Page 65 of Sands of Atonement

My jaw dropped, my mouth going dry. “Since when did you start sounding like your brother?”

“We are twins, or did you forget?”

“I haven’t forgotten.” I gritted my teeth.

Casimir walked so fast that suddenly we reached my bedroom—no. The prison chamber. I glared at him for a moment longer, and I knew I might regret what I was going to do. Casimir didn’t seem to have a mean bone in his body, and I didn’t want to hurt him—not really.

“Are you okay?”

My cheeks turned wet from the tears I shed. I shook my head, “I miss him, Cas.”

His lips parted in awe. He had never seen me in tears.

Frankly, neither had I.

Casimir wrapped his arms around me, and I wanted to roll my eyes. It was what I admired about him when I was younger. He was a lover, not a fighter. A much better and honorable choice than Ezra. Sweeter than Ezra. More charming than Ezra. I needed balance in my life. Someone who kept me steady in the midst of the fires I created. Taking a deep breath, his papery woody mixed with a hint of cardamom wrapped my senses. As if he had spent all morning reading his philosophical textbooks. I almost need this. I almost felt myself leaning further into his body, allowing his genuine comfort.

But this wasn’t about him.

This wasn’t even about me.

This was about my family—my brother. Who was alive and well, who deserved to know his sister lived.

With a strong force that came from within, I yanked him off me and shoved him into the bedroom.

He didn’t hesitate and kept his arm wrapped around my waist, and we took a tumble together. It was almost as if he had anticipated it and allowed it to happen.

Before I could shove an elbow under his chin, he twisted his body, bringing mine under his.

Goddamn these Navon twins’ heavy bodies. They were going to be the death of me.

I wriggled under him, unleashing my arm and ramming a fist into his side.

He grunted forward. “Eshe!”

I didn’t waste my breath as I wrapped a leg around his and pulled, causing his body to lift from mine. I pushed him over my body and rammed another clenched hand into his ribs.

My insides hurt.

I didn’t like causing Casimir pain.

His other hand lunged around my neck, tugging my face into his chest. My breath expended from the moment, and I attempted to push against him, but my neck was glued to his body.

I thrust my knee between his legs, but he dodged it with his other hand.

“Where did you”—I panted—“learn how to fight!” It wasn’t a question.

He planted a loud smack, kissing the top of my head, before saying, “All princes learn how to fight”—I pushed my head under his chin—“love.”

His bicep was pressing into my neck.

I really didn’t want to do this to him.

I weaved my other hand through the arm that was tucking my neck, using my triceps and elbow, I pulled on his arm until he hissed and released. The moment he gave me room, I crouched above him and jammed my knee into his diaphragm, leaving him more breathless than before.

Scurrying to my feet, I left him lying in my bedroom as I stepped past the threshold.

I smiled.