Veralie’s fingers caressed his back as she peeked around him, sending a shudder down his spine. “Who is that, Jaren?”

He swallowed, every nerve and sense standing on edge. “My father.” He could count on one hand the number of times he’d seen either of his fathers leave the capital. What had happened to bring him all the way to Ocridal?

Veralie’s fingers stilled. “What? I thought you said they stayed in Naris?”

He didn’t answer. He didn’t have one. Turning to lock eyes with her over his shoulder, he reached up and gave her chin a soft squeeze. “Stay here.”

She blinked, clearly taken aback by the request. Unsheathing one of his daggers—the one that she’d had all those years—he handed it to her, watching her calloused fingers wrap around the script. “Please, Veralie.”

Surprisingly, she nodded, tucking his dagger in her belt and shifting to stand out of the way of the crowd. So, she was capable of listening, after all. He’d log that tidbit away to taunt her with the next time she argued, which he doubted would take long.

Forcing himself to turn away from her, he jogged toward his father. Jaeros didn’t slow as he caught sight of Jaren approaching. If anything, he sped up, barely stopping in time to avoid crashing into him.

“Gods be damned,” his father said, “I thought you were dead.”

Chapter 3

JAREN

His Thyabathi poured out in a rush between heavy breaths as he clutched Jaren’s shoulders in a death grip. His scent washed over him, reminding Jaren of freshly baked sticky buns, even this far from his kitchen.

“Your lack of confidence is comforting,” he quipped.

Jaeros looked the same as he always did, the only part of his face unobscured by facial hair brightening as he smiled widely. “Maybe if you’d shown even a hint of self-preservation in the last twenty-five years, I’d have more.”

Jaren’s lips quirked up. “What are you doing in Ocridal of all places?”

He pulled his hands from Jaren’s shoulders and rested them on his hips with a huff. “I was waiting for news of you, you fucking idiot.”

Thank the gods, he thought, instantly relaxing. “So, nothing’s wrong? Deds is all right?”

“Besides the stick he’s had wedged up his ass recently?” Jaeros asked, his face practically glowing with mirth. “Yeah, he’s fine. Worried about you, though.”

Jaren snorted. Dedryn never worried about anything. He had two settings, neutral and angry. Normal feelings weren’t his forte with anyone except his mate. They had that in common.

As if reading his mind, Jaeros smacked his shoulder with the back of his hand. “Stop that, he cares. He let me come here to look for you, didn’t he?”

He dipped his head, unable to argue. He was surprised his father had let his mate travel so far without him. “I’m sorry I worried you both, then. There is…” his lips twitched. “There is a lot to tell.”

His father’s smile fell, and he hesitantly retreated a step, his humor fading as the creases in his forehead deepened. “That can’t be good coming from you. Should I be worried?”