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Saxton bowed once again. “Indeed, you are a very kind host.”

“Fritz, get the male some chow. The Chosen should be arriving very soon.”

A Chosen’s vein?

Christ, what exactly had Saxton done for the king? Whose ass had he saved?

“And our physician will see you.” Wrath held his palm up. “Nope. I smell the pain you’re feeling—it’s a combo of kerosene and raw peppers in my sinuses. Now get moving. Take care of yourself and we’ll talk later.”

As Wrath and George did a wheel-around up on the balcony, Qhuinn fell into the wake of Fritz’s hospitality, walking behind the butler as the guy led a slow ascension of the grand staircase. At the top, the elderly doggen paused in favor of Saxton’s limp, whipping out his handkerchief to polish the carved brass curlicues.

With nothing to do but wait as well, Qhuinn popped open the aspirin and took a handful, noting that through the open doors of the king’s study, John and Xhex were talking to V and Wrath, the four of them standing over a map that was stretched flat on the desk.

“This is a spectacular manse,” Saxton said while he stopped to regain his breath. Leaning on Blay’s strength, he fit under the guy’s arm . . . fucking perfectly.

The miserable bastard.

“My master, Darius, built it.” Fritz’s ancient watery eyes drifted around before focusing on the apple tree that was depicted in mosaic tile down below. “He had always wanted the Brotherhood herein . . . had constructed the facility for their every purpose. He would be so pleased.”

“Let us continue then,” Saxton said. “I am eager to see more.”

Down the hall of statues. Past Tohr’s room. Past Qhuinn’s and John Matthew’s. Past Blay’s . . . and right next door.

Why not farther down, Qhuinn thought. Like in the basement.

“I shall bring you a tray of various and sundry.” Fritz went inside and double-checked that everything was in order. “Dial star-one if you should need anything before I return or at any other time.”

With a bow, the butler took off, leaving a whole lot of awkward behind. Which didn’t smooth out in the slightest as Blay took Saxton over to the bed and helped the male get horizontal.

SOB was in a gorgeous gray suit. With a waistcoat. Which made Qhuinn in his clothes-as-sleeping-bag feel like he was dressed in some of Hefty’s best.

Standing a little taller, so at least he clearly beat Sax on the vertical front, he said, “It was those guys at the cigar bar. Those fucking assholes. Wasn’t it.”

As Blay stiffened, Saxton laughed a little. “So our mutual friend Blaylock here told you about our date? I wondered what he was doing on my phone in my bathroom.”

Uh-huh, whatever. Deduction not daytime minutes had led him to that conclusion. Hell, he’d only gotten that one text from the guy. One measely, short text that didn’t offer so much as a hi-how’re-ya—

Holy. Shit. Was he actually bitching about phone etiquette? Was he really chicking out like that?

Um . . . short of wearing panties under his jeans, he guessed that would be a big yuppity-yup-yup.

Getting back in the game, he snapped, “Was it them?”

When Blay said nothing, Saxton sighed. “Yes, I’m afraid they felt the need to express themselves—well, the head ape in the group did.” The male’s lids lowered and he glanced over at Blay. “And I’m a lover not a fighter, you see.”

Blay hurried to fill the silence after that little bomb. “Selena will be here shortly. You’ll like her.”

Thank God it wasn’t Layla, Qhuinn thought for absolutely no good reason. . . .

The silence that followed had the consistency of tar and the smell of guilty conscience.

“Can I talk to you,” Qhuinn said to Blay abruptly. “Out in the hall.”

Not a request.

As Fritz arrived with the tray, Qhuinn stepped from the room and waited in the corridor, facing off at one of the muscular statues. Which made him think about what Blay looked like naked.

Cracking the thermos lid, he took a swig from his coffee, burned his throat, and drank more anyway.

After Fritz left, Blay emerged and shut the door. “What is it?”

“I can’t believe you brought