Page 103 of King's Warrior

Quillan added, “They didn’t mistreat us. Just kept us locked up and called us Delletinian scum.” He grinned. “They didn’t think we could understand them.”

Know your enemy,Niam’s father once said. Mother had ensured he knew Craician and taught his sons, though Uri still struggled. Craician wasn’t an easy language to learn.

Uri and Quillan’s lives had changed, so much innocence lost. Niam would wait for later to inform them of their new stepfather.

Lady Exa cooked a meal of rabbit stew from stores in the manor, and Niam curled up with his sons in one bedroom, the straw mattress not nearly as fine as his usual goose down. The boys didn’t complain, but Niam missed Rufe.

Soon, mylove, soon.

The grizzled old warrior Vihaan attached himself to Quillan and Uri, appointing himself as their bodyguard, as he’d done in Dellamar.

“You have Commander Vihaan of Glendor, recently assigned to the emperor’s personal guard, guarding your sons. You couldn’t ask for better protection,” Rufe told Niam as they rode side by side down a steep trail.

“How well do you know the emperor?” Niam had met him long enough to sign documents and share a meal, and had heard good things about Avestan. Still, he wasn’t ready to trust completely.

“My father sent me to Cormira to study.” Niam knew that wasn’t exactly true. Rufe mentioned fleeing home when his brother’s bullying grew too much to bear. “I told him I wanted to be a soldier. Nobles’ children picked on me because word got around about me being a bastard.”

How would Rufe adjust to no longer being considered shameful? He spoke so calmly about what must have been a truly awful time in his life: away from home, bullied, trying to fit in.

Niam maneuvered his mule around a fallen tree before resuming his position beside Rufe. “What did you do?”

“The ones with the loudest mouths were generally the highest-ranking, so I started there and fought my way down. It wasn’t like their rank did them much good at our school, being younger sons and daughters and not in line to inherit. In the end, they’d either be married off for connections, or we’d all be soldiers. A hard-working bastard was just as likely to rise through the ranks as a lazy noble.”

Niam wished Rufe would stop referring to himself as a bastard. “I’m sorry.”

Rufe whipped his head Niam’s way. “What for?”

“That you had such a hard time.”

Rufe grinned. “Not near as hard as those who thought me an easy target. Anyway, I met this big brute the others seemed to bow down to, too afraid to approach him because he outranked them all. I figured if I took him down a notch or two, the others would leave me alone.”

Is he talking about Draylon?“You fought him?”

“I tried to. He laughed and threw an arm around my shoulders. I bested others on the sparring field and wound up facing off against him. We’re pretty evenly matched. I lost the first round, won the second, and we’ve been friends ever since. To this day, we’ve never seriously fought each other except in the sparring ring, though we’ve fought many battles together.”

Rufe’s unmistakable admiration inspired a touch of jealousy in Niam. “Who was he?” he asked, though he was quite certain he knew.

“His Royal Highness King Draylon of Renvalle, though known as Prince Draylon back then, second son of Emperor Soland Aravaid. Through him, I met his brother, Avestan. The emperor didn’t approve of me, which made Draylon like me all the more—contrary old git. I wouldn’t have advised you to deal with Soland, but Avestan? He’s nothing like his father. If he says something, he’ll do it. Having Draylon vouch for you makes him doublywilling. Draylon might be the younger son, but Avestan respects him.”

A tendril of unease crept up Niam’s spine. “Is Vihaan here as his spy?”

Rufe shook his head, tossing his ebony curls. “He might report back if you were planning an insurrection, but he’s got his own mind and knows when something is important to say and when not to. I admire the man, and he’d been a steady ally to Draylon.”

Some of the jealousy faded. “Draylon truly is like a brother to you, isn’t he?”

“Now he is. I admit to being a little in love with him once, but we’re awful as lovers, fantastic as friends.” Rufe continued, a touch of sadness in his tone. “My brother Ronwith and I were close once until he became aware he outranked me.”

Princess plodded along beside Niam’s mount, her footfalls adding a gentle cadence to Rufe’s words.

“I take it the revelation didn’t go well.”

“Despite my parents’ best efforts, he became one of the spoiled noble children determined to go through life accomplishing nothing but spending their inheritance before it became theirs.” Rufe shook his head. “Sometimes I wonder if I could’ve done something different, had a greater impact on his life. In hindsight, I think my friendship with Draylon fueled some of Ronnie’s cruelty. I don’t believe he died in a hunting accident. One day, I hope to discover what really happened.”

Niam reached over far enough to give Rufe’s hand a quick squeeze. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be there for you.”

Rufe's grin brought brightness to an otherwise gloomy day. “You’re here now. I knew my place early in life, resigned to never being the heir, and made peace with my circumstances. I used to wonder why my parents had me out of wedlock. When I grew older, I understood how they’d been in loveless arranged marriages and fell in love with each other. I think the goddess always intended me to be the bas—” At a glare from Niam, Rufe changed to “Illegitimate son. Though I appreciate Avestan's efforts, I didn’t need to be legitimized. I never wanted to be a duke or needed a title to make me feel complete, but the title meant I got to bond with you, so I have no regrets.”

A shout came from ahead. Rufe spurred Princess into motion, trotting toward the head of the line.

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