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Oliver shut the door on the first official day of negotiations and rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. The first couple of days were always the hardest. Numerous dossiers could only get him so far, so he always had to spend those forty-eight hours or so absorbing as much information as he could about as many of the players as he could. His brain ached with the effort of synthesizing it all and strategizing his attacks.
He couldn’t get it wrong this time, not again. Dominic was in an entirely different system, and yet Oliver could feel his older brother’s eyes on him—just waiting for him to trip up so he could finally push Oliver out of their father’s gaze altogether.
Oliver swallowed and shook his head. He couldn’t think about the consequences of failure, or he’d only guarantee it.
A shower would help. And it would get off all the cream clogging his pores. Its usefulness could not be overstated, and he’d already ordered more, but the feel of it on him made his skin crawl. He didn’t have the nose of a klah’eel, but even some subconscious part of his brain tripped over the fact that he couldn’t smell himself.
He could smell Captain Mal’ik, though.
Oliver stripped off his clothes, stepped into the hot spray of the shower, and let his aching mind wander to where it really wanted to go. And where it wanted to go was to the big, scarred, grizzled old warrior that stood guard at his back all day and the way he smelled like pure masculinity. Oliver wouldn’t mind having him at his back just a little closer.
Which was absurd because Oliver never felt that way, not anymore, not for years now. The thought of all the stickiness and fluids and mess involved with being intimate with someone made him shudder and not in a good way.
But if Mal’ik wanted to make a mess of him… Oliver trailed his soapy hand down to where his cock was starting to—
He tore his hand away.
No. Feeding his obsession like that would not help, and if he wasn’t careful, more than his scent would give him away. The Klah’Eel officials he worked with would certainly notice if he started making doe eyes at his bodyguard.
That shifty, smarmy Governor Tesh already had his suspicions after that slipup in the courtyard.
When Mal’ik had heroically saved him and—oh look, his exhausted mind had stumbled back to its favorite topic. Oliver turned off the water before his urges could get the better of him. He had the fate of half a planet to plan, a brother to dethrone, and the love of his father to win back.
* * *
The very first part of Oliver’s plan was education. It was a vital piece of infrastructure, but one his father would consider acceptable to compromise on. It was where he could give a little if he had to.
He stared at the summary of Southern Tava’s current education system while he sat at the breakfast table but couldn’t make himself see it. His attention kept wandering over his shoulder to where he could feel the bulk of Captain Mal’ik standing at the door. His awareness kept straining to catch a whiff of him, or to hear him shift position, to turn around and see him.
Oliver sighed. If that was where his focus wanted to be, he might as well use it.
He turned in his chair to look up—he always had to look up farther than expected when he finally let himself look at all—at Mal’ik. “Where did you go to school?”
Mal’ik looked away from the doorway across from him and blinked. “I didn’t.”
“What?” Oliver looked down at his summary. There were schools in Southern Tava, and he’d been assured that at least the region was fairly standard in this way. “What do you mean you didn’t go to school?”
Mal’ik raised an eyebrow. “I mean I didn’t go to school.”
“But you must have been educated somewhere.” Oliver turned all the way around in his chair to face him fully. “You don’t seem like an idiot at least, and I like to think I can spot them a mile away.”
“The Gat’Raph educated me when I joined.”
Oliver had heard of the Gat’Raph, the best of the best Klah’Eel warriors. He had also known Mal’ik had been one. Garin had only told him about five times. But he hadn’t realized they were also a source of education. He frowned down at his summary again.
“There weren’t many schools when I was young, and there were none near my village in Klah,” Mal’ik continued, tilting his head a little at Oliver. “There still isn’t.”
That was the piece Oliver was missing. The existence of schools was all well and good, but if the distribution was uneven then they might as well not exist. “Are there plans for one?”
“I wouldn’t know.”
Oliver looked back up at Mal’ik and found himself looking into those intense orange eyes. “Do you wish you could have gone to school?”
Mal’ik didn’t reply right away, and Oliver wondered if he’d gotten too personal. It wasn’t really Oliver’s business. The job description was to stay by his side, not listen to his chatter and put up with all his questions.
“I am grateful for what the Gat’Raph gave me,” Mal’ik finally replied, and that wasn’t exactly an answer, but Oliver managed to clamp his teeth down around a follow-up question before he spent all breakfast and then some begging for attention from a man who had a job to do.
He turned back to his work and half-eaten meal. Oliver had a job to do as well. He was no longer so convinced of his ability to compromise on education. In fact, given that capable young men were apparently being drawn into the military instead of the industry for want of education, he rather thought that the Turner business interests would require a different approach.
