The elder arched an eyebrow. “I talk to Emyn frequently these days, if that counts.”
Chuckling, Nick joined the others streaming inside. Keeping his attention on where he would stay rather than on the tempting ass of his potential mate stretched his early childhood training to the breaking point, but he managed by focusing on the massive fireplace that dominated one wall, oak floors dotted with soft fur pelts, and wide windows showcasing spectacular views of mountains disappearing into wispy clouds. Pleased, he noted the fire had been stoked high. Sweat prickled his skin under his thin shirt. More than one finger in their entourage crept to tug at a shirt collar in the lodge’s heat, but the important thing was Lydia would be warm. Nick and Rolan had acclimated to human temperature levels while growing into adulthood in the lands of men, but the rest of their group began shedding extra clothes the moment they walked through the lodge’s entrance. They draped jackets on the backs of sofas lining the cavernous hall and rid themselves of the neatly stitched vests which were fashionable in the tribes. Some unbuttoned as much of their black dress shirts as propriety allowed.
Lydia accepted the displays of flesh with the dignity—and avarice—of a queen given her due. “Take the trunks upstairs, please,” she said, shrugging out of her own coat with a gratified hum. “Rolan and I will share a room, so you can put ours together.”
When his brother started at that grand announcement, Nick laughed. “While I appreciated your discretion in the capitol, I knew you and my best friend had begun circling each other,” Nick told him. He tapped his nose. “Scent doesn’t lie.”
Arit’s eyes widened. “She’s human.”
Shoving down brutal disappointment, Nick nodded. “That matters?”
“Not to me.” His potential mate pointed an accusing finger at Benjic. “He voted with the purists to close the borders after the war.”
“Living in the capitol hasn’t deadened my sense of smell, boy. I recognized the start of his heat, and although human bodies aren’t engineered to mate as ours are, no one could mistake the change in her scent as she responded to him.” The elder shrugged. “What Rolan and Lydia do in the privacy of their room is their business and none of mine.”
“When I give a damn about your approval, I’ll let you know,” Lydia said with a glacial smile.
Nick snickered as Arit’s mouth gaped. “Don’t mind Lyd. She gets testy when she’s tired and hungry. I’m sure we’d all like to freshen up before dinner.” He waved at a wide staircase along the wall opposite the fireplace. “If you could direct us to our rooms?”
Arit’s eyes narrowed. “Noryl,” he said, calling to the porter hauling their luggage inside. “Show the security team where they should set up on the first floor.”
When his stare focused on Nick, a shiver raced up Nick’s spine.
“I’ll show the principles to their quarters upstairs,” Arit said.
“B-but your father wanted to help check in our guests.” A woman wearing a green polo with the lodge’s crescent moon logo frowned. “I notified him of the train’s arrival as soon as Marni let us know, and he must have heard the shuttles park outside, too. He’ll be on his way from your cabin by now.”
Benjic paled, his jaw clenching.
Nick’s potential mate only shook his head. “Send someone to intercept him.” He jerked his chin at Benjic. “I won’t tolerate Dad being upset. He’s been through enough. He shouldn’t have to—”
“Nonsense,” said another tribesman entering the great room through a pocket door by the fireplace. He shared Arit’s height, had the same muscular build, and his hair streaked with the dark-gray, mottled coloring characteristic of the Ural tribe, but while Arit’s shoulder-length mane had been tied at his nape, the latecomer had allowed his to freely brush the tips of his shoulders. He walked into the hall with Arit’s strutting swagger, too. The resemblance between the two couldn’t have been more striking—the newcomer had to be Arit’s dad. When he reached them, Benjic audibly gulped. “Why should I be bothered by greeting an old dear friend? My son is a worrier, but there’s no need for his concern.” He grasped Benjic’s hands and leaned forward to kiss the elder’s cheek, first one and then the other. “Ben, handsome as always. You haven’t changed a bit.”
“Emyn.” Muscles taut, the elder grunted. “I’m thicker around the middle.”
“Aren’t we all.” Arit’s dad chuckled while his glance swept the entourage from the train station. “No Katya? The children?”
Benjic grimaced. “Not this time,” he said, though his tone indicated never was the genuine answer. “Everyone in the capitol is working tirelessly to arrange the funeral and abdication ceremony. I was fortunate to obtain leave to accompany His Highness. The council would not have countenanced losing anyone else to this trip, especially Harr, who has taken the lead for organizing the memorial.” The warm smile gracing Arit’s father’s face remained fixed in place. “The invitation for your capitol family to visit your ancestral land is always open. Any time.”
Benjic dipped his head. “Thank you.” Breaking his former mate’s grasp on his hands, he turned to gesture at Nick. “Emyn, may I present his Imperial Highness Nika Marisek?”
Drolly amused at Arit’s scowl when his father bent to a bow that included tipping his chin to deferentially expose his throat, Nick finally stepped forward. “I’ll vacate the throne after the funeral and as soon as the council arranges the ceremony to their liking. Please, formalities are unnecessary. Call me Nick.”
“Nik,” Emyn said, pronouncing it with the long e of Nick’s imperial name among the tribes.
Nick opened his mouth to correct him, but Arit spoke first. “Not with the hard e of Nika, Dad. He adopted the soft i pronunciation prevalent in the lands of men. Nick, like brick, is human. Nik, like creek, is tribe.”
Surprise shot through Nick. He gawped at Arit, who had picked up a distinction even Benjic had neglected…or had at least chosen to ignore. “It’s all right. Few have remembered the customs of men since the border closed, and fewer still recognize the name I chose after the war.”
Arit’s brows beetled. “You are the crown prince.” He glared at Benjic when his sire sniffed in irritation. “Until you abdicate, you are the emperor the Goddess selected for the tribes and as such, you decide your own name.”
Nick wished it were that easy. “It isn’t important.”
Lydia snorted.
“You belong to us and to yourself as Nick, not as the Nika they tried to kill,” Rolan disagreed. “The tribes’ refusal to honor your name is a grave insult.”
“I meant no offense,” Arit’s dad said, gaze stricken.