll handle the slave.”
No way. No.Solon wouldn’t let Temaj do this. But he had to be smart about it. A fight was no better odds now than before Temaj’s schemes at seduction.
Solon eyed the guards. “Return to your posts without me.” He fixed his gaze on Ottah and ground out the words. “I want to watch.”
Temaj’s mouth opened. He leaned back against Ottah but stared at Solon with an expression that was far too close to lust for Solon’s liking.
“Didn’t peg you for a voyeur,” said Ottah. “Go on, and say nothing of this to anyone,” he ordered the guards.
The men sheathed their daggers and left. Whether Ottah’s command for silence would be obeyed or not, Solon would bet on the entire palace knowing what took place here in a day’s time. His investigation would have to be rushed accordingly.
But first, he needed to sort how to get out of this situation with Temaj’s dignity intact.
Meanwhile, Temaj had flung an arm behind Ottah’s neck, his torso stretched long as he pressed back against the man’s body. “Where are we going?” he asked as if he had every intention of letting Ottah fuck him while Solon watched.
And maybe he did. Solon honestly couldn’t tell. Either Temaj’s acting was really that good, or he was serious. Solon didn’t know how to feel about either scenario.
It would be one thing to watch Temaj with another man if Temaj actually wanted him—that kind of encounter might be fun—but Solon was under the impression Temaj despised Ottah. He couldn’t possibly want this. Could he?
Temaj studied Solon as if he was also trying to interpret meaning, all the while twirling a lock of Ottah’s hair. He raised one eyebrow, and the corners of his lips curled up.
“Right here,” said Ottah. “No one is supposed to be in this section anyway.”
“Then why are you here?” asked Solon, keeping his voice even.
“Patrols, obviously. An army general should know as much.”
Despite the tension, Solon could use this encounter to gain intelligence. “Indeed. So this wing is off-limits to servants, but not guards?”
“There’s no part of the palace I don’t protect.”
“So you have access to the viceroy’s chambers?”
Ottah hesitated. “I don’t need to enter his rooms to protect him.”
Temaj spun in Ottah’s grip so they were face-to-face. “Enough about your boring job. Take me to the gardens, and I’ll blow you behind the alabaster rock wall.”
Solon could hold back no further, and now the odds were in his favor. Against one man—especially one as pompous as Ottah—he was sure to come out the victor. “You can stop this charade, Temaj. I won’t let him touch you.”
Temaj glanced backward over his shoulder. “So…you don’t want to watch?”
Ottah grabbed Temaj by the hair, whirled him around, and yanked his head back with one hand while drawing a knife with the other.
Solon lunged, but not before Ottah settled the blade at Temaj’s neck.
“Tut, tut, General. Careful, or my hand might slip.”
Temaj’s strangled sound of protest sent a riot of energy through Solon. He would kill Ottah for this. But for now, he raised both hands so Ottah wouldn’t do anything stupid. “Don’t hurt him.”
“That depends on you. On your knees, General.”
“My master won’t stand for this,” said Temaj fiercely. “I’m worth more to him than you. Let us go.”
Ottah responded by tugging even harder on Temaj’s hair. “Close your filthy mouth. You’ve broken about six different rules by bringing him here. What will your master say when he hears that, hmm?” He sent an icy glare at Solon. “On. Your. Knees.”
