Page 152 of Royal Rebel

Imara heard a deep voice rise above the others in the hall. Her heartbeat quickened, and shock held her immobile as a tall man strode into the room, ignoring the guards who argued behind him.

His broad shoulders filled out the doorway. His skin was dark and his brown eyes were fastened on her. His head was shaved, and khalmin swirled across his skin in red, black, and silver ink—on the backs of his hands, his bare arms, up his neck, and even on his face. They marked his kills, his station, and his fierce reputation. Not that there was any mistaking who he was.

He stared at her, his jaw set and his tone dark. “Imara.”

Her lungs were frozen, but she had enough breath for one word. “Skyer.”

Chapter 35

Desfan

DesfanstaredatSkyer.The Zennorian clan leader was larger than Desfan; taller and thicker, with heavily muscled arms inked in swirling designs. His hard expression was locked somewhere between disapproval and menace. His dark piercing eyes turned to Desfan, and the challenge in that stare made Desfan’s spine stiffen.

He’d never particularly wanted to meet Imara’s betrothed, but he certainly didn’t want to meet him unexpectedly—and right after he’d just bared his heart to Imara.

“You are?” Skyer asked shortly. He used the trade language, and for some reason that felt like an insult; as if he didn’t think Desfan could speak Zennorian.

Desfan’s shoulders went back. “Serjan Desfan Cassian,” he said, his voice a little harder than it probably needed to be.

Recognition flared in Skyer’s eyes, but his terse expression didn’t alter. The intricate lines of ink on his face and skin made him look even harsher, somehow. “Serjan,” he greeted firmly. “I do not know your Mortisian customs, but among the clans it is considered rude for a man to be alone with a woman who does not belong to him.”

Desfan’s hands fisted. Every nerve grated at Skyer’s possessive words.

In the corridor, the argument between their guards had settled into an annoyed silence. Desfan could see one of Imara’s guards glaring at one of Skyer’s men, and one of Desfan’s own guards was visibly seething, a hand on his belted dagger.

The agitated guard in the doorway hovered, clearly unsure of how to handle the situation. To be honest, Desfan felt some of that himself. He wanted Skyer thrown out of the palace, but he couldn’t do that. Skyer may not have a crown, but he was a powerful man who held a strong position in Zennor. Not just as the Kabu Clan leader, but also as the man who was currently poised to marry into the royal Buhari family. It was the only reason the guards would have allowed Skyer to get this far into the palace; attacking him would have risked issues with Zennor.

That didn’t make it easier for Desfan to address the distressed guard caught in the doorway. “Thank you for showing him up. You may wait outside.”

The guard dipped his head at once and slipped from the room. He tugged the door closed behind him, sealing Imara, Desfan, and Skyer inside.

Silence strained the air. Imara looked to be in shock, so Desfan asked, “What are you doing here?” His voice was just rude enough that Yahri would have probably hit him over the head with her cane, if she’d been present.

“I have come to fetch my bride.” Skyer’s attention slid to Imara. “We will go. Now.”

Imara shifted on the settee, and for a brief moment Desfan thought she truly would stand and go to him. Instead, she reached for her cane and lifted it demonstratively. “I’m afraid I’m not able to travel just yet.”

Skyer’s eyes narrowed. “What happened?”

Desfan noted no concern in the man’s question—only irritation.

Imara’s chin lifted fractionally. “I was injured. Clearly, I’m still recovering.”

Skyer’s attention slid back to Desfan, censure in the set of his mouth. “You allowed harm to come to her?”

Desfan’s spine stiffened.

“It wasn’t Desfan’s fault,” Imara said quickly. She rocked to her feet, leaning heavily on the cane. Standing didn’t increase her height all that much—not before Skyer’s towering form—but something like challenge flashed in her eyes. “Did my father send you?”

“No. I sent myself.” Skyer’s gaze lingered on the cane. His lip curled. “You should not have run away.”

“I wasn’t running,” Imara said. “I was visiting my cousin.”

“You picked an unfortunate time to do so.”

“Why?” Imara asked. “Has something happened?”

Skyer shot a look at Desfan, though his words were directed at Imara. “Perhaps we should speak of these things in private.”

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