Page 6 of Reluctant Rebel

“Are you okay?”

Mikhail turned, finding Abraxis. His heart clenched in his chest as he stared at his younger brother. Brax had grown into a formidable demon over the years, earning the rank of Generalof the Demon Horde fair and square. But in the time they'd been apart, Mikhail could make out new changes. And though some were welcome, like the way he looked at his mate, Sabre, others were not. Now, he seemed to carry the weight of the world, evident in broad shoulders that were constantly stiff, as if waiting for an axe to fall. Or the way his jaw was clenched, a stern expression on his face rather than the happy-go-lucky grin that was so much a part of him when they were younger.

The regret was almost enough to send Mikhail to his knees. How could he admit that the decision to fake his death and all the resulting pain now felt hollow and insignificant? “I’m fine,” he replied, lying through his teeth.

When Brax nodded once and didn’t push, Mikhail rubbed his eyes. Brax had never been one to let things go. Besides, they had always been able to read each other like a book. Yet, Brax accepted him at his word. It was another reminder of how much had changed between them.

“Are you coming into the dining room? Breakfast is ready,” Brax said.

Mikhail took one more look outside and considered jumping out of the window for a heartbeat before he forced a smile and said, “Sure. I’m starving.”

Brax regarded him for a moment, his amber eyes moving between Mikhail and the huge floor-to-ceiling window. “If we jumped together, we’d probably break the glass on the first go,” he offered.

Mikhail was startled into a laugh. Brax still knew what he was thinking, after all. Perhaps their relationship was redeemable, he thought, immediately cheered. “I have to be honest, escaping through the window instead of having a council of war is the more appealing option.”

Brax huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. “Tell me about it,” he muttered. “But at least there’s food.”

Mikhail smiled, walking over to his brother and nudging his shoulder with his own. “You think food solves everything. You’re like a bottomless pit.”

“Hey!” Brax puffed out his chest. “I’m a growing demon.”

Mikhail rolled his eyes, feeling most of his tension drain away. “You haven’t grown in over sixty years. Unless you count your waistline.”

“Fuck you,” Brax growled, shoving Mikhail. “We can’t all be built dainty like you.”

Mikhail gasped, looking down at his six-foot-two, leanly muscled frame. He was three inches shorter than Brax and not as broad or bulky. But he was no lightweight. Zagan was the baby, both in birth order and size. He was six foot with a swimmer’s build. The reminder was like a bucket of icy water, and Mikhail felt his expression freeze. The look of pain on Brax’s face told him that his brother was also thinking of Z.

Clearing his throat, Mikhail said gruffly, “I’m not dainty. I’m just not a brute like you.”

Brax smiled, but it didn’t meet his eyes this time. “Brute strength is needed to run an army.”

“I can’t argue with that,” Mikhail muttered, making his way out of the reception room attached to his suite and down the hallway to the formal dining room. Brax quickly followed, and they walked in silence the rest of the way. Mikhail was relieved when the silence wasn’t strained. But it wasn’t entirely comfortable either.

Patience,he reminded himself.Give it time.

He entered the large royal dining room, taking a moment to let his eyes roam. Sunlight streamed through tall, arched windows, casting a warm glow across the room. Chandeliers sparkled overhead, their delicate prisms scattering rainbows across the rich mahogany table below. The polished surface gleamed, set with fine crockery edged in gold and adorned withan intricate floral pattern. Sterling silver cutlery flanked each place setting, their ornate handles catching the light.

It was a little too much for his taste. He appreciated the finer things in Purgatory but was also a big fan of comfort. And the polished surfaces with their hard edges were not exactly warm. But this room was a vast space, not to mention very private from the rest of the palace. Nobody entered the familial wings without being invited and passing through a lot of security. And that was more important now than ever, what with his presence still being a secret.

Looking around, Mikhail could see his mother’s touches everywhere. His father, King Maliq, had been of the same mind as himself and Brax. Whereas Zagan and his mother were more alike. Shaking off his thoughts before he spiralled again, he took in the large table in the centre of the room. A magnificent bouquet of fresh-cut flowers from the palace gardens filled a priceless seraphim vase, their soft petals bringing a touch of nature's beauty indoors. Next to it, a silver teapot sat. Its curved spout and elegant handle had been a favourite of their mothers.

“How about next time we eat inmyrooms?” Brax suggested, frowning as he stared at the teapot.

“Good plan,” Mikhail agreed, offering his brother a smile, which was reciprocated.

Before Mikhail could greet the room's occupants, his guardian angel strolled in, looking happy and healthy.

“Good morning, fuckers!” Sabre greeted everyone jubilantly.

Draven paused from pouring himself a coffee. He glared at Sabre. “Must you be so crude?”

Sabre sneered at the angel. “Must your face always look like that?”

“Better my face than yours,” Draven shot back.

Sabre palmed a blade in an instant, holding it up. “I can remove yours if you like. One slice to the forehead, and the skin strips right off. Just like peeling an apple.”

As the pair continued to bicker, Mikhail inquired of his brother. “Are they always like this?”

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