Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 90827 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90827 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
“They became one colony,” the prince said pensively. “And now all of its citizens are unbonded. Outlaws.”
“Technically, yes. But it should be our right to make our own choices instead of having the Council do it for us when we’re infants. Is wanting freedom a crime, Your Highness?”
Prince Jamil was quiet for a long time, looking blankly in front of him, his hands gripping the bedspread tightly. “I’ve been bonded since I was two years old,” he said at last, his voice toneless. “I never felt as though I wasn’t free. I was happy for thirty years as a bonded person. Your views are insulting to me.”
Rohan bit back a scornful remark and reminded himself that he was dealing with a recently widowed man. He had to tread carefully. He couldn’t antagonize the prince if he wanted to get his cooperation.
“My condolences for your loss,” he said.
His lack of sincerity must have been obvious, because the prince just scoffed in response.
Rohan grimaced. “Look, I’m sorry if I don’t seem very sorry—it must be a cultural difference.”
“You’re a Calluvian, too.”
“Biologically, yes,” Rohan said. “Culturally, Tai’Lehr couldn’t be more different from Calluvia. We despise childhood bonds. Sorry, I know it must be offensive to you, but we see childhood bonds as unnatural, little different from slave bonds.”
Prince Jamil’s head whipped to him. “Slave bonds?” he said, glowering at him. “Don’t speak about things you know nothing about!”
Rohan put his hands up in a placating gesture. “Different culture, remember?”
The prince pursed his plush lips, studying him. “Don’t people get bonded on Tai’Lehr? When they get married?”
Rohan shrugged. “If they want to. It’s always their choice, unlike the way things are done on Calluvia. People don’t have to be artificially bonded to each other to be happy. If people are a Fit, eventually a bond will form naturally.”
“A Fit?” Jamil repeated.
“Mentally compatible,” Rohan clarified, avoiding the prince’s gaze. “But a Fit isn’t necessary for a relationship or marriage. It’s just… a nice bonus.” Rohan could hardly tell this very proper prince that even a decent Fit made sex mind-blowing.
When Prince Jamil was silent too long, Rohan looked at him. The prince was chewing on his lip, a pinched expression on his face. “Is…” The prince paused and grimaced slightly before continuing. “Is this…?” He gestured vaguely between them.
Rohan almost laughed at his discomfort. “Yes,” he said. “We’re a pretty good Fit, Your Highness.” That was the understatement of the century. He’d never felt a Fit so strong before. “Not that it means anything,” he added when the prince’s discomfort spiked.
At Jamil’s puzzled glance, Rohan clarified. “A good Fit is just a possibility, nothing more. It doesn’t make people enter into a relationship if they don’t want to. It doesn’t influence people if they don’t allow it to.”
But instead of seeming relieved, Prince Jamil frowned and shot Rohan a suspicious look. “You’re lying,” he said. “This thing is definitely influencing me, because—” He cut himself off, averting his gaze.
Rohan tried not to smirk, amused despite himself. “Attraction is just an inconvenient side effect, Your Highness.”
The prince shot him a withering look. “I’m not attracted to you!”
Rohan grinned, unable to suppress his amusement anymore. “I don’t mean sexual attraction. A Fit is a mental attraction. It can heighten physical attraction; it can’t create it. So you can relax, Highness. I’m not going to jump you. I’m not interested in men, even ones as pretty as you.”
Prince Jamil blinked, suddenly looking so young it was hard to believe he was in his thirties. But then again, Rohan mused, the House of Veighli was famous for its daughters’ and sons’ everlasting beauty and youth. The Queen was still an incredible beauty despite being in her sixties, and all her children apparently took after her.
“I’m not pretty,” Jamil said with a small, puzzled frown. “My younger brother is. I’m handsome.”
Rohan almost laughed. Part of him couldn’t believe they really were having this conversation. “Prince Seyn just looks like a smaller, washed out version of you,” he said, thinking of the other prince. “He’s pretty, but so are you, for a man. I’m not into either of you, so my opinion is as impartial as it gets.”
The prince’s mouth opened and closed uncertainly.
It made Rohan wonder if anyone had even called him pretty before. He was beginning to doubt it. Now that he thought about it, he’d heard a lot of monikers that described the Crown Prince of the Third Grand Clan and they all seemed rather intimidating: Prince Responsible, Prince Perfect, Ice Prince, and so on and so forth. Even when the prince’s looks were described, he was usually referred to as intimidatingly handsome. No one had ever called him pretty, which was fucking strange, in Rohan’s opinion. Prince Jamil was ridiculously pretty, for a man.
The prince pursed his lips, still looking a little off-balance. “Let’s return to the subject at hand,” he said. “If what you’re saying is true, why are you here, in my stables? Why are you pretending to be a zywern trainer?”