The crown prince reappeared for dinner in the hall in full imperial regalia suitable for any la-di-dah capitol fete. Wool breeches hugged his muscled thighs while his stockings showcased trim calves. Arit’s mouth watered. Stitched in gold thread, artistic treatments of the Marisek crest lined the cuffs, his high neckline, and the hem of his loose tunic, hardly hidden by a matching vest that could only be described as fussy. Someone had invested countless hours in creating an interlinking beadwork pattern of each of the tribe’s sigils lining both front panels of the vest. A ring of contrasting gems circled ostentatious jewel buttons. Even his boots were absurd, black suede that had zero chance of surviving a single snowflake, forget the showering snow that had begun falling while Arit’s guests had freshened up. If the wet weather didn’t make the boots impractical, the raised heel guaranteed anyone wearing such frippery would break his fool neck on any hint of ice.
And who the fuck had given the prince the Founder’s Diadem?
Arit wasn’t an idiot. He’d been schooled as thoroughly as any other shifter in the history of their peoples, including pictures of the imperial family throughout the centuries. While the diadem wasn’t a crown, Arit recognized the piece as one gifted to the first emperor from the Urals upon that royal’s ascension to power over four hundred years ago. Sapphires glittered like blue-black stars in the band of chain mail ringing Nick’s head, a perfect counterpoint to the thick honeyed gold of this emperor’s hair.
He should’ve looked ridiculous.
Instead, Arit clenched his hands into fists to resist the urge to reach for Nick.
Nick had eschewed the upholstered couches and sofas lining the walls of the room and sprawled with his adopted brother, the human woman, and several others from his party on the floor. Nick leaned on an elbow propped on the fireplace hearth, which shouldn’t have reminded Arit of a throne but somehow did. He ate heartily from a ceramic bowl one of Arit’s staff had served to their guests, and although the fare was necessarily simple because train delays were common as autumn bled into cruel winter, Nick consumed the meat Arit had hunted with an eager abandon that hardened Arit’s dick.
He ran a business. Hearty venison stew on the first night in the Urals had become a standard mainstay for groups registered for the adventure tours Arit led. That Arit personally, instead of a member of his staff, had killed the deer that provided the foundation of this inaugural meal wasn’t unusual this late in the tourist season when he divided his trail guides between building projects. Arit leading the hunt for fresh venison was easier than reassigning a senior staff member, which would mean losing the man or woman’s precious management skills for remodeling and improvements before heavy snows began.
The roguish curve of Nick’s lips indicated the crown prince was as aware as Arit that gifts of wild game represented traditional offerings by lovers during mating heats, though. The flickering yellows and oranges in the fire in the hall’s hearth stood as another mating overture—fuel for warmth during the harsh cold season. Arit’s gaze rose to a high ledge circling the hall. Shifter Frontiers used the space to display stones sculpted over many long winters into prey animals and their predators. Ermines, arctic foxes, and badgers abounded. Roe deer, bears, and mountain cats had also been fashioned into various poses. The stone icons embodied the third category of conventional mating gifts and were generally the most prized. Game was eaten, wood consumed in fires, but these stone treasures remained, passed down in families over generations. Many of the icons lining the hall were heirlooms from Arit’s dad. Arit had only to reach up to retrieve the granite elk Emyn had created to present to his mate. Benjic’s gaze repeatedly flitting to that particular icon in the collection enraged Arit, but weighed down his shoulders with sadness, too. His sire had lost any rights to the elk when he’d abandoned them for the capitol.
Arit was free to gift it to Nick alongside the lynx he’d carved from sandstone in his teens. If he wanted.
The welcome sparkle in the crown prince’s gaze as Arit scooped stew from the bowl to his mouth invited him to do it. The loose sprawl of Nick’s body beckoned him, taunting Arit with the compulsion to declare his interest by tempting Nick with proof of his devotion…and warn rivals away from the shifter his wolf had judged should be his alone. Perhaps not the elk his dad had crafted. Too big. Arit’s lynx, however, would be perfect fastened with a length of black ribbon at the base of the crown prince’s throat alongside the gold locket Arit had spied Nick wearing earlier. Arit’s longing to claim Nick as his flooded him and almost brought him to his knees.
He didn’t stretch for his lynx icon, though. Instead, he stiffened his spine. Ate his dinner.
He wasn’t sure he liked Nick yet and truthfully, liking him might not be enough to persuade Arit to deal with what Nick was—a political animal every bit as devious and dangerous as Arit’s sire. Benjic recognized the core of intelligence and strength in the crown prince, if none of the morons in the capitol did. His sire wouldn’t have worked to arrange this meeting if he’d believed Nick malleable. Benjic sought an alliance and—staying true to form—the elder was willing to sacrifice one of his children to obtain it.
Pity Arit was not as eager or as compliant as his half-brother and -sisters in buckling under their sire’s power-hungry intrigues.
Arit did not reach for the lynx icon he’d sculpted, but not even distrust of his sire could pry his stare from Nick as they both finished their meals.
The human female set her empty bowl aside and drank instead from the tankard of locally brewed ale Arit stocked. “What now?” Her head dipped to the windows where snowflakes drifted from the darkening sky. “I assume the weather would preclude a tour of the grounds.”
Beside her, Roman chuckled. “For you maybe.”
“Our bodies run at higher temperatures than humans because we adapted to the brutal conditions in the territories the tribes claimed as theirs, Lyd.” Nick, too, put down his bowl. He stretched his arms, emphasizing the broad expanse of his chest under the layers of finery as well as a flat abdomen Arit desperately wanted to caress. “You should wait for daylight, yes. Your eyes aren’t as sharp, either, but for us, a few flurries and the dark are no bother.”
“Especially if we’ve taken our animal forms.” Benjic’s smirk at the crown prince set Arit’s teeth on edge. “The grounds are best viewed on four paws, Your Highness.”