Samir was focused on the fire, listening and not listening. He didn’t believe Ruan and Varajas had forgotten him, but their conversation had turned personal. This was about them. If he’d been able to quietly slip out—if they hadn’t been between him and the door—he would have.

Instead, he just sat quiet and still, with Krys wrapped in his jacket and Bolt at his feet, waiting for Varajas and Ruan to reach the very obvious conclusion they wanted to be together. Once they figured it out, they’d move in to the dead king’s bedroom, leaving Samir alone.

Which was fine. Samir was used to being alone. He’d been alone for a while now. And before that, he’d been with Peyter and—well, maybe it was time to admit to himself that had never been a good relationship. He’d certainly never looked at Peyter the way Ruan and Varajas looked at each other when they didn’t think anyone was watching. Or the way Sheluna got when she talked about Arshtar. Or that look in Korin’s eyes. People who were in love, who actually knew what that felt like.

“Before that happens, I’d like us to have one more night together.”

There it was. Well done, Ruan.

Samir had no right to feel…whatever he was feeling. Hurt? Betrayed? Varajas and Ruan had a history. Samir had now lived a lot of that history himself, had experienced the way they felt about each other. When they’d been with him—the flirting, the…more than flirting—that had been before they’d found each other again.

Samir understood. And it was fine. Really.

Samir jumped as a hand fell on his shoulder. “You’ve been quiet,” Varajas said.

“I didn’t want to intrude.”

“How many times do I have to say it? You’re not intruding. You’re here, Samir. You’re part of this conversation.”

Samir looked up at him, at the concern on his face, then over at Ruan, on the far side of the room. Both watching him. “You two have a history. A relationship that I’m not a part of.”

Varajas and Ruan exchanged one of those looks—the wordless communication that seemed to be coming more and more naturally to them. It hurt, but not as much as when Ruan softly asked, “Would you like to be?”

Was he just trying to rub it in? Force Samir to say out loud all the things he wanted that he couldn’t have? In self defense, Samir repeated his mantra. “It doesn’t matter what I want. It doesn’t change what is.”

Varajas’s hand was still on Samir’s shoulder. His fingers squeezed lightly. “What I’m saying is that it does matter.”

“It matters to us,” Ruan echoed.