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Behind him, Fadon heard the volume of conversation increase, but he didn’t take his eyes off Lucius. “Just felt like visiting, then? Because you and Ander are so close, is that it?”
Lucius smiled. “Something like that, sure.”
“Enough, fucking leave it!” someone shouted behind them.
Lysander.
Fadon turned around and took in the scene.
Why was it always a servant with a tray? he thought.
Apparently, Ander had sloshed his drink and was currently wearing it. A servant was hovering over him, at a loss as to what the protocol should be.
“I believe I shall retire,” Mari said loudly with false enthusiasm, standing. “Sierra, how about walking with me to my room?”
With the exception of Ander, everyone bowed and bid the queen goodnight, Lady Lordes and Zion following the two women out, nodding Fadon’s way as they left.
Fadon, disgusted at his brother like usual when he got like this, strode across the floor and grabbed his brother by the sleeve. “Off to bed, Ander. Let’s go.”
Ander laughed and tugged on his arm, trying to remove Fadon’s hold. “We just got here! I’ll just change my tunic and all will be juuusssst fine.”
“Good idea. Let’s go.” Fadon got him standing and threw his arm over his brother’s shoulder in case he changed his mind. He nodded to the remaining guests and took Ander up to his room, where he pushed him inside and slammed the door, shutting them both in.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he asked Ander.
“What did I do now?” Ander raised his arms in the air, his face contorting. “Drank a little, yeah. But I’ve been on my best behavior. Don’t give me that disappointed look, Fadon. Fuck you.”
Crossing his arms over his chest, Fadon leaned back against the door. “You’re drunk. When are you going to grow up? You’re eighty-one-years old, Ander. You’re getting married in two days. Gods willing, you’ll be a father this time next year. You have everything a man could ever want. What is it that is so damn hard?”
Ander tore his stained linen shirt off, throwing it on the floor. “You wouldn’t understand.”
“Try me.”
Walking over to his wardrobe, Ander pulled out a clean shirt. His animated stupor transformed into sullenness.
“Ander,” Fadon said after minutes passed, “I can’t help you unless you tell me what in Ongar’s name is going on.”
Ander sat down heavily on his bed, shirtless, and studied his hands. “There is nothing you can do, because there is nothing going on.”
Fadon sighed. “Can you swear to me that Sierra will be claimed, Lysander? And to stay sober long enough to not have her running down the mountain in mortal shame before you wed?” He tried to soften his temper. “I saw you both this morning. You looked like you were getting on.”
His brother nodded slowly. “She is a remarkable woman, truly.”
Fadon raised an eyebrow at the praise. “So what’s the problem? Do you not find her attractive, not that it matters. She’s Omega, Ander.”
He shook his head. “Not that either. She’s lovely, beautiful.”
“Again, what’s the problem?”
“Not a thing, Fadon. Leave. I’m tired. I promised I’d behave and I will. Just drank too much.”
He stared at Ander for a full minute before shaking his head. “Get it together, Lysander. You have two days.” Then he left the room, his mind full of questions.
Chapter 38
Sierra
“I’m so sorry about my brother, Sierra,” the queen said as we walked up the stairs, arm and arm, in the east wing. “He’s been under a tremendous amount of pressure lately.” She raised a hand in defense. “No, I am not justifying his abominable behavior. That is mostly the drink. One of his vices when he’s out of sorts, I’m afraid.”
