He shouldn’t have let him go.

“Dammit,” Mikhail cursed, pacing faster. He was going to wear the stone out under his feet. He was bursting with nervous energy, about to leap out of his skin with anxious concern. Kamar had been gone for more than a day. They were coming at twenty-eight hours now and no word of his whereabouts.

Mikhail had to stop himself multiple times from leaving the safety of the secret room to brave whatever storm that came with revealing his face in Djanna again. And all for his rebellious lover; he’d throw it all away for Kamar.

“Where are you?” Mikhail muttered, his grumbling nonstop, not even when he was eating his meals. Their ration was also depleting. A miscalculation that hadn’t considered Mikhail eating more than his share for lack of something better to do with his hands. Anxiety was a terrible beast–worry a gaping maw of toothy doom.

Fatigued from the pacing, Mikhail dropped down and counted out one hundred, slow-burning push-ups. Then he moved onto his back to do one hundred crunches. When he’d drained himself, he spread out his arms and stared at the dark ceiling, his mind’s eyes replaying his conversation with Kamar right before Mikhail guided him out of the fortress on his journey.

Mikhail’s eyes drooped, a wide, loud yawn almost snapping his jaw. He settled his arms over his chest and closed his eyes. For a moment, he promised himself. Only a moment’s rest…

He jolted awake, confused by the hour, and alert at the sound of steps clanging loudly on the ladder. Someone was coming down, and there was enough time for Mikhail to launch himself off the floor and duck in the book shelves in the farther part of the room.

“Mikhail?” Kamar’s voice called out to him, another set of steps clanging down the ladder. Someone was with Kamar.

Stepping out into view, Mikhail relaxed at the sight of his brother and of Aaron, the Westerner who’d helped stitch his arm up a couple weeks ago. This felt a little too familiar. With the addition of Kamar, Mikhail was transported back to the time when Idris had clued into Mikhail’s fake death.

Idris had grabbed an apologetic-looking Aaron and he had left Mikhail behind.

They hadn’t spoken since.

Kamar smiled, moving to Mikhail’s side. Now the brothers faced off, both stony-faced, neither speaking. Aaron’s warm smile mirrored Kamar’s. It was too bad the brothers weren’t sharing the same sentiment.

Tired it seemed of the stretching silence, Kamar piped up, “I’m sorry I took so long.”

“I was worried,” Mikhail confessed.

Kamar rolled his eyes. “Serves you right–you sent me to be the messenger. I hadn’t anticipated how long it would take to convince the guards of my identity. Then,” he paused to smile brightly at Idris, “the king and his fiancé, Aaron, arrived and confirmed who I was.”

“Fiancé?” Mikhail echoed. He recognized the stir of jealousy flowering in his gut when Kamar referred sweetly to Idris. Since when did the two grow to be so close? Surely not in the short time Kamar was away from his side.

“Yes, I’m engaged,” Idris said, his tone brooking no argument. Switching subjects, his kid brother folded his arms and scowled. “Kamar filled me in.”

Even the sound of Kamar’s name from Idris’ mouth rankled Mikhail.

“What’s this about needing weapons?” Idris raised his brows. “Surely you don’t think you have any entitlement to accessing Djanna’s weaponry…brother.”

Ignoring how he hissed brother, Mikhail nodded. “I understand I have no such right. Just as I understand I’m trespassing. But this goes beyond me, and if Kamar told you, there is a whole nation depending on us.”

“The weapons would be for show, of course. We’re not planning to shed blood.” Kamar looked to Mikhail to confirm that. Considering they had spoken at length about it, Mikhail bobbed his head again.

“The weapons would be for show.” Mikhail repeated, hoping at the same time he could keep his promise to Kamar.

“I still don’t understand why you’d need to ask for firearms. Wouldn’t it be better to beg for food?” Idris smirked, his temper surly as usual. Only it was never this hostile to Mikhail.

“You’re still angry,” Mikhail said.

It was the wrong thing to mention. Idris flew into a rant.

“And you’re still confused, unsure of who you are–so let me remind you, dear brother. I’m King of Djanna, sovereign of these deserts. I’ll ask again, more clearly this time, what does Djanna have to do with Zhebair?” Idris countered. He lowered his arms, his fists at his side, quaking with the leashed anger twisting his features.

Kamar shocked him by stepping in front of him, or trying to, until Mikhail pulled him back, clutched him to his side instead. If Idris struck out, he wanted to be the one to catch his blow, not Kamar.

Aaron touched Idris’ arm, and the king jerked to look at his lover, his eyes immediately softening, the tension physically ebbing from his body. Astounded didn’t encompass what Mikhail witnessed. Aaron’s intervention worked. Idris took a deep, cleansing breath before facing Mikhail again.

“I’ll hear you out, but,” he jabbed a finger at Mikhail, “if I don’t like what I hear, I’m leaving. This time I won’t come back.”

Mikhail knew it was grasping straws, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. Besides, he had the perfect opportunity to apologize to Idris, mend their relationship…and remind his kid brother which of them was three years older.

Giving Kamar a squeeze, Mikhail led the group to the small table in the corner to discuss the fate of the revolution in Zhebair with Djanna’s intervention.