“I am well aware of the terms, mea lux.” Darshan turned, leaning back against the gate. In the dim light of his little globe, those hazel eyes were wide and glittering. “Is that a problem? I cannot account for his accuracy, but Gordon seemed certain you would be all for it. Are you objecting to this line of thought?”
Was he? “I just—” His mother could likely dredge up a dozen reasons for Hamish to refuse this offer, but he could think of only one. “You… you barely ken anything about me.”
“And those women likely know even less. At least with me, you know we are compatible.”
Hamish peered at the man. “Why are you doing this? You didnae have to get involved.” Yet here he was. Did the reasons behind Darshan’s actions even matter if the outcome saw Hamish free? And yet… Like a tree snake, a terrible new thought slithered through the scrambled nest of his mind and reared its head. “This isnae out of pity, is it? You cannae think you’ll get anything out of this.”
Darshan sighed. “Look, you said yourself that the only other alternatives beyond your death will lead to civil war. I know the rules; Gordon schooled me on them. I am more than qualified to compete. You cannot get any nobler than an imperial prince.”
Nae, you cannae. Although his mother would find plenty of other reasons to invalidate Darshan’s victory. She could even have him arrested, or at least try.
Would it matter then? If the man won, then everyone would know.
“As for what I get out of this?” Darshan continued. “I get you, do I not? Winning will see you free of all this, will keep you safe with me.”
Another way. Hamish leant against the wall to steady himself, his legs wobbling as the idea finally sank in. His bloody brother had done just as he had promised. “I—”
Darshan unlocked the gate and sauntered through. A tent stood nearby—shielding the tunnel exit and set slightly apart from the tents pitched by the other clans. It was to the back of this structure that the man strode and slipped through a flap.
Glancing around to ensure no eyes but those of the wildlife saw them, Hamish followed. The inside of the tent was quite sparse, carrying only the sort of essentials a clansman might require on a journey of this import.
Darshan had finished unwinding the scarf and was busy withdrawing his customary garb from a small chest. He glanced up from smoothing out his sherwani, meeting Hamish’s gaze. His body tensed in such a clear anticipation of a bad reaction that Hamish found himself mimicking the man.
“I had no intentions of becoming someone’s husband,” Darshan said. “Truthfully, the very idea of getting married was not something I was at all willing to entertain. Tying myself to someone I barely tolerated for the rest of my life sounded more akin to torture.”
“Then why—?”
“I got to know you and—” He scratched at his jaw, remaining silent for what had to be an age. “The longer I am here, the more time I had with you. I started to consider that… maybe it would not be as bad as I had previously thought.”
“To tie yourself to someone you can barely tolerate?”
Shock dropped his jaw. “No! That is not what I am trying to—” Darshan rubbed at his temple. He grumbled under his breath, snippets of words Hamish didn’t understand but knew were of the Ancient Domian tongue. “This is the effect you have on me.” He strode the few steps the width of the tent allowed, his hands fluttering. “Put me in the Crystal Court and I will know the exact words to say to charm any number of people, but stand me before you?” He chuckled, shaking his head. “I suddenly have all the eloquence of a tongue-tied goat.”
Hamish knew the feeling. He had never considered someone might feel that way about himself, though.
Darshan stopped before him. He ran his hand down Hamish’s chest, slowly as if soothing a horse. He remained silent for a while, that hazel gaze just meeting his. Searching. All jesting gone. “If you must marry someone at the end of this contest, then it should be someone you love.”
Ice slid its way into Hamish’s veins. What had his brother told the man?
“What I am trying to say is…” He laid a hand on Hamish’s chest, the spot where his heart sat. “You are my light.” The way he spoke. Soft and breathless. Almost as if he was saying a somewhat different phrase.
He cannae mean… Hamish’s jaw soundlessly dropped open. Putting together everything Darshan had recounted about his homeland, the man likely meant exactly what Hamish believed. Goddess, give me strength. He must have it wrong.
Darshan chuckled. “Well, I thought it might have come as a shock, but I was not expecting it to leave you speechless.” He frowned, the minute scrunching of thick brows. A spark of panic flickered to life in the faint twitch of his mouth. “Is it too soon? It is hardly some habit of mine to offer my heart to all and sundry.” His gaze darted to the ground, then the walls. His hands lifted as if to twist rings that weren’t currently on his fingers. “Or anyone before. But we are rather pressed for time.”
He does mean… As desperately as Hamish tried to speak, no sound escaped. Even his jaw wouldn’t do anything more than hang there. His throat tightened. His heart raced like a panicked doe.
A wisp of a memory surfaced at the declaration, the stable master, he’d whispered the same words. Before…
There had been others since then who had declared similar as they pounded him sore. Right before they were discovered, before he
