Page 113 of King's Warrior

Rufe sat, enjoying roasted chicken, bread, and cheese. Between their climb through the tunnels, bathing, dressing, and their meal, they’d used far more daylight than he’d ever used in preparations before. It must be late afternoon now. Then again, Draylon and Vihaan’s errand would take time.

“Come now,” Nera said, clapping her hands together. “We mustn’t keep the good people waiting.”

Niam scowled, crossing his arms over his chest. “Mother, what are you up to?”

Nera grinned, looking so much like her son in a mischievous moment. “You’re about to knock the legs from under Whreyn.”

An assignment Rufe wouldn’t pass up. Casseign, Draylon, and Vihaan stood outside the door.

“Vihaan, what are you wearing?” While he looked the epitome of a military officer, instead of Cormiran red and blue or Glendorangreen, his tunic and trousers were black, the tunic emblazoned with a white goat, matching Cass. Only Vihaan’s included gold braiding around the collar. The uniform of a Delletinian officer.

“It’s honorary,” Cass explained. “We want everyone to know we’ve accepted Cormira, Glendor, and the other imperial kingdoms. The commander of the Delletinian forces is currently under arrest for conspiring with Whreyn. We’re sending a message to all who wear the uniform.”

Draylon appeared every bit his kingly self in similar attire to Rufe’s and Niam’s, in shades of deep magenta. Yarif would approve. Rufe must arrange for Draylon to take the garments home with him.

“Come along,” Nera urged, making shooing motions with her hands. “We want the timing to be perfect.”

Voices grew louder as they strode down the stairs from the royal family’s floor to the main level of the castle, via the main staircase. A maid’s eyes widened when she saw Niam and Nera. She dropped into a curtsey, a blush staining her cheeks when she caught sight of the others in the procession.

Nera smiled. The maid nodded and scurried off. Rufe swore he heard a giggle. The servants would buzz about the king and his consort within minutes. Many footfalls approached, marching in unison—two dozen soldiers dressed in Delletinian black and white.

Vihaan addressed a young woman, a captain, based on her insignia. “Take up position here. Arrest any who try to leave.”

“Yes, Commander.” She gave a sharp salute.

“I’ll wait here as well,” Casseign said, staring into Vihaan’s eyes a moment longer than expected.

Nera opened the door to the dining hall. Nobles filled tables, chatting among themselves while dining. The scent of some kind of savory stew assaulted Rufe’s nose, but as Nera predicted, his stomach twisting into knots made hunger impossible.

On the family’s dais sat Whreyn with one of his co-conspirators and his niece, wearing a gown likely worth Nera’s entire wardrobe.

All conversation ceased. Whreyn’s eyes widened. He jumped from his chair—Niam’s chair—mouth opening and closing, but no words emerging. He finally found his tongue. “Why look! It’s our king, well enough again to venture from his rooms.”

Rufe and Niam ignored the gawkers all talking at once. They strode hand in hand to the dais, eliciting more hissed comments. Whreyn stared at their entwined fingers.

Niam climbed the dais with Rufe, Vihaan, and Draylon behind him. He glared at Whreyn. “I believe you’re in my chair.”

Whreyn barely hid a scowl.

Niam faced the nobles, waiting for the murmuring to cease before speaking. “I understand there have been many rumors in my absence. I’ll try to clarify.” He glared at Whreyn. “Lord Whreyn and his co-conspirators sought to wrest the throne from my family by kidnapping my sons and keeping me hostage until I agreed to his terms.”

Gasps went up from the crowd. Whreyn paled and stepped away. The wall of muscle named Draylon and Vihaan stopped him, one on either side. All murmuring in the room ceased.

Niam continued, “He hoped to force me to make his niece my consort, deny my sons’ inheritance, and make the child she already carries my heir, regardless of the fact I’m not its father.”

The niece—seated in the customary consort’s spot at the table—paled and sought her uncle, mouth wide. Whreyn wouldn’t even look at her.

“All this to become regent and eventually take the throne. His second plan was to usurp me outright.” Niam paused until more murmuring died down.

“What of the princes?” someone cried.

“Rest assured, we rescued Uri and Quillan, and they are with trusted friends.”

Or so Rufe hoped. He watched the man he’d married and never felt so much pride. Several people made hasty retreats for the door. They wouldn’t get far.

“Even now, Craician soldiers are planning an invasion in the forest near our city.” Niam delivered the news dispassionately, declaring himself unafraid.

Gasps came from the crowd. More than one woman screamed. Several people cried. The niece feigned a dramatic swoon to be fussed over by two noblewomen. She recovered soon enough.

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