Keenan didn't flinch. He didn't struggle against Caspian's iron grip, nor did he attempt to break the hold.
The exiled prince simply looked down at the furious King, his eyes completely devoid of fear. A terrifying, predatory calm settled over Keenan's face.
"Brother," Keenan murmured, his gravelly voice dropping into a deadly, chilling octave that vibrated against the freezing currents. "You clearly don't want to fight me."
It was a silent, absolute warning.
Caspian's jaw locked. His fangs remained bared, his chest heaving as the boiling water swirled around them. Every draconic, territorial instinct screamed at him to tear the exile apart for daring to cross paths with his mate.
But as Caspian stared into the bottomless red abyss of his brother's eyes, a cold, brutal wave of logic finally pierced through his red-hot jealousy.
