Page 84 of King's Warrior

“I’m saying, my dear Commander Rufe, that I have legitimized your birth with the blessings of your parents and confirmed your status as heir. Congratulations, heir apparent to His Grace, Duke Altonois Ferund of Haston, his legitimate son.”

Rufe shot to his feet, panic nearly stealing his breath. “No! I can’t! What about Delletina?”

Avestan laced his fingers, extending the two index fingers to his pursed lips. “I have another emissary in mind.”

Rufe paced, pulling at his hair. No! Although his brother had taunted him, Rufe never wanted to be a duke. He thrived on battles and tactics. The one argument he wanted to make but couldn’t was that he didn’t want to be away from Niam.

Though hadn’t he accepted they’d never see each other again when he left?

What would Avestan say if he knew Rufe and the king of a kingdom outside the empire continued to be lovers after he’d caught them in bed together? Rufe calmed himself enough to say, “While I appreciate the honor, Your Majesty, I must respectfully decline.”

Both of Avestan’s brows rose. “And allow your arrogant cousin to take control? What would become of your parents in their old age? The servants? The people.”

Damnation if Avestan didn’t make a point. Choosing any of the current eligible relatives might lead to Father's early, suspicious death. Then what would become of Mother, who many of Father’s kin slandered for giving birth to Father’s child while married to another? The entire empire was full of bastards.

“Also, you could better support King Draylon as duke,” Avestan wheedled.

The argument deemed many of Rufe’s reasons moot. But what of Niam? Rufe recalled the rumors and how Niam could prevent an uprising by marrying an enemy’s niece, of all the times they’d had to pretend they were nothing to each other, sneaking around.

Rufe cleared his throat. “What does my father say?”

“He’d have chosen you long ago if the law allowed. While he loved your brother dearly, he recognized Ronwith’s… shall we say… unsuitability. You were and always have been his choice.”

Heart heavy, dreams of a life with Niam dying—a life he could never have truly hoped to have—Rufe drew in a deep breath. “You honor me, Your Majesty. I’d like to discuss the matter with my parents before agreeing to your terms.” Now, to return to a place he’d sworn never to go again except to visit his parents: Myerly Hall.

His past awaited.

Chapter Thirty-two

Niam rode through the night, stopping himself from nodding off several times by reciting royal lineages in his mind. His six guards said nothing, merely kept a nearly impossible pace. The sturdy mules picked their sure-footed way over loose stone, through streams, and down steep slopes.

Once or twice, Willem surrendered his mule to ride with a soldier. Niam caught the man sleeping in a soldier’s arms once while riding. Neither looked unhappy with the situation.

Niam had taken this route not too long ago, leading a force to Renvalle to help Draylon and Yarif secure their kingdom and depose the evil emperor Soland. He never dreamed of needing their help, at least not so soon.

If only they’d found Whreyn when they first looked and had enough evidence to arrest him. The disappearance of Niam’s cousin Bert, the only potential witness that they might have convinced to speak up, left them with no recourse. Maybe they should have silently dispatched Whreyn, regardless of the uproar his death would have caused with his followers. Fear clutched Niam’s heart for his mother and sons. Would the deities keep them safe?

He’d gotten a good head start on his enemies. With luck, they wouldn’t even notice him gone until morning. The mountain passes should be clear, saving time.

They stopped, ate, rested, then remounted and continued riding. On the third day, they reached the keep Niam’s family used as a retreat. Two soldiers rode ahead to ensure the area’s safety. Word hadn’t even reached the staff about the goings-on in the capital. Good. No need to hide that they’d been here. Whreyn had to know Niam’s direction.

The weakest point of the journey would be through the pass. Several diverse routes waited on the other side, some a pampered noble like Whreyn wouldn’t know, and he’d have a hard time finding a local guide, as many villages beyond the pass lay abandoned.

They slept in shifts at the keep, ate heartily, and bathed. Niam donned simple clothing typically worn in the country while hunting or fishing. The stable yielded fresh mounts, and the kitchen staff packed provisions.

The pass loomed ahead.

Captain Casseign’s mount picked its way over rough terrain to the woods where Niam waited. “All is clear, Your Majesty.”

Two Delletinian brothers, recommended by Casseign, matched in height, breadth, and skills with a sword, led the procession across the pass. Casseign and Niam crossed next, in formation to give themisleading impression to anyone watching of Niam being a mere rider and no one of import.

All wore leather armor beneath plain cloaks, even Willem. Most of the company carrying themselves like soldiers couldn’t be helped.

A red-haired woman, roughly the size of Niam, rode alone, with the two remaining soldiers following behind. Anyone viewing from a distance might mistake her for Niam. Father had never encouraged military training for Niam, as the country enjoyed relative peace.

What colossal shortsightedness. He wouldn’t have the upper hand in any fight. If attacked, speed and cunning were better assetsto him than skill with knife and sword. He vowed to do better with his own sons’ training.

An image flashed through his mind of Rufe teaching the boys to fight. The image vanished in the face of reality. Still, he’d enjoy the thought.

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