“I’m not so sure about that.”
“I am.” Malcolm had recovered, mostly. He sat on the lip of Bastian’s marble fountain, eyeing them all wearily. “Finn told us he wants Auverraine, Gabe. If Jax is gone, he’s still coming after Bastian.”
The subtle difference in Gabe wasn’t present in Malcolm. The other man seemed fully himself, even laced in leaves.
Gabe’s eye fixed on Bastian. He took a breath.
Then he closed his fist, smothering the flame. “Do not think this is lenience,” Gabe said, his gaze swinging from Bastian to Jax. “Do not think that just because I am not dealing with you now doesn’t mean I won’t.”
Throughout this drama, the Emperor had remained still and silent, watching the proceedings as if he couldn’t quite believe how much his luck had turned. But now that it was clear he’d live for at least a few more hours, he straightened, lifted his chin. “Gabriel. I need to apo—”
“Don’t.” Alie glanced at her betrothed over her shoulder, shook her head. “Just don’t.”
“In fact, Jax,” Bastian said, “you should probably go prepare that ship you promised. I want to be on it as soon as possible.”
Jax left. Malcolm and Alie did, too, muttering excuses about getting things together for the imminent voyage to the Burnt Isles. Gabe half mentioned getting there in the same way they’d just left, though he didn’t list specifics; before he could finish speaking, Malcolm’s eyes had arrowed to him, sharp as pins, fury flattening his mouth.
“No,” he said. “I am never, ever doing that again.”
Gabe blinked, his hand raising to fall again. “Malcolm…”
“Do you have any idea how close it was?” Malcolm didn’t raisehis voice. But every line of him was held tense, something that could snap with the slightest pressure. “How hard I had to fight so that He didn’t take over?” He glared at Gabe. “Harder than you fought, apparently. I thought you didn’t want this.”
Gabe swallowed. Said nothing.
“And Michal is still there,” Malcolm continued. “Michal, and Val, and Mari. If anything happens to them, Gabriel, I will never forgive you. Know that.”
Then he left.
Then it was just Gabe and Bastian.
They stared at each other across the solarium. The orange-red in Gabe’s eye hadn’t faded, the pupil blown wide as he looked at Bastian.
It was down to him to break the moment. Always was. Gabe was much better at holding silence than Bastian had ever been.
“It’s not just you in there.” How could it sound so nonchalant when this was the last thing Bastian had ever wanted for him, for any of them?
Gabe shook his head.
Bastian’s exhale tremored. “Fuck, Gabe, why would you do that?”
“Because there was no other way.” The voice that wasn’t entirely his sounded reluctant. “Not if I wanted to save you both.”
“Gods.” He wanted to cry, but Bastian Arceneaux did everything he could to keep from crying in front of other people. “Gabe…”
Gabe studied his closed fist. “When we came here—moved through the magic—I felt Him. Hestraon. I’d done it before, I knew if I did it again, He would… not take over entirely, but be more present.” He opened his fingers, inspected the char marks. “We want the same things.”
“As long as I finally have you back.” Bastian’s breath shook. “I’m willing to put up with just about anything, Remaut, as long as I have you back.”
Gabe shuddered, a long movement down his long body. The air between them was thick, expectant.
Neither one of them knew how to navigate this. The new realization of what they were to each other, what it meant, lay like a shroud over the room, and neither of them knew how to rip it off.
Who was he kidding? Of course he did.
Bastian strode across the floor and kissed him.
He’d thought often about how the monk would kiss. Considered asking Lore a couple times. All in all, it was exactly as he’d imagined—Gabe was surprised, at first, and then hungry, his mouth pressing down hard to open his own, his hands coming up to tangle in Bastian’s long hair. Bastian gripped his jaw hard enough to leave fingerprints, to feel the press of bone under skin. Nothing about this was gentle; they kept their gentleness for Lore. This was their own.
