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A formal dinner with the Cormiran Emissary in attendance in a resplendent great hall had to be Rufe’s worst nightmare.

He’d rather be anywhere else than seated among the aristocracy in their finery, ostentatious jewels, and cloying perfumes.

The ordeal reminded him of clothing he’d borrowed once in Renvalle, doused liberally with some vulgar scent.

While his embroidered green velvet tunic and new breeches fit well and weren’t overly ornate, the boots could use some breaking in, with not a single soldier under his command available to press into service—a soldier who’d consider breaking in the commander’s boots an honor.

Oh, how spoiled Rufe had become, though not spoiled enough to be comfortable in formal Delletinian attire.

Yet, as the Cormiran Empire’s emissary, he must play the part, even if dinnertime conversation bored him.

Pretending he didn’t speak the language gave him insight into what locals really thought, though his Delletinian left a lot to be desired.

Two young women chatted at a nearby table. “Well, I think he’s handsome, if a bit rough around the edges. ”

Normally, Rufe would turn on the charm, ending the evening with one or more lovely partners. The language barrier wasn’t the only reason his usual behavior held no appeal.

The second woman brayed a laugh, the noise grating on Rufe’s nerves. “I’ve heard he’s caught the king’s eye. Did you notice the tattoo on his wrist? Doesn’t the marking mean something bad?”

The first scoffed, “Like King Niam could ever have feelings for a foreigner. And a commoner, as well.”

The young lady wasn’t above showing her privilege. Her companion replied, “I hear our king is going to bond with Lord Whreyn’s niece.”

“His mistress, you mean.” The two women dissolved into giggles. Very interesting. And worth the effort not to wince at their tittering laughter.

“Filthy Cormiran,” a nobleman spat from the far end of the table—one of Niam’s advisors. Rufe kept a neutral expression. One day, he’d reveal his growing grasp on the language and send the nobles into a panic, trying to recall what insults they’d hurled his way.

A rather loud gentleman monopolized Niam’s attention at the head of the table.

No, not Niam. King Niam. Niam’s entire demeanor changed since returning home, showing a more guarded side of himself.

He’d seldom smiled since arriving, except around the sons Rufe had only met briefly.

Even Niam’s attire changed, far more formal, with a high collar, lace trim, and ample embroidery.

Conversation swirled around the room, but no one except Niam’s mother tried to engage Rufe.

She leaned in. “ Don't let them fool you. Several at this table speak fluent or at least passable Cormiran, yet don’t for fear of what others might say. Being cut off from other kingdoms makes some wary of anyone who isn’t them. ”

Pretension definitely ran high in this group. “I don’t imagine anyone trying to speak with me.”

“Not publicly, no, but rumors are stirring about an alliance with the empire. Those you’ve already met with weren’t discreet. Many who wish to curry favor may soon approach you privately.”

Over the years, plenty of people had tried to win Rufe’s favor for access to the emperor’s son, which they mistakenly believed would lead to access to the emperor.

Rufe had long ago become immune to flattery.

“That doesn’t work on me.” The flattery always turned to insults when Rufe refused to do another’s bidding.

Nera’s eyes twinkled with amusement. “I know. It shall be entertaining to watch.” She settled back into her chair, nibbling at her portion of roast pheasant.

Rufe kept a keen watch on those who glared at Niam and those who smiled, treating the experience as a reconnaissance mission, asking Nera for names when he noticed a particularly hostile-looking individual.

He’d love to chat with Casseign as the captain of the king’s personal guard, but he had to approach this setting as a diplomat, not rely on his military training.

However, some of the Glendoran soldiers who’d come with them knew of his previous career, having accompanied Niam and Rufe to Renvalle to support Yarif and Draylon .

Worse, Zanial knew. Rufe couldn’t muster any trust for the man. Then again, Rufe trusted few people.

Rufe missed Draylon. Missed his fellow soldiers. Missed knowing his duties and his capabilities. Bedding who he would and generally living down to his reputation. Feeling lost didn’t come easy. Once more, he glanced at Niam, attentively listening to the man to his left, or pretending to.

Niam. Being together made Rufe feel needed, cherished…

loved. But King Niam didn’t need Rufe. They shared little in common.

In time, Niam would come to see their incompatibility.

Besides, what could be the best possible outcome regarding the two of them?

For Niam to marry Rufe, make him king consort?

No. What they shared must soon end, and Rufe would return to his former life—alone, but for whatever temporary lovers he found to fill his bed.

A messenger approached the guards standing behind Niam’s chair, rising on her toes to whisper something to Casseign. He followed the messenger, jaw visibly clenched.

Rufe nodded to Vihaan, who left his position by the wall shortly thereafter, trailing Cass. Whatever news he’d gotten couldn’t be good, and Rufe was safe enough at the table not to require a guard.

He sipped his wine, kept an eye out for danger, and brooded. Who could blame him if he occasionally sought the comfort of his boot dagger under the guise of adjusting a trouser leg?

Rufe waited for the king and his family to leave the room, followed by advisors and guards. No hopes of seeing Niam tonight, not with so many circling him like flies after honey. Still, he casually stood and trailed behind them.

The royals strolled from the room via their private entrance into the open courtyard, stepping from warmth to bracing cold. Only Zanial and another advisor followed the royal family now.

Rufe pulled out his boot knife and kept watch from a distance. Oh, to have his sword, but what need would a diplomat have of a sword at dinner?

“Goodnight, Father,” the boys said.

Niam bent, kissing Quillan on the head, then Uri. “Good night. Pleasant dreams.”

“Good night,” Nera said, disappearing into the darkness, a silent guard at her heels.

Niam chatted with the advisor, head down. What? Niam should pay attention to his surroundings. Where was Casseign? Why weren’t there guards closer?

The dimly lit courtyard, illuminated by torches, allowed plenty of places to hide. Rufe slipped into the shadows behind a massive pillar before scurrying to the next. Was that a flash of metal in the torchlight? Rufe blinked, staring in the direction he thought he’d seen something.

A figure hid in the shadows, watching Niam intently, to the exclusion of all else. Not a professional, then. Rufe crept closer, carefully placing his footfalls to avoid making a sound .

Niam approached the man’s hiding spot. The two other men fell back. The attacker sprang from the shadows, plunging a knife toward Niam’s chest.

Steel rang with steel as the knife met Rufe’s blade. The attacker’s knife clanged to the floor, and his eyes went wide. He turned and fled, but he wasn’t the dangerous one there. Rufe spun in time to catch Zanial charging, dagger in hand.

Rufe blocked the blow, sending the dagger spiraling into the dark, ringing against the flagstones. He aimed his dagger at Zanial’s chest.

Zanial lifted his hands, his eyes wild. Rufe kept his blade pointed at the bastard’s treacherous throat.

Four guards charged across the flagstones, swords at the ready, followed by a man Rufe hadn’t seen before dinner. Why hadn’t the guards already been here escorting their king? Who had lured Casseign away from his post?

Niam stood a few feet away, clutching the dagger he’d been threatened with in one hand, a bit of hay in the other. A lieutenant of the guard approached, motioning two others forward. “Please take King Niam to his quarters. Stay until Captain Casseign comes.”

“No.” Rufe glared at the lieutenant.

“What? How dare you override my authority?”

Niam’s voice cracked like a whip. “Lieutenant!”

The lieutenant snapped to attention.

Niam’s voice remained deceptively calm, with a bare undertone of a growl. “Lord Rufe has my authority. ”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” The lieutenant glowered at Rufe.

Niam stepped forward, still clutching the knife. “Lieutenant, take Zanial, Eoghan, and your two guards, who mysteriously weren’t by my side when needed, into custody. Hold them for questioning.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

The unknown man, who must be the advisor, Eoghan, spluttered, “B… but Your Majesty—”

Niam lifted a staying hand. “Lieutenant, I’d like you to work with Lord Rufe to uncover what happened tonight. Before you argue, trust that I wouldn’t assign someone unqualified in this matter.”

Despite apparent animosity toward Rufe, the lieutenant sounded contrite when she answered, “Yes, Your Majesty.”

More soldiers approached. The lieutenant motioned to two. “Bring Eoghan to the captain's office.” She motioned to four more. “Take Zanial there, as well as these two.” She nodded to the offending guards.

“Yes, Lieutenant.”

The guards departed with their captives, leaving the lieutenant, Rufe, Niam, and the three remaining guards.

Rufe met the lieutenant’s eyes. “I want to be there when you question them. First, I want to see King Niam safely to his chambers, and then I have somewhere to go. Allow me one hour to join you.”

The lieutenant glanced toward Niam, who nodded. “It shall be done. ”

Rufe scooped Zanial’s knife from the flagstones and fell into step beside Niam, with the three guards falling in behind. “Do you trust the guards behind us?” he leaned in to whisper.

Niam replied, “They are some of Casseign’s best.”