Page 154 of Royal Rebel

Skyer blinked once, then turned his entire body to face Desfan. “No?” he repeated, the question spiked with low fury.

Before Desfan could answer the man’s clear challenge, Imara spoke. “You must see to settling your men, Skyer. Desfan will help make arrangements for all of you, I’m sure.”

Fates, no,Desfan wanted to growl. He didn’t want this man in his home. But he knew he had no choice but to provide accommodations.

The one consolation was that Skyer didn’t look pleased with how things had turned out, either. Frustration dug lines in his hard expression, but he lifted his chin. “Very well. Imara, we will talk later.” He angled toward Desfan. “You and I will talk now.”

From the corner of his eye, Desfan could see Imara wince. Obviouslythathadn’t gone as she’d planned.

Desfan met Skyer’s gaze and smiled thinly. “I think that’s a good idea.”

Desfan left Imara in Kaz’s care. He hated to leave her at all, but he wanted Skyer away from her. If the cost was keeping Skyer close to him, so be it.

From the moment Skyer had entered that room, Imara had seemed like a shadow of herself. And Desfan hated everything about that. No one should have the power to dim Imara’s bright, beautiful spirit.

And anyone who did shouldn’t be allowed near her.

Skyer walked at Desfan’s side. Two men who looked almost as dangerous as Skyer trailed them, along with Desfan’s two guards. Karim hadn’t returned yet from visiting his mother at the asylum. He’d gone with his grandfather this morning, so Desfan wasn’t surprised things were taking longer. Honestly, it was probably for the best. Karim wasn’t as impulsive as Desfan, but he was fiercely protective. He probably wouldn’t have remained silent during that scene in Imara’s office.

Desfan’s own rage still simmered, and it took everything he had not to snap at Skyer and create a political incident. Offending Skyer could alienate Mortise from Zennor; something they couldn’t afford to do, with war on the horizon. Not to mention, Serene wouldn’t thank him for upsetting things with the clans while she was trying to convince Buhari he didn’t need to marry Imara to Skyer.

“Your palace is impressive,” Skyer said.

Desfan glanced over at the man walking beside him, caught off-guard by the compliment. “Thank you,” he said, a bit grudgingly.

“Your ancestors were strong to build such a fortress,” Skyer continued. “Strong lineage is a gift bestowed by the fates, but it is not a gift all men end up honoring.”

Desfan was pretty sure there was an insult in there, but he decided to ignore it. “I’m surprised you were admitted. Security measures have been increased.”

“One of Imara’s guards was in the yard. He spoke for me.”

Desfan nearly asked which guard, but he didn’t want to draw undue attention. He intended to find out, though. He needed to know if the bodyguard could still be trusted with Imara’s safety. If Skyer had recognized the man and forced him to speak for him, that was one thing. If the bodyguard had done so voluntarily, Kaz needed to know.

Every instinct Desfan had screamed that Skyer was a threat to Imara. Maybe some of that was an overreaction on his part, but he trusted his instincts enough to take heed of the warning.

“How many men do you have with you?” Desfan asked. When Skyer shot him a look, he added smoothly, “I need to know how many rooms should be prepared.”

“Ten,” he said. “I left most of them outside.”

As they neared a maid, Desfan gestured her over. The woman eyed Skyer and his men with mild apprehension. “Work with the steward and see that rooms are prepared at once for our Zennorian guests,” Desfan said. “Ten guards, one ser.” It was a term she would understand. Even though Desfan didn’t want to give Skyer any measure of respect, he needed to do at least that much. “Make arrangements in the north wing,” he added impulsively. That would put Skyer’s room as far as possible from Imara’s. “Send someone to join us in the yard as soon as they’re ready.”

She bowed and hurried off.

“Ser?” Skyer questioned.

“The Zennorian equivalent islord,” Desfan said, resuming their course.

Skyer grunted as he fell into step beside him. “I am not a lord. I am a Warrior. I earned my place through skill, not an accident of birth.”

This time, the slight to Desfan was obvious. “I thought you claimed ancestry was a gift,” he said, a bit wryly.

“Strong ancestryisa gift, but it only has true merit if we live up to it. I know far too many Zennorian lords who grow fat and lazy from the exploits of their ancestors. I am not one of them. I willneverbe one of them.”

The man was arrogant, condescending, and just about every other negative trait Desfan could think of. Imara had claimed not to know Skyer well, since she’d only met him a handful of times. But it had only taken a brief moment for Desfan to know Skyer all too well. Perhaps Imara’s positive nature had tried to convince her there was more to Skyer than his rough exterior.

Desfan was far less optimistic.

“Where is Imara’s room?” Skyer asked. “I would know where she sleeps.”

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