be guards placed among the crowds, but they weren’t alert in the same way guards should be. Seranian custom appeared to dictate that funerals were loud and colorful, and guests were armed.
“Death appears to be celebrated here,” Vasili noted, raising the wine glass to his lips.
He’d been quiet since the carriage ride. That razor-sharp mind of his was probably thinking up all the ways he could manipulate the next Yazdan he met.
“Hm,” Niko mused, eyeing another lordly character walking by with a dagger at his hip. If the crowd turned hostile, fleeing would be the only option.
A few figures parted down a wide pathway to reveal Yasir in a heated exchange with another man. He had a parted mop of chestnut hair and typically luscious, dark Seranian looks. Yasir reached for the fellow’s elbow but was quickly shaken off.
“A lover,” Vasili said.
Niko looked again at the exchange. There was some passion in it, more than was worth a business disagreement. “I suspect he has many.”
“But not I, if that’s what you’re alluding to.”
“I wasn’t.” He hadn’t been, but considering Vasili’s tone, he wondered if he should have.
“You’ve accused me of it in the past, nonetheless.”
Niko stared at the exchange, keeping Vasili in his peripheral vision. The prince watched Yasir too, his expression locked in nonchalance. Yasir was close to Vasili in a way that was different to what Niko had with him. It wouldn’t have surprised him if they’d been closer. Yasir flirted and Vasili was… Well, he had ways of making men beg. “You were close enough to share blood, so why not a bed?”
“Like Julian?”
This was rapidly veering into territory Niko would prefer to forget.
“I didn’t bed Julian,” Vasili added. “And I did not feed his desire for Caville blood.”
Niko glanced about them to make sure nobody was within earshot. “No, you just fucked with his head and whipped him instead.”
Vasili faced Niko, demanding Niko return the stare.
“He was the enemy,” Vasili said. “Through pleasure, I was able to control him—” Vasili’s silvery brows pinched and his pert lips thinned into a grim line. “I don’t owe you an explanation. It was before you and I met—”
“There is no you and I.” Niko’s heart thudded in his throat. He stared at Yasir and his companion again. Their argument was faring no better. Clearly, Yasir’s companion was angry about something, and Yasir was trying to fix whatever had gone wrong.
Vasili loomed, as he did so well, and Niko desperately wanted to take those six words back. He wanted them to be the truth but wasn’t sure if he’d just lied to them both because there definitely was a “you and I,” but the details of that relationship were too complicated to think on.
“Because you’re too good for me?” Vasili slid his glare back to Yasir.
“No.” Niko snorted. Was that what Vasili truly believed? “I’ve never been good.”
“Because the poison in my veins might contaminate the infamous Yazdan honor?”
“Vasili…” Niko faced him, inching closer, but not too close. There were too many eyes observing them for anything more personal. “I didn’t even know the Yazdans existed—”
“Because I cannot tolerate touch?” The prince blinked. His tone was icy, but Niko heard its cracks. He lifted his chin. “Yasir returns.”
“I’m sorry…” Yasir blustered. “I got… a friend… waylaid.”
Niko cleared his throat. He’d have to talk with Vasili alone later. “We saw.”
“Ah, yes.” Yasir pulled on his sleeves, straightening the silk. “I’ve found Roksana. She’s asked you both to join her with the Yazdans for formal introductions.”
“Of course,” Vasili said. He blinked at Niko. “Let us officially meet your esteemed relatives.”
Vasili left his wine behind on a wall, and Yasir led the way through the extensive grounds toward a columned portico carved into rockface that must serve as the family crypt. The closely crowded people outside all shared the same familial traits, with Roksana among them.
She broke from her companions and muttered, “Let’s get the formality over with, shall we, so we can move on to more pressing matters.” She turned on her heel and announced in her timbre voice, “Vasili Caville of the Royal House Caville.” The crowd’s chatter quickly fell away to near-silence.
Vasili dipped his chin. “My heartfelt condolences. The death of your father and beloved shah is a terrible blow to all.”
He went on to flatter the city and its people in that smooth, charming way that he did, but Niko was barely listening. The people gathered at the portico ranged from mid-thirties to late fifties in years. At least