behind his head and elbows wide, ready to take this chance to talk to Tommy alone.
But Tommy stood abruptly. Without a word—without so much as a parting glance—he swiped up his book and strode across the parlor in Frankie’s wake, leaving his breakfast uneaten.
Confused, Kris rose to his feet. “Tom—”
“Don’t.” Tommy spun around, his voice hard like a staff cracked against the marble floor between them. His features were a mess of pain, uncertainty, and command. “Don’t follow me.”
Startled, Kris dropped back into his chair and stared after him.
It wasn’t that Tommy had hardly ever spoken to him like that, or that Kris had screwed up worse than he’d imagined, or that hurting his brother so deeply was like taking a sledgehammer to the walls of his own heart.
Tommy had never sounded more like a king.
Philip marched into the tower study as the morning sun reached the far edge of Kris’s desk. His hands were balled, elbows bent slightly by his sides, but instead of staring Kris down in preparation for the usual battle of experience in royal life versus actual royal person, his gaze flicked around the room like he couldn’t bear to make eye contact.
An odd approach to the argument Kris knew was coming.
“Lost something, Phil?” he asked, leaning back in his chair.
His advisor stopped in front of the desk. Sunlight exposed the grooves beneath his eyes, the lines around his mouth. Did he always look so tired? He didn’t move, just stared at the back of Kris’s laptop with the air of someone daring themselves to speak their mind, but teetering on the brink of backing out.
Intrigued, Kris waited.
“Sometimes, Your Highness,” the man finally said, “your charm and complete disregard for other people reminds me of Prince Noel.”
The accusation struck Kris like a close-range arrow. Complete disregard for other people. That was how he’d treated Tommy, wasn’t it? Blithely shoved him aside without consultation or consideration. He was an asshole and a poor excuse for a brother, and as disgust raided his pride, he rallied sarcasm as a defense. “Loved him as much as you love me?”
Philip paused. A peculiar look tugged across his face as he finally met Kris’s gaze. Then it was another long wait, suspended in Philip’s sad silence, before the man said quietly, “I loved him considerably more than you.”
Oh.
Oh.
“Oh,” Kris said, blindsided, and thought, Why the hell didn’t I know this?
Probably because of his complete disregard for other people.
“And he loved me,” Philip said, his shoulders settling beneath that truth. “But unlike Markus’s actions for Ava, Noel never dreamed of defying his position for me. We were lovers for fifteen years—and almost no one knew. Just King Vinci, Prince Aron, and a few members of the household. I kept my own room in the servants’ quarters to avoid suspicion.” He looked down, fidgeting with the silver signet ring Kris had never thought to notice until now. “He was comfortably out, if you didn’t already know, so he didn’t hide our relationship because he feared a homophobic scandal. Not that Kiraly would cause one.” Philip took in a large breath, his brow a wavering line of pain. “He hid me because I was common.”
Stunned and stricken, Kris had no idea what to say.
“I sat at the love of my life’s funeral and no one knew to say how sorry they were for my loss.”
“Philip . . .” Kris blinked back the sudden heat behind his eyes.
Philip focused on him, his gaze fierce. “Except Frankie. She found me in the crowd—risked you seeing her—to squeeze my hand and pass me more tissues.”
God, that woman.
Philip raised a finger. “Don’t you dare treat her the same way.”
Don’t—what? Kris sat forward with a lurch. “But you . . .” He gestured in bewilderment. “You told me that she wasn’t good enough. You warned me against her.”
Philip pulled back, insulted. “I did no such thing.”
“Yes, you did.” And it had made seamless sense with his previous behavior. Months ago, Philip had tried to push Mark into that strategic engagement with Ava in an effort to cultivate the royal line. “That day in the sitting room when we were watching Frankie in the courtyard. You warned me to be careful.”
“I was warning you to be careful with her,” Philip said, indignant. “Warning you not to hurt her.”
Disbelief hung from Kris’s jaw. So . . . so, that meant Philip hadn’t angled for the strategic engagement out of heartlessness—but because personal experience had taught him that marrying within one’s station