“He could’ve stayed,” Robert said, “and not strangled the Mad Baron with the chains—not to death, anyway, more for fun—and they could have had some interesting nights, I suspect. Anthony…” His face was bright, like dawn, like a promise, like a wedding-vow. “You could’ve not killed the Baron. He deserved to be happy, too.”
Anthony snorted. His hand on Robert’s neck, his other hand at Robert’s waist, both of them stiff with need and flung upside-down by emotion, and Robert wanted to tell him not to kill off parts of himself. “You ridiculous man. Readers demand satisfying punishments for the wicked. Rewards for the good. All of that. I adore you.”
“Oh, good,” Robert told him cheerfully. “I was fairly sure you did, by now, but I thought you might need to hear it. Did you ever picture any of
