Page 57 of King's Warrior

“You do that! Your Majesty, may I be excused?”

Niam waved a hand toward the door. “You may.”

And don’t come back,Rufe silently added.

Lord Toad harrumphed himself from the office, followed by Zanial and Willem, as useless as Allafair for all they’d contributed to the conversation. Maybe they took thorough notes.

Rufe collapsed back into his chair, unable to contain his laughter. “Is this what being a king is like? Constantly dealing with pettiness?”

Niam snickered. “Ah, now you know the truth behind the myth.”

“I wonder if Whreyn would even want the job if he knew the true details.”

Niam sobered. “He believes it’s all wealth, parties, and people kissing his ass.”

Rufe laughed again. “Poor Draylon. No wonder he counts on Yarif so much to handle the Renvallian citizens.”

“Yes. It’s extremely hard to make them all happy. If I took back Allafair, someone else would complain.” Niam ambled to the window, staring out with his hands clasped behind his back.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t like to run away with me?” What? Rufe slapped a hand over his mouth. “Sorry, I don’t know what came over me.”

Niam crossed the floor in three long strides, dropped to his knees beside Rufe’s chair, and took Rufe’s hands. “If I thought for a moment you meant those words, the answer would be a resounding yes.”

Willem poked his head in through the door. “Your Majesty, Lady Wexall is here.”

Niam sighed, returning to his chair behind the desk. “Send her in.”

Had Niam meant those words? Had Rufe?

Maybe, and a definite yes.

Chapter Twenty-one

Aformal dinner with the Cormiran Emissary in attendance in a resplendent great hall had to be Rufe’s worst nightmare. He’d rather be anywhere else than seated among the aristocracy in their finery, ostentatious jewels, and cloying perfumes. The ordeal reminded him of clothing he’d borrowed once in Renvalle, doused liberally with some vulgar scent.

While his embroidered green velvet tunic and new breeches fit well and weren’t overly ornate, the boots could use some breaking in, with not a single soldier under his command available to press into service—a soldier who’d consider breaking in the commander’s boots an honor.

Oh, how spoiled Rufe had become, though not spoiled enough to be comfortable in formal Delletinian attire. Yet, as the Cormiran Empire’s emissary, he must play the part, even if dinnertime conversation bored him. Pretending he didn’t speak the language gave him insight into what locals really thought, though his Delletinian left a lot to be desired.

Two young women chatted at a nearby table. “Well, I think he’s handsome, if a bit rough around the edges.”

Normally, Rufe would turn on the charm, ending the evening with one or more lovely partners. The language barrier wasn’t the only reason his usual behavior held no appeal.

The second woman brayed a laugh, the noise grating on Rufe’s nerves. “I’ve heard he’s caught the king’s eye. Did you notice the tattoo on his wrist? Doesn’t the marking mean something bad?”

The first scoffed, “Like King Niam could ever have feelings for a foreigner. And a commoner, as well.”

The young lady wasn’t above showing her privilege. Her companion replied, “I hear our king is going to bond with Lord Whreyn’s niece.”

“His mistress, you mean.” The two women dissolved into giggles. Very interesting. And worth the effort not to wince at their tittering laughter.

“Filthy Cormiran,” a nobleman spat from the far end of the table—one of Niam’s advisors. Rufe kept a neutral expression. One day, he’d reveal his growing grasp on the language and send the nobles into a panic, trying to recall what insults they’d hurled his way.

A rather loud gentleman monopolized Niam’s attention at the head of the table. No, not Niam. King Niam. Niam’s entire demeanor changed since returning home, showing a more guarded side of himself. He’d seldom smiled since arriving, except around the sons Rufe had only met briefly. Even Niam’s attire changed, far more formal, with a high collar, lace trim, and ample embroidery.

Conversation swirled around the room, but no one except Niam’s mother tried to engage Rufe. She leaned in. “Don't let them fool you. Several at this table speak fluent or at least passable Cormiran, yet don’t for fear of what others might say. Being cut off from other kingdoms makes some wary of anyone who isn’t them.”

Pretension definitely ran high in this group. “I don’t imagine anyone trying to speak with me.”

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