Idris had come through for them in the end. As he promised, he’d have the weapons delivered to Mikhail and Kamar’s contact in Zhebair. Mikhail would have to let General Ishmael know. If anyone could help them smuggle in weapons for a revolution, it’d be the General.

Of course, they wouldn’t tell him about the revolution part. Yet.

“It’s brilliant,” Kamar gushed when Mikhail shared the next phase of the plan. “So, we’ll have General Ishmael believe it’s fruit you’re bringing into Zhebair. He did seem to enjoy your fruit.”

Mikhail returned Kamar’s smile.

They were trekking the Djannian desert again in the cover of night. After four days at the fortress, they finally were making their way home. Four days, Mikhail mused, of waiting and screwing like bunnies. Idris and Aaron helped by supplying them with food. His cock stirred in his pants at the memory of Kamar’s ass cheeks clenching him tightly. They’d fucked enough times Mikhail found himself staring down at Kamar’s belly, wondering if his seed had taken.

The thought made him grin smugly. Breeding Kamar would be the perfect way to bind the two of them together, forever. With that in mind, Mikhail reached for Kamar and circled his arm around his waist. Lowering his black scarf from his mouth, Mikhail brushed his lips over Kamar’s ear and whispered, “I want to fuck you again.”

Kamar’s eyes widened innocently. Mikhail ignored the prickle of annoyance when his lips touched Kamar’s through his rebel lover’s scarf. Instead he tugged the scarf down to Kamar’s chin and kissed him again.

Kamar moaned into the kiss. Mikhail groaned back, pausing in the desert to hold each other. He let Kamar come up for air, Mikhail’s lips touching a path from his mouth down to his throat, and the frantic pulse at his jugular.

“What are you doing?” Kamar breathed. “The sun will come up soon, and we still have a ways to go to Zhebair.”

“Mhmm,” Mikhail agreed, his mouth on a mission. His lips latched onto Kamar’s throat, suckling the sweetly salted flesh. Even though it was cool for the desert, the heat of the day continued to waft from the sand. They were wearing layers of drab, dark clothing, skulking through the night, just as thieves would.

Grinding his shaft against Kamar, he chuckled when Kamar clawed at his back, his hips rising and rolling to get the most from the friction. They dry-humped like that, Mikhail peppering kisses and planting lovemarks over Kamar’s neck and collar.

“We should go.” Mikhail moved up for one last kiss, releasing Kamar, but sliding his hand down to intertwine their fingers.

They held hands, walking side-by-side the rest of the way. As soon as Mikhail sighted Zhebair in the distance an hour later, he regarded a niggling thought, one he’d continued to forget to mention.

“What excuse did you give your father for your absence?” Mikhail asked, wondering how Kamar managed to duck the Prime Minister’s suspicions. Obviously Kamar wouldn’t share the fact that he would be travelling to Djanna for weapons. But what had he told him?

Kamar grinned. “That I was running off to elope with my favorite merchant lover.”

“Your only lover, you better mean,” Mikhail corrected, a smile lifting his cheeks and a deep-belly laughter rumbling out of him.

“Seriously though, I don’t need to report my whereabouts to my father,” Kamar said. “Besides, he isn’t exactly what you call attentive. It’s not like he tucks me in and reads a bedtime story. He probably believes I’m at home, in my room or something.”

Then Kamar surprised him when he asked, “What about you? What was your father like?”

Mikhail pursed his lips, scouring through memories of the old man.

Much older than his wife, Mikhail’s father had left the child-rearing to the womenfolk in the royal family. So his sisters or his late mother were left with that burden. Later on, Mikhail remembered a slew of private, handsomely-paid tutors in and out of his life. As an adult, he remained still distant from the man. Sure, his father finally had the time to show his heir-apparent the ropes of managing a kingdom, but since he hadn’t cared, Mikhail couldn’t claim one fond memory of those purely father-son business meetings.

“He was a busy king, and an absent father.” Mikhail saw compassion shining in Kamar’s eyes. “Don’t cry, I didn’t know what I was missing so I can’t say I’m mourning any parental memories. My mother, bless her heart, was a wonderfully nurturing woman. She was all I needed.”

“My mother died when I was six.” Kamar shared, his gaze wistful. “I remember her though. She was the exact opposite of my father. It’s her laughter that still echoes in my mind.”

“I’m glad to hear you had that.” Mikhail squeezed his hand. Kamar gave him another radiant smile, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears. Wanting to distract him, Mikhail stared out at Zhebair’s dark outline in the nearing horizon.

“Thank you for coming with me.”

Feeling Kamar’s gaze, Mikhail explained, “I didn’t want to face my brother alone.”

“One thing I’ve learned from the revolution is you don’t have to face anything alone. It’s more of a choice. Like keeping secrets, keeping everyone away—you have to be brave enough to open yourself up and see there’s always someone there who’ll be there.” Kamar lifted Mikhail’s hand to his mouth. Under Mikhail’s breastbone, his heart trembled with the delicate touch of emotion, with the fiery warmth in Kamar’s stare.

“You’re not alone as long as you choose to not be alone.”

Mikhail swallowed, bereft for a moment. How had his plan of cheering up Kamar changed its path? Now he was the one who had pure happiness burning his tear ducts.

They walked in silence for a few miles, a long stretch of cold, blue-gray desert, when Mikhail noticed something heading their way.

“I see it,” Kamar said, his gaze and furrowed brow colored by fear.

The black speck began to crystallize into a form—two forms, one on top of the other.

“A camel and its rider,” Mikhail reported softly. He tugged his scarf up over the lower half of his face, Kamar mirroring his action. Squeezing his hand, Mikhail whispered, “Follow exactly what I do.”

The rider atop the camel finally caught up to them; Mikhail and Kamar meeting them halfway. Instead of passing on, the rider stopped the camel and the beast leaned to unload its carriage. Obviously male by his build, the stranger hooked his leg around and hopped off, the rider clad in head-to-toe black approached them. Masked like them, only his cold, bright brown eyes swept over them.

Mikhail and Kamar stopped, facing their third party.

“Where are you headed?” the rider asked, his deep, smooth voice alternatively chilling Mikhail and sparking a memory. When they didn’t respond, the rider slapped his riding stick against his ankle-length black boot, his hand wrapping around the visible handle of a machete. “If it’s Zhebair, then you’ll have to follow me to be searched by border police for appropriate documentation.”

Mikhail reacted quickly, his fist connecting with the rider’s cheek. Shoving him down, and grappling to get the riding stick out of his grasp, Mikhail straddled the mask rider. Over his shoulder, he barked, “The camel!”

Alert, Kamar jumped to approach the camel. While Mikhail struggled to keep the rider occupied, bearing all his weight down on the tall, thin man, he didn’t have time to wonder if Kamar could even ride a camel. With one hand clutching the riding stick, Mikhail fisted his other hand and belted the rider’s face. The man had no time to draw his machete—just what Mikhail wanted.

Groaning and grunting, the rider continued struggling. Feeling weakness settling over his muscles, and sensing the light of dawn breaking through the night, Mikhail made a decision. He clutched his hand over the rider’s throat and he squeezed…and squeezed…and squeezed. The man under him coughed and spluttered, and he writhed and bucked, but Mikhail kept a tight press of his fingers on his trachea.

Seeing his eyes rolling back and the lids fluttering closed, Mikhail maintained his grip until the man under him slackened, his grip falling away, his fight ebbing before completely stilling. Checking his pulse, Mikhail sighed in relief when he found the reassuring lub-dub of life.

He pushed off him. But not before he grabbed the riding stick and his machete. Holstering the fearsome blade, Mikhail gripped the riding stick and stalked over to Kamar and their getaway camel.

Kamar had grabbed hold of the reins of the sitting camel. Taking the reins from him, he gestured for Kamar to climb aboard. Following his lover on, Mikhail steered the camel up and away from the unconscious rider on his back, in the direction of Zhebair’s capital.

“Is he dead?” Kamar asked when they were far enough away.

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

Mikhail frowned under his mask, not sure which was more unpleasant, that Kamar didn’t trust him or that their mystery camel rider had to be the same bastard who slashed Mikhail’s arm not too long ago.

“Why didn’t you remove his mask? Find out who he was…” Kamar trailed off, his hands fisted around Mikhail’s hips. “Mikhail, what’s going on? Why are you suddenly so quiet?”

Mikhail’s healing scar on his arm tingled. He scowled.

“Nothing,” he said, hoping at the same time that it was nothing. Because this foreboding settling heavy in his gut crushed any of the happiness he’d felt on their journey.