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“Your brother took leave of his senses and named me commander, and yet the two of you want me to play politics in Delletina, a role that, although I have many gifts, I’m totally unsuited for.

” Of course, managing legions of soldiers wasn’t exactly his idea of happy times either.

Rufe wouldn’t say that escorting King Niam back to the Delletinian capital, watching him be King Niam instead of simply Niam, being banned from the royal bed and having to face ostracism for his Cormiran ancestry, might be beyond Rufe’s ability to accept.

Especially without getting roaring drunk or telling some wealthy noble where they could shove their unwanted opinions.

Which wouldn’t work well for diplomacy, would it? Even so, to be with Niam, keeping him safe… Dare Rufe hope?

“My brother named me and Yarif emissaries to Delletina, but wants you included, as Yarif and I will be quite busy for a while. You have developed an affection for Niam. Who better to care for him? Can you imagine the furor we’d face if something happened to him while our guest?

The position of commander gives you the authority you might need, though Avestan placed a Dragan commander over the physical forces. ”

Care? Surely Draylon wasn’t suggesting Rufe cared about one of his conquests.

And he heartily approved of the Dragan commander, despite the bitter memories the mere mention of Draige inspired.

“Caring isn’t the issue. If his enemies found out about his relationship with me, they’d use the connection against him.

I won’t be a weakness.” Another reason to make a clean break while the memories were still mostly good.

A knowing smile spread across Draylon’s familiar face. “You, dear Rufe, could never be a weakness. You’re too much of a soldier, one of the finest, if not the finest, I’ve ever seen.”

One didn’t need legitimate birth, station, or dignity to take lives. “I’m but an instrument of the empire.” The words came out with far more sarcasm than Rufe intended.

“Even so, you’d make an excellent commander if you didn’t prefer the battlefield to all the behind-the-scenes drudgery that comes with the job. And you can belittle yourself all you’d like. I know the truth.” Draylon raised an imperious brow. “I am king. My word is law.”

Rufe snorted. “Keep telling yourself pretty lies. We both know you're a figurehead, and your beloved Yarif actually rules the kingdom.”

The retort did nothing to erase the smile from Draylon’s face.

“Foolish is the man who changes a winning strategy. The people of Renvalle love Yarif as much for his heredity as for himself. They merely tolerate me. As long as he feeds me and strokes my ego occasionally, I can live with those terms.” Draylon might be king, but he’d been a soldier first and knew a thing or two about strategy.

Rufe guffawed and didn’t add, and as long as he warms your bed? “Is your ego all you want to have stroked by the lovely Yarif?”

They’d been friends for most of their lives—this was one of the few times Rufe ever witnessed Draylon blush. “Know that you’ll keep good company. Vihaan is also relieved of command while keeping his rank, as Avestan plans to use his expertise in other ways.”

Yes, good company indeed, for the Glendoran commander came to Rufe and Draylon’s aid when many others wouldn’t have.

“I wanted to talk to you about your brother,” Draylon said without preamble, taking on a somber tone.

Those words sucked any joy from the room. Uh-oh. What now? “What has the incompetent idiot done now? I’ve successfully avoided being in the same room with Ronwith for several seasons now. I love the boy dearly. Avoiding him helps.” Or rather, Rufe loved the brother Ronwith had once been .

Draylon exhaled a noisy breath. “He’s made enemies and has troubling gambling debts. Word has reached as far as the capital.”

“Father can’t reel him in?” Mother ignored her youngest son’s exploits, but surely Father would put his foot down. Then again, putting his foot down hadn’t helped much with Rufe.

“No. He’s tried. Even tightened the purse strings. Ronwith merely borrows money in your father’s name, forcing him to either pay the bills or lose face.”

Rufe winced inwardly, refusing to show embarrassment for his sire.

Though his father controlled great wealth, he hadn’t amassed his current fortune by being frivolous.

Rufe gave the rehearsed answer he always used when someone complained about his brother.

“Ronnie’s young. I’m sure he’ll grow out of this rebellious phase.

” Why tell Rufe at all? He held no sway over his brother, and he’d been young and irresponsible himself at Ronnie’s age—two summers ago—still was, actually.

A lack of family obligations left Rufe free to chase his own pursuits without further sullying the family name.

People expected bastards to be bastards, after all.

Draylon heaved out a sigh. “I wanted you to hear the truth before rumors reached your ears.”

Too late. Rumors started swirling about Ronwith Ferund when he tried to corner a young maid in the pantry at age thirteen, and Rufe saved her. Another thing Ronnie held against Rufe. “How kind of you, but Ronnie barely tolerates my existence. There’s nothing I can do or say.”

“Very true.” Draylon stared into his teacup. “Gods know, I had little control over Soland’s actions. ”

“Soland,” not “Father.” Telling. “He was your sire, not your brother. Old and well-educated enough to have obtained a modicum of wisdom.” Rufe sipped his tea. King Draylon provided the good stuff. Nothing bested Renvallian tea.

Draylon ignored the comment about his father—not his favorite conversational topic. “Each additional scandal reduces Ronwith's chances of finding a suitable spouse—or rather, someone suitable for his inheritance.”

“I see nothing I can do, particularly as I’m indefinitely bound out of the empire.” Rufe avoided Draylon’s gaze. Which is your doing remained unsaid.

“If things continue, he might find himself chatting with my brother.”

“Why would Avestan intervene?” Emperor Soland used to control nobility with an iron hand.

He’d taken the lives of at least three kings, countless dukes, and who knew who else.

Suspicious accidents were commonplace. But he’d never interfered with heirs until they received a title, possibly hoping the foolish ones would die first of their own bad choices, saving him the effort.

Avestan was less likely, not more, to step in against an heir.

“Because you’re important to me, and therefore important to Avestan. He’ll not take kindly to having your family name ruined.”

Rufe snorted. “As if having a traitor bastard son isn’t enough to cause gossip.” He lifted the cup to his lips, such delicate porcelain against his callused fingertips.

Draylon snatched the cup away. “You’re one of the most honorable men I know, bedroom habits notwithstanding, and you rose through the ranks to commander on your own merit.

You’re also my friend. I’d gut any other man who spoke of you in such a manner.

” The fire in his eyes would’ve scared lesser men.

Draylon would never know how much his fiery defense soothed Rufe’s soul.

Few people’s opinion mattered—Draylon’s did.

“My apologies, Your Royal Drayness. While I personally don’t care what people think of me, even I can only take so much of having my status thrown in my face.

I couldn’t leave home fast enough.” He’d been twelve when he’d left for a military school where he’d met Draylon.

Draylon had been a couple of years older, but he’d taken Rufe under his wing.

“I remember. But know if there were a fight, I’d rather have you at my back than anyone else.” Draylon tipped his head to the side. “Except maybe for Yarif.”

“Yeah, you’d want him at your back for sure.” Rufe chuckled. His and Draylon’s previous physical involvement hadn’t changed their friendship, allowing him true happiness at Draylon’s good fortune in finding love.

And maybe a bit of jealousy. Not of Yarif, but of the love Draylon and Yarif shared.

The quip earned a lovely flush to Draylon’s cheeks—again. Ah, such a recent development. Embarrassment and Draylon seldom appeared in the same conversation.

"Putting aside his bedroom talents," Rufe continued with a smirk trying to break through, "Yarif might be slightly built, but he is lethal when necessary.

" He took his cup back from Draylon’s unresisting fingers.

“I still want him to teach me some of the moves he learned from his mysterious teacher.”

“He’s tried with me. Some of his methods require a thinner, more flexible body. Like Yarif’s.” Draylon waved a hand, indicating his bulky form.

Though a few inches shorter than Yarif, Niam had a similar physique.

As king of a predominantly peaceful kingdom, Niam’s early development included little in the way of swordsmanship, save for a few basic knife skills, Nera had said.

Knife skills she’d taught him herself. Niam shouldn’t be left defenseless now, especially not in these troubled times, with enemies closing in.

Niam might have been gone from his kingdom for too long already, regardless of his mother’s excellent abilities to rule in his stead.

If only Rufe could arrange for Yarif to train Niam.

Or maybe find another teacher of a similar build who could adapt fighting skills to his stature.

“Regardless,” Draylon said, “you rest today. Tomorrow, you must leave for Delletina while Telaga Pass is clear.”

“Have I overstayed my welcome?” Rufe couldn’t help teasing, though panic gripped his heart.

He’d faced many new situations over time, but usually with Draylon at his side.

Venturing out on his own felt foreign. And while he had no problem being a commander in name only, he had no desire to be a diplomat.

But his emperor had spoken. Rufe would obey to the best of his ability.

The Draylon who’d overseen numerous military campaigns and witnessed the resulting carnage, replaced Draylon, the friend. “ The sooner the king returns, the better. I trust you to deliver him safely to his kingdom.” A muscle jumped in Draylon’s jaw.

What wasn’t he saying? “I understand.”

“There’s one more thing you need to know.

Niam’s most insidious enemy, Lord Whreyn, has been reported near Dellamar Castle.

His cousin, the boy who divulged information to Whreyn, has disappeared, as have any others who can testify against him.

I’d have you leave today if the delay wasn’t for necessary preparations. Avestan is sending Vihaan with you.”

Vihaan, Commander of the Glendoran forces and a friend of Draylon’s, was a veritable mountain of a man. At least Rufe would have a seasoned, friendly warrior at his side. One whose size alone sent many foes running.

Because regardless of any planning, trouble always found Rufe.