Page 67 of King's Warrior

“I’ll be riding, too,” Rufe told Keth.

Keth disappeared, reappearing with Princess’s saddle. By the time he’d saddled her, the guards had returned with their mounts. The sturdy mules might not share Princess’s pedigree but would serve the purpose.

Keth brought Master Wedgeworth’s mare last, the sole horse in the party. They were unlikely to ride rough terrain, then. Rufechecked his saddle carefully and gave a subtle once-over to the princes’ ponies.

Vihaan mounted a rather muscular mule, the possible offspring of a plow horse and a remarkably large donkey, which appeared made for work rather than pleasure riding. The creature suited Vihaan, its dappled gray color matching Vihaan’s beard.

They followed a well-worn path, with Wedgeworth and two guards in the lead, the boys in the middle, Rufe, Vihaan, and another guard taking up the rear. Rufe turned up the hood of his cloak to protect his neck. While the day wasn’t necessarily frigid, the climate took some adjusting to, especially for someone who spent most of their time in balmy Cormira.

Quillan dropped back. “Can I ask you some questions?” he asked in Cormiran.

“Certainly.” As long as they weren’t too personal.

“What’s Cormira like?”

A safe enough topic and likely covered in Quillan’s textbooks. “We don’t have mountains like you do. The land is mostly flat. Several rivers flow through. There are farms, and to the south is the Ryel Sea.” Oh, how Rufe would love to be on the beach right now, the sun warming his skin.

“Where is your home?”

“My family lives near Herix, in the rolling hills northeast of Cormir, Cormira’s capital city, but I spend most of my time at a garrison in Cormir.”

“Are your parents titled?”

The question bordered on rude but was asked with a child's curiosity. “My father is a duke, my mother his duchess.”

Quillan peered up from the back of his pony. “Are you going to be a duke one day?”

The child couldn’t know the sore spot he’d hit. “No. That honor goes to my brother.” Not that Rufe wanted the title, but it would’ve been nice to be a legitimate son. If he had been, would he have looked down on bastards like the rest of society tended to?

Quillan wrinkled his freckled nose. “Too bad. I think you’d make a great duke.”

Really? “What makes you say that?”

“Well, you’re friends with the emperor, the king of Renvalle, and my father, so you have diplomatic ties. You speak several languages, and you’re well-traveled. Also, how you carry your sword implies you’ve been in the military and know how to fight. You have scars that could be from a dagger or sword.” Quillan definitely didn’t sound like any nine-year-old Rufe had ever met.

Rufe stared open-mouthed. “You gathered all that about me?”

Quillan shrugged. “If I’m to be king someday after my father, I must be observant.”

Impressive. He sounded mature for his age, too mature, making Rufe wonder if anyone ever allowed the boy to simply be a boy instead of a future king. “Yes, you do.”

“Am I right?”

While Rufe certainly wouldn’t make a public announcement, if a child so quickly figured out the truth, others would too, and the name Commander Rufe or Captain Rufe had likely reachedDelletinian ears. Rufe also had no intention of lying to Niam’s child. “You have me figured out.”

“I knew it!” Quillan crowed. “You and Father are friends, which also says a lot about you.”

Rufe’s hackles rose. “Why do you believe we’re friends?”

“Grandmother said when you and Father met at the keep, you were injured, and Father spent a lot of time checking on you. He’s spoken of you often to me and my brother. Now, when you’re in public, he does his best to ignore you, but I see him watching.”

A shiver of pleasure trailed down Rufe’s spine. “Does our association bother you?” And was Quillan implying he knew Niam and Rufe were more than friends? He couldn’t possibly at his young age, could he?

“Why would it? Father needs friends. Lots of nobles pretend to be his friends, but they’re not. He stays stiff around them. With you, he relaxes. With you, he’s Niam, not King Niam.”

This boy might be too smart for his own good. “I do consider your father a friend. A good one.” Rufe ventured into uncertain territory. “I’d like to be your friend, and Uri’s.”

Quillan grinned. “I think I’d like having you as a friend.”

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