Page 55 of King's Warrior

He forced a smile. More blushed. A matron strode in, carrying clothing in her arms, with a pair of boots in her hand. She scowled at the maids, who silenced, scampering out the door. The matron placed the clothes on the bed and boots on the floor. “From QueenNera,” she said in lilting Cormiran, following the maids and latching the door behind her.

Rufe bathed, luxuriating in the warm water and herbal-scented soap. He enjoyed the indulgence until the water cooled, then rose and dried on a drying cloth left on a nearby chair. Nera mentioned morning meetings. Was he to be included? Best to dress either way.

The trousers were made of soft leather, dyed dark blue, with linen undergarments and a lighter blue woolen tunic elaborately embroidered with roses, reminding Rufe of his mother’s garden. The sturdy leather boots were of a far finer quality than he usually wore, made for indoor wear. Ah, the life of nobles, who owned various pairs of footwear for different occasions.

He dressed and waited until the matron returned with a tea service and a bowl of porridge filled with dried berries. She stood by the hearth while he ate, then motioned for Rufe to follow. He trailed behind her down numerous stairs and hallways, over worn stone and past faded tapestries, finally arriving before a closeddoor.

“King Niam’s office,” the woman said.

A young man opened the door, grinning broadly and gesturing for Rufe to come in with a sweep of his hand. “You must be Emissary Rufe Ferund,” he said in Delletinian. “I’m Willem, King Niam’s secretary. Please come in and be seated. His Majesty will be with you shortly.”

To Rufe’s surprise, the invitation wasn’t for the sitting room but for the office itself. Willem retreated to the outer chamber and closed the door, leaving Rufe alone. He strolled around the office, familiarizing himself with where Niam likely spent many hours of his day. A comfortable-looking chair sat behind a polished oak desk on one side of the massive fireplace, while a table covered with maps and a seating area occupied the other side.

Rufe strolled toward the hearth, warming his hands by the fire. The mantle displayed miniature portraits of Nera, Quillan, and Uri. The last miniature showed a lovely woman with brown hair and eyes who resembled the younger boy. Niam’s former consort?

The door opened behind him. “Sorry I’m late.” The door closed, and warm breath touched the back of Rufe’s neck a moment before Niam’s lips teased his nape. “I missed you,” Niam murmured.

“And I, you.” Rufe turned, falling into green eyes alight with intelligence and interest. His heart constricted. He really had missed this man. The kiss came naturally to him—too naturally. Rufe never kissed casual lovers in greeting, if he kissed them at all. Kissing Niam warmed places inside Rufe he hadn’t realized were cold.

Dangerous. So, so dangerous. They broke the kiss, and Rufe took a moment to admire the brilliant smile and the deep dimples in Niam’s cheeks. All for Rufe.

“Please, sit.” Niam swept a hand toward the map table.

Rufe settled in a comfortable chair by the table, staring at a map of Delletina much more detailed than any he’d seen in Cormira. What a vast place! The blazing fire in the hearth warmed him and sent light shimmering across Niam’s hair. “What am I looking at?”

Niam stood by the map, dressed in a loose shirt and trousers today, both hugging his lean frame to perfection. Polished bootscompleted the outfit. He’d never be mistaken for anything but a noble. He used a long, narrow stick to point out various regions on the map—one, in particular, Rufe recalled from the successful mission to rescue Yarif: the abandoned village near a place marked “Telaga Pass.”

Niam swept the pointer over the map, tapping certain places. “These were all thriving villages in my grandfather’s time. One by one, they’ve been abandoned.”

“Why?”

Niam pointed to the village Rufe had taken refuge in. “A large sinkhole made the area unsafe. The same goes for here, here, and here.” He pointed out other spots, all marked with an X. “Craician raids destroyed three more.”

“What happened to the villagers?”

“Craician troops killed many and took others back to Craice. Some survivors fled to cities, and others took refuge with family in other kingdoms, resulting in fewer farms producing goods and an increased demand for those goods. I’ve searched the records, but I can’t find an exact account of who the tragedies affected or where the survivors went. The nobles in those areas aren’t as concerned with villagers as they should be. Zanial assures me money was sent to rebuild, but I’ve found no evidence.” Niam sighed loudly, leaning back against his desk, shoulders bowed. “Delletina is dying, and there’s little I can do without help. I’d rather strike a deal with the Cormiran Empire than allow Craice to pick us apart, particularly now that Avestan Aravaid sits on the throne.”

“But you have gold.” Wouldn’t gold buy just about anything?

“The people cannot eat gold. If we open trade routes with the empire, we can import what we need and export any surpluses. While Cormira might have no use for our furs, Herix does. We’d happily trade wolf pelts for some of their extraordinary wine.”

“Others don’t agree on the need for an alliance.” Rufe made it a statement, not a question.

“No. Those like Lord Whreyn and his followers refuse to see the bigger picture. He’s convinced he could do better than I, though it’s the power he seeks, not the responsibility.” Niam shook his head, sending his copper curls bouncing around his face. “Some of his accomplices like to talk when drunk at the tavern—taverns where soldiers also drink. Do you know what his first act would be if he deposed me?”

“I shudder to think.”

“He plans to build himself a summer palace. A palace!” Niam threw his hands into the air. “We can barely take care of the people, and he wants to further strain resources for his own desires. Even if I didn’t want to be king, I’d never let the likes of him rule this country. He and his cronies salivate over how Delletina can line their pockets, never once considering what’s best for the kingdom or its people.”

If Rufe hadn’t already loved the man, his impassioned speech would’ve done the trick. “How do you propose to stop them?”

“They have suggested a deal. Lord Whreyn promises to be an ally and back my decisions if I marry his niece.”

Rufe’s heart seized. Nothing could ever come of their affair long-term, but marriage to another? Was this about the Olivia Nera spoke of last night?

Niam snorted, breaking the pointing stick over one knee. “First, he has nothing to offer me or Delletina. Second, I’d never elevate the bastard’s position. Third, I’d never take someone to my bed that I knew hid a knife beneath their pillow, waiting for me to fall asleep. And lastly, if I marry again, it will be for love and someone of my choosing.” He fixed Rufe with a meaningful stare, causing squirmy feelings deep within.

Rufe rose, crossing the distance in three long strides and bringing Niam in for a kiss. “If my love for you was all it took to secure the kingdom, you’d have no further worries. But you know as well as I that association with me will cause more problems. I’m a title-less bastard. A foreigner. A warrior. I have no right to be by your side.” Love? Had he actually used the wordlove?

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