Page 72 of King's Warrior

“You should tell that to my guards,” Uri grumbled.

“I intend to have words with them.” And not kind words either.

“So, you really are a warrior?”

“Yes.”

“I want to be a warrior when I grow up, but Papa won’t let me learn the sword. He says I’m too young.”

“You are young yet. I was slightly older than you before I began training.” The guards weren’t the only ones Rufe planned on speaking to. Even a heavily guarded prince needed to learn self-defense.

“I hope so. You’ve got a lot of scar—”

“Prince Uri! You get away from that man at once!” a shrill voice sounded, loud enough to make Rufe wince. A slender, middle-aged woman approached, hands on her hips, guards behind her.

Rufe stood, inclining his head, and answered in Delletinian. “I mean him no harm, my lady.”

The woman hurried forward, putting herself between Rufe and Uri. “I don’t know how you took him from his room—”

“I came to him, Magda,” Uri said, stepping out from behind his governess, or whoever Magda might be.

She glared. “Come along. Wait until I tell your father!” She tossed the cloak to Rufe, lip curled, wrapped Uri in her own, and bustled the child away.

Uri stalled long enough for a quick wave, then let the formidable woman hurry him along. Magda glowered over her shoulder. So, another one who thought Cormirans murdered babies in their sleep.

Footsteps on the gravel path had Rufe readying for Uri’s second escape. A man of middle age approached the garden bench instead, dressed in the sturdy woolen clothing of the mountain people. Strands of curly hair, a mix of black and gray, peeked from beneath the man’s fox fur hat.

The guard nodded, and the man approached. “Your Highness—” Two simple words gave away the accent of a man of the highlands, though his dark hair and eyes suggested Cormiran ancestry.

Rufe cut him off, answering in the Delletinian he practiced for hours daily. “I’m no highness. I’m simply Ambassador Ferund.” No need to muddy the waters by mentioning “Commander Rufe of the Cormiran Army.” The locals hated him enough already, without reminders of his station.

The man bobbed his head. “I come with a message from King Draylon of Renvalle.”

Draylon? Breath caught in Rufe’s throat. They’d seen each other mere weeks ago. Why a message now? Had Vihaan arrived and given his report? Rufe extended his hand, took the rolled parchment, and broke the seal. The script was Draylon’s own, not dictated by a secretary. Which made the words even more difficult to make out.

My dearest Ambassador Ferund,

The formal address didn’t bode well. Then again, Rufe and Draylon weren’t merely friends anymore to pass informal missives, and any message risked interception. Rufe read on:

It is with deep regret that I must inform you of the passing of your brother in a hunting accident. I am recalling you immediately on behalf of the emperor to attend to family matters. An honor guard will wait at the border to escort you home.

You have my deepest condolences.

Draylon

Ronwith dead? Rufe scanned the message again. There must be some mistake. Ronnie couldn’t be dead. He’d been so arrogantly vibrant and full of life. Rufe’s shaky legs gave out, sending him collapsing onto the bench. The parchment and cloak fell to the ground. The cold no longer registered.

“My Lord…” the messenger began.

Rufe waved the man away. “Go to the kitchen. They’ll serve you a meal.”

The man might have answered, but Rufe couldn’t be sure. His mind filled with images of his younger brother: the babe wrappedin blankets, his parents cooing over the cradle. Rufe watching over Ronwith to keep bullies away. Then, Ronwith, strutting through Myerly Hall with all the confidence of a youth who knew he’d inherit a fortune at his father’s death.All this will be mine, Rufe, and you’ll be out on the street.

No, Rufe wouldn’t. He’d left his ancestral home at the first opportunity and hadn’t darkened the door in at least five summers. The dark ink on his wrist gave the servants even more to gossip about. And now, it seemed, he’d finally return.

Though his brother lorded his position over Rufe, he’d still been Rufe’s baby brother. What family business might involve Rufe, a bastard? His parents were likely despondent over the loss of their heir.

Who’d inherit the dukedom now? Cousin Martino, who’d drink his way through Father’s fortune? Or perhaps Uncle Lief, a womanizer who’d seemingly fathered children with every available woman in the surrounding areasexcepthis wife.

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