Page 89 of King's Warrior

Draylon took a sip of tea, the tiny cup appearing like a child’s toy in his enormous paw. “Who’s keeping watch while you’re gone?”

“My mother.”

Draylon let out a low whistle. “Formidable lady with ties to foreign nobles through her sisters’ strategic marriages.”

Something not widely known in Delletina due to the circumstances of the queen’s birth, and a potential advantage. “The people are still with me, as are some guards, though they swore fealty to Whreyn under duress. Mother believes my leaving limits Whreyn’s options.”

“What do you need from us?”

Us? Oh. Niam nearly forgot that, as the emperor’s brother, Draylon could speak for the empire. “Forces, backing.”

“You know our troops entering Delletina could be seen as an act of war unless you formally name us your ally.”

Niam shrugged, exhaustion pulling his shoulders down. “What choice do I have?”

“Yes, this was a course of action you considered long ago.”

Niam stared at his hands. “I prefer to make a deal and set the conditions rather than be defeated by Craice and submit to them. They’re a violent people who’ll see us as less than themselves, despoil the lands, and abuse the people.”

“This is my belief, too. Has Rufe told you why he bears a tattoo?”

“I didn’t ask. I thought he’d tell me details if he wanted me to know.” Sometimes, not knowing hurt, thinking Rufe didn’t trust him.

Draylon stared out at nothing for a few moments before saying, “When he was younger, soldiers, most likely deserters from Craice, took him prisoner.”

That explained his reaction in Niam’s office after the boys’ fateful ride. “That’s how he understood Craician. Did they… hurt him?”

“Starved him mostly. I got him back. The old Emperor insisted he wear a traitor’s tattoo for no fault of his own.”

The challenge in Draylon’s dark eyes and stiff set of his shoulders dared Niam to speak ill of Rufe. As if he ever would.

Niam pulled in a deep breath and exhaled slowly. As much as he’d rather not enter another political marriage, he must consider the good of Delletina now, no matter how much his heart ached for Rufe. “Mother also advised that taking a Cormiran noble for a consort could further thwart Whreyn’s plans, particularly a noble of the emperor’s choosing.” The admission hurt. Once he’d ended his relationship with Alyss, he’d sworn to only marry again for love.

“She’s a wise woman. You said the people back you. They accept your sons as heirs?”

Without question. “Yes. My oldest, Quillan, is the crown prince and beloved by the people. He’s a sweet boy, highly intelligent.”

Draylon stroked his chin. “With two sons, you’ve no need for additional heirs.” The rise in his tone implied a question.

“No, I don’t.”

“Am I wrong in thinking you’d rather have a man for your consort than a woman?”

“You’re not wrong.” One arranged marriage with a woman who loved another was enough.

A slow smile spread over Draylon’s face. “Your mother’s plan has merit, and I think I have the perfect duke for you.”

Chapter Thirty-five

Rufe’s rooms had changed little in his time away, though Mother had recently replaced his outdated clothing. He’d slept better than expected, a dreamless sleep, and awoke surprised to find the sun high in the sky.

He dressed in a black tunic and trousers, adding the boots Avestan had given him. The valet his mother insisted on brushed his hair and tunic before pronouncing him presentable.

The valet showed no sign of liking or disliking Rufe, simply doing his tasks efficiently. He likely hadn't worked here long enough to hear stories of the notorious Ferund bastard, or he ignored others' opinions. Rufe might come to like him.

He joined Mother and Father at the bottom of the stairs. Mother gave Father a tremulous smile, then took his offered arm.

Rufe felt like a child again, following behind his parents to the family burial plot. The last time he’d done so, they’d buried his grandfather. This time, he merely paid a visit to someone buried weeks ago.

---