Page 94 of A Kingdom Threatened (The Vazula Chronicles 3)

Only Percival outwardly showed his surprise that August didn’t know the appropriate way to address the duke.

“But I was determined to accompany Merletta, for her own safety,” August went on. “Although I am not related to her by blood, I feel the responsibility of a father toward her, for reasons I would prefer not to go into.”

Heath could tell that his father recognized the truth in all of August’s words. Merletta looked at the older merman, her face showing that she was both surprised and touched by his words. She must realize they were true, since Heath’s father hadn’t called August out.

“Well, shall we have someone bring your things to your rooms?” the duchess asked, after a moment of silence in which the duke considered the guard thoughtfully.

“They don’t have any things,” Heath said frankly. “The truth is, they were forced to flee from danger. A personal matter,” he added hastily. “Nothing to do with us, or Valoria.”

The duke studied him, and Heath could feel his father’s magic reaching out, testing the words coming from Heath’s mouth.

“I’m very sorry to hear of your troubles,” the older man said gravely. “We are glad to be able to offer you a sanctuary. Although I’m afraid we are departing for the capital in only a couple of days.”

“They’ll come, naturally,” Heath said eagerly. “I’d love to show Merletta Bryford. And August, of course.”

“Are you sure?” Merletta’s soft voice brought his attention to her. “We don’t want to impose.”

“I’m sure,” he told her, smiling into her upturned face. “There’s so much to see and discover.”

For the briefest of moments their gazes held, until Percival’s obnoxious throat clearing forced Heath to look away. He glowered at his brother, who raised his eyebrow in what was definitely a smirk. Percival clearly wasn’t going to make this easy on him.

“You must be tired from your journey,” Heath’s mother interjected. “All of these discussions can wait. Allow me to show you to your rooms.”

“I’ll come,” Heath volunteered eagerly.

He led Merletta from the room, August following close behind. At least they were both experienced enough with their legs now that their gaits were steady. It would have been hard to explain if they’d been staggering like drunkards.

When they reached the assigned rooms, Heath’s mother moved toward the kitchens, to instruct them to send the requested refreshments straight to the rooms. Ignoring the slightly scandalized look the housekeeper was giving him, Heath walked Merletta right into her room. He was still euphoric over her presence, hardly able to focus on anything else.

August followed them, looking around him in wonder.

“Is your father related to the regent?” he asked. “I didn’t expect such lavish accommodations.”

Heath nodded, realizing how much of it must feel strange to them. “King Matlock is my father’s cousin,” he explained.

“We should really be calling him Lord Heath,” Merletta added. “But he’s never let me.”

“And I don’t intend to start now,” said Heath forcefully.

He cast a glance at the open doorway. Mercifully, the housekeeper had ceased to hover when August entered the room, evidently considering him chaperone enough.

“All right,” Heath said briskly. “We’re alone. What do you need to know?” He gestured to the bed. “That’s where you sleep, in case it’s not obvious. You pull back the blankets and slide under them. You’ll need them for the warmth.” He looked around. “That bowl of water is for washing your face, and hands if desired. And that pot under the bed…” He hesitated, embarrassed. He’d never had to explain a chamber pot before.

Merletta chuckled. “It’s all right, Heath. We’ve both lived on land for extended periods. We can figure it out.”

Heath nodded, relieved. Before he could think of anything else to explain, a maid backed into the room with a heavily-laden tray in her arms. She set it down on a side table and retreated with a curious glance at the newcomers.

“Do we eat that?” August asked, looking doubtfully at the sandwiches and pastries.

“Only if you want to,” Heath laughed. “But you’re going to have to accustom yourself to human fare if you plan to stay up here. It’ll be a little conspicuous if you keep ducking back into the water every time you need to eat.”

“I for one am sick to death of cod,” Merletta said brightly. She picked up a sandwich and took a large bite. Her eyes narrowed as she chewed it, trying to decide on her reaction. “It’s so…dry,” she commented. “But the flavor isn’t bad.”

Heath grinned. “Don’t let the cook hear you calling her sandwiches dry.”

His mother appeared in the doorway at that moment, her gaze fixing on her son. “Heath.”

It was clearly a command, and Heath excused himself, surprised by the strength of his reluctance to leave Merletta’s side. She’d been so hesitant when he introduced her to his family, so unsure of herself. It wasn’t like her normal bold fearlessness, and he wanted to reassure her.