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note to do the same. No more of Rose’s English for him. “Are we interrupting something?”
    Clearly, he’d been hoping to do so. “Not at all,” Vasili offered casually.
    His brother’s expression fell. “We heard female grunts and groans. Which means that after a yearlong abstinence, our king has finally shown interest in a woman. Who is she? More important, where is she?”
    â€œLong gone,” he answered truthfully. And was that . . . displeasure in his tone? That she
hadn’t
stayed?
    Well, he hadn’t wanted her to stay. After he’d so stupidly told her how to return to him at will
—after
going to such lengths to keep her out of the palace and hidden—all he’d wanted was her absence. No question.
    His hands fisted. What would he do if she appeared in front of his brother? What would he do if she appeared during a battle?
Stupid, stupid, stupid,
he thought again. He’d known it then, yet still he’d told her.
    And now he wondered if she would visit before her next birthday. If they’d spar and tease and touch . . .
    Blood . . . heating . . .
    â€œYou should be embarrassed to have finished so quickly.” The picture of a confident male, Grigori crossed his arms over his chest. “Had I been here, she would still be shouting my name.”
    Twelve hours was finishing quickly? What the hell did Grigori do with his women? Like half the beings in this world, Grigori was of the Monstrea. He possessed sharp, poisoned horns along his hairless skull, black-diamond skin, claws, fangs, and glowing red eyes.
    The other three kingdoms considered the Monstrea to be nothing more than expendable soldiers. Slaves. Unworthy. Vasili did not and never had. He respected strength and loyalty, and that was what he got with the Monstrea.
    â€œYou wear them out, so they never want to come back for more,” Vasili told his favorite warrior. “Mine
always
come back.” Not that he welcomed them. When he was done, he was
done.
    He should take Rose and finally be done with her.
    â€œI just wish I could make
one
come,” Jasha muttered. His cheeks reddened when he realized what he’d admitted.
    Vasili slapped his brother on the shoulder. His easier manner should have brought him favor with the ladies of their kingdom. Not so. Well, not anymore. Jasha was shy and bumbling around the fairer sex, and always had been.
    At first, when he’d reached maturity, they’d wanted him feverishly and had thrown themselves at him. He’d had difficulty speaking to them, had sweated uncontrollably, and hadn’t looked anywhere but at his feet. They’d teased him, which had only made his shyness worse. Now he avoided them.
    â€œYou can have any woman you want. You just have to stop running from them. They only bite if you ask them nicely.”
    Grigori laughed.
    â€œWhat’s her name?” Jasha asked, refusing to be baited. “The one you were with today?”
    He saw no harm in answering. “Rose.”
    â€œRose?” His brother choked on a gurgling laugh of his own.
“Rose?”
    â€œWhat? It’s a fine name,” he growled, unsure why currents of fury blew through him. Rose was the enemy. Anyone could make fun of her. Especially his brother.
    â€œYes, but
Rose?
Like the tattoo you had inked into your arm last year?”
    His jaw clenched so painfully he feared the bone would snap. “No. Not like that,” he managed, the words so raw they sounded as if they’d been pushed through a meat grinder. “Not like that at all.”
    He didn’t know why he’d gotten the tattoo. He hadn’t wanted to analyze the desire then, and he didn’t want to analyze the desire now. He knew only that when he looked at the night rose, he wanted to smile.
    â€œYou’ve known her all this time?” Grigori tsked, just as Vasili liked to do to Rose.