His lips twitch—not quite a smile, but close. “Down and dirty?”
“Sometimes people get dirty in a fun way that doesn’t involve grime or mud.”
Kael leans in slightly, his voice dipping lower. “Do you mean exchangingbodilyfluids?”
There’s something almost teasing about it. My brain short-circuits for a second. Is he…? No.
Nope.
I must have imagined it.
Except now I’m thinking about it. Thinking abouthim.
I don’t know much about Glowranthian cities, what they do for fun, or how they unwind when they’re not training or fighting. Kael is a warrior—his entire species is—but something tells me that as the prince’s personal guard, he has no real concept of a good time.
How can he when his mission in life is to protect a prick of a prince?
But holy shit. Am I flirting with him? Is he flirting with me?
The guy asks me a couple of personal questions, shows some vague interest in my life, and suddenly I’m wondering if he’s ever had a drink or danced or done anything remotely fun… and dirty.
Like I’m not supposed to remember that the sovereign state he protects is responsible for capturing Riftborn.
Kael watches me, his expression unreadable. “Did you…? Is that…? I am asking if it was… an honourable profession.”
I freeze. Something hot and sharp coils in my gut. The number of times I received flack for being in the nightclub industry was honestly tedious. And sure, I sometimes used to show myassets, because I have a great arse, and it was super bloody fun dressing up and getting attention. I certainly shook my butt when having a good time, and yes, a time or five I wasmistaken for offering additional skills for a pretty sum—which, by the way, I never took.
But still, I’m not sure if he’s taking the piss or implying something more. Either of those options has my guard shooting up.
“Why?” I ask quietly, my voice deceptively calm despite the fire licking at my chest. Because fuck him. As if anything he does for the almighty sovereign state is remotely honourable. “Would it be dishonourable if I didsexwork?”
Kael tenses. His fingers twitch against the table.
For the first time since we sat down, he turns slightly—just enough for his gaze to flicker towards me before he catches himself and looks away again. And just when I think I’m about to get an argument, an excuse, something?—
“I apologise,” he says. “I did not intend to offend or even imply that you do not have honour.”
It throws me off so hard that I forget to be mad for half a second.
Then Varek—who had definitely been listening—stands and stretches. “Time to move. We’ll head to the east quarters.”
Breakfast is officially over.
We leave quickly. It’s a short walk, maybe just ten minutes to the east section of the headquarters’ compound, just outside the bowling alley. As we walk, Dawson is ahead, chatting with Varek.
Kael walks beside me. I don’t know why that surprises me, but it does. Especially after the way he threw me for a loop at breakfast. Admittedly, I may have jumped the gun a little with my interpretation, but with how quickly he apologised, maybe not.
I expected him to move ahead, keep his distance—he’s been avoiding eye contact like it might set him on fire, after all. But here he is, his massive frame keeping perfect pace with mine.
For a while, neither of us speak.
Then, impulsively, I ask, “What’s the process for bonding with a fated mate for Glowranth?”
Kael stumbles.
It’s barely noticeable—just the faintest hitch in his step—but I see it. It’s so damn unexpected that I stop walking entirely, just so I can soak in the moment. Kael stops, too, rigid as ever, his face carefully blank. But I’m watching him now, and yeah, that tiny flicker in his eyes? That’s discomfort.
Interesting.
