Pure Destiny (PureDark Ones #12) - Aja James Page 0,55
Crown Prince.
Not destined to be her future husband.
Dalair had disappeared right after the wedding. She’d barely caught a glimpse of him during the ceremony. He hadn’t even said goodbye to Cambyses, though the two brothers were very close. Closer than any of Cambyses’ full-blooded relatives.
Kira was quite certain her husband loved Dalair more than he loved her, platonic though it was in both cases. She didn’t begrudge the sentiment at all. Not when she completely understood and empathized.
“I am going to write him a letter, demanding his return, as soon as we get back to the Palace,” Cambyses declared.
He often wrote Dalair letters. All of them unanswered, as far as Kira could tell. But once in a while, Dalair would send a brief note, a few words only to reassure Cambyses that he was hale and hearty when his brother grew too rabid with worry.
“Anything you want to add, my dear?” he asked, as he always did.
Kira suspected that Cambyses was aware of her feelings toward his brother, though he’d never broached the subject with her, and she certainly never volunteered to discuss it herself. He always behaved as if she loved Dalair as much as he did, that they were also the best of friends, even though Kira’s interactions with Dalair had been limited to the few-days journey from Zau to Persepolis ten years ago.
Perhaps it was because they’d adopted Dalair’s mother, Vashti, in the warrior’s absence, visiting the beautiful, kind woman as often as every other day. She was King Cyrus’ favorite concubine, and as such, she was on an island by herself, a victim of palace jealousy and cruelty. If not for Cambyses, Vashti would have suffered greatly without Dalair by her side to protect her.
Perhaps it was Cambyses’ way of sharing himself with Kira, because Dalair and Vashti were the only two people in the entire empire that Cambyses was close to.
Or perhaps he simply knew. Despite everything Kira did to hide her regard for Dalair, perhaps her love was a visible, palpable thing that anyone could see if they bothered to look closely enough.
“No,” she answered by rote. It was always her response.
As was her amendment that came a beat later, “Just ask that he stay safe. Take care.”
Cambyses tilted his head to assess her with those much-too-clever eyes. Beautiful, dark eyes with lashes thicker and longer than a girl’s. This was the feature that most easily distinguished the brothers, for Dalair’s eyes were silver.
Somehow, despite the same shape and ridiculously luxurious lashes, Dalair’s eyes made him look predatory, dangerous, powerfully male, while Cambyses’ eyes looked soft, almost feminine.
“Shall I ask whether the new, light-weight armor you sent fits him properly? Or the supplies for his soldiers? The ointment you made yourself for dressing his wounds? Or the packages of his favorite dried meats and cheeses?”
Kira hunched her shoulders, trying to hide her embarrassment.
Perhaps Cambyses knew how she felt about his brother because of these aforementioned “gifts.” And more. After all, she’d been sending supplies to Dalair through various channels with regularity and reliability for the past decade.
“It was Vashti’s idea,” she muttered. “How should I know the foods the Commander prefers.”
Well, she might have not known before, but after ten years of pumping Dalair’s mother for information, she knew quite a bit about the man’s preferences, habits, strengths and weaknesses. She’d soaked up every tidbit of knowledge Vashti imparted about her son.
For example, Kira knew that Dalair was ambidextrous. He was most lethal when he had a weapon in each hand. She’d observed for herself some of his fighting style when he thwarted the assassins that attacked their caravan on their way from Zau to Persepolis.
It was the reason she’d commissioned, years ago, a special weapon designed just for him by the Master Blacksmith of Persepolis. Twin, half-moon blades that could be used separately or combined into a single circular blade. There was no other weapon like it across the empire. The blacksmith had boasted that even the god of war would envy the Commander when he wielded it. She hoped to have it ready soon.
Through her continued communications with Dalair’s close-knit group of retainers—the same ones who’d escorted her from Zau—she learned more about his fighting techniques, the exact reach of his arms, the grip of his hands. She’d sent him other weapons throughout the years and received feedback from his men about how they worked for him. Different types of swords, daggers, maces, spears.