Page 15 of King's Warrior

“Trandores.” Niam’s spies had been correct. The Trandores had been minor nobles until they’d squandered their fortune and turned to thievery and extortion to afford their lavish lifestyle. They’d been banished for their treachery. However, as far as he knew, they had no connection to Niam’s family or a claim to the throne. “Illa must be the old earl’s last granddaughter. Was she King Lleval DiRici’s mistress? I also heard rumors of an affair with the emperor.” That would explain how she’d caught a king’s ear. But if she led the kidnapping attempt of the emperor’s son-by-bonding, had the emperor known of the plot? One thing about court intrigue—never a dull moment.

No, the emperor couldn’t have known, could he? Not when his son made a mad dash across the border, risking reprisal, to retrieve his consort. Then again, sons killed fathers, and fathers killed sons or daughters all the time for ridiculous reasons. Some for no reason at all. Yet, he’d named Yarif’s abductor a commander. Surely he knew of her actions.

“Who else was involved?” Niam asked, carefully concealing his impatience.

The two captives exchanged a glance before the first let out a scream. The second man drew a bloody dagger from his companion’s chest and threw the blade at Niam’s head. Niam felt the handle brush past his cheek.

A dagger protruded from the man’s neck before Niam could yell, “Stop!” Casseign was very good at his job. “I wanted to question them further.” So many answers Niam wouldn’t have.

Casseign wiped his blade on the dead man’s clothing. “He wouldn’t have cooperated, and he ensured the other wouldn’t either.” Kneeling by the bodies, he checked their necks with his fingers. He shook his head. “Dead.”

It all happened so fast! “Where did they get the dagger? Your men searched them, didn’t they?”

Casseign’s expression blanked, showing no emotion, though he clenched his fists. “I believe I need to retrain my men. With your permission, Your Majesty. I’ll send someone to take care of these two.”

Niam nodded. Had one of Casseign’s men deliberately allowed a prisoner to keep a weapon? Why hadn’t the second silenced the first earlier?

Because he wanted you to know just enough information to misleadyou.

Niam managed a few hours’ sleep before dawn. With a jolt, he recalled what had recently transpired. His mother would doubtlessly frown on him seeing his cousin this morning until she’d checked on her patient. Talking with Draylon Aravaid would require finesse, but Niam could speak with Captain Rufe of the Cormiran forces without Mother’s approval. So young to be so renowned. He must be as skilled a fighter as Niam’s sources claimed.

He intercepted a tray-laden maid in the hallway near Rufe’s room. “I’ll take that,” he said, nodding a greeting to the guard on duty at the door.

The maid’s eyes widened, but she relinquished her burden. She’d grown used to Niam and his mother fending for themselves while at the keep, his chance to tune out the incessant chatter of courtiers fawning for his favor at the castle.

He waited until she left to tap softly on the door before entering. A man lay on the bed, skin dark against the pale sheets, inky hair disheveled, full beard desperate for a trim or shave. When he glanced up, his dark eyes nearly pinned Niam in place. Niam’s breath caught in his throat. A sense of danger hung around Captain Rufe, sending a frisson of excitement skating down Niam’s spine. He’d never taken a Cormiran lover, an oversight on his part if this well-built Cormiran was any example.

Captain Rufe wore no shirt, leaving his glorious yet scarred skin on display.

The sheets pooled at his waist, exposing muscular arms and a chest covered in dark curls. A reddish mass of healed flesh, devoid of hair, marred one pectoral,evidence of a knife blow. One arm hung over the side of the bed, exposing the hideous tattoo that branded the captain as a potential traitor. Rising through the ranks showed his determination not to let people dismiss him.

What a barbaric custom, blaming someone for being taken prisoner. Would Yarif suffer the same treatment if he returned to the empire?

Niam would offer his cousin a place in the royal household and dissolve his marriage if Yarif wanted. For too many seasons, Niam had been forced to neglect his kin. No longer.

The prison… guest lifted his nose and sniffed the air. His stomach grumbled. “When my mother arrives in the great hereafter, I’ll be sure to admit she was right.”

“Right about what, precisely?” Niam answered in Cormiran, placing the tray on a table by the bed.

“That the goddess would send her helpers to get me when I died. Mother said they’d be more beautiful than any being I could ever imagine.”

Oh dear. What medicine had Mother given this man? And why had she never shared with Niam? His cheeks heated. “I can assure you; I am no messenger of any goddess.” Perish the thought.

Rufe’s smile fell. “How sad for them. They must be jealous of your beauty.”

Niam grew up at court, with servants and courtiers groveling for his attention, heaping on insincere flattery. This man didn’t have the conniving glint in his eyes to say he lied. Did this mean that the patient didn’t know Niam’s identity?

“I’m Ned,” Niam said, using a name he employed for sneaking out among the people.

“Rufe,” the man said, not providing his rank. Better to appear a simple, ordinary man while among what could be the enemy, Niam supposed. He couldn’t fault someone for doing the same.

Niam stepped closer to the bed, noticing red staining the bandage on Rufe’s arm. “I need to check your wounds.” While no expert, he’d trained with his mother enough to perform minor healing duties. She expected him to tend to his sons’ injuries when required.

“Are you a healer?” Rufe quirked a brow.

Ah, he must think Niam a mere servant to bring his meal. “Here in the mountains, we sometimes find ourselves isolated for days. We must learn how not to die in that time. I can set bones, change bandages, and know the proper herbs to treat minor ailments. I learned which trees make the best firewood and how to cook with whatever is available.” He’d been told his rabbit stew was the stuff of legends, but Alyss had always been too kind to say otherwise.

Rufe extended his arm. Niam retrieved the small basket by the window that he knew held extra healer’s supplies. Next, he brought over the water-filled pitcher and a cleaning cloth. While Rufe might be a warrior, some patients shrank at the sight of blood. Niam washed his hands before starting.

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