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T he next few days became lessons in frustration, the universe contriving to keep Rufe away from Niam because of meetings, soldiers, a suspicious advisor, or other duties. He’d yet to meet Casseign’s commander, but he likely mistrusted Rufe, too.

By day, Rufe discussed the finer points of an alliance with the empire to a room full of skeptical nobles, and by night, he lay in his bed, wishing he could go to Niam if they weren’t both under watch.

A shadow followed him wherever he went, but not a very good one, for Rufe spotted the man every time.

He wanted to befriend Niam’s boys and get to know them, but what official reason could he offer, especially now that he was under watch and could only engage in polite conversation with Nera during dinners if permitted to sit near her?

Even though he’d defended the boys and returned to describe the attackers, the locals still regarded Rufe suspiciously. Whispers even reached his ears of his true identity as a military man, which added to the suspicion for some, but might appease others who believed he’d come to help Niam .

And still Whreyn had done nothing outright to be arrested for. Nothing that could be proven. Former Emperor Soland wouldn’t have waited for a reason. Niam wasn’t Soland, thank the goddess.

When not in meetings, Rufe wandered the grounds under a guard’s watchful eyes, of course, and per Rufe’s suggestion, the access tunnel of Niam’s rooms now had guards too.

At least with the guard present, the shadowy spy made himself scarce.

A very young spy, judging by the mere spattering of peach fuzz on his cheeks and the awkward way he held himself. And his total ineptness at espionage.

Rufe felt isolated enough to consider cornering the spy simply for conversation.

Lonely. Not even able to fulfill his sworn duty to protect Niam.

He missed Vihaan. Rufe did what he could to investigate potential threats and look into the missing and dead soldiers, though Cass had better access there.

Useless wasn’t a pleasant way to feel. Rufe borrowed a book from the massive library and strolled into the gardens.

Maybe reading the history of Niam’s ancestors might provide insight.

The guard likely couldn’t read, many soldiers couldn’t, but if he could, he didn’t remark on Rufe reading a book written in Delletinian.

Wrapped in his cloak on his favorite bench in the garden, engrossed in reading, Rufe didn’t notice anyone approaching until someone cleared their throat, at which point he reached for an absent sword.

Uri stood before him, no bodyguards visible.

“Uri! What are you doing out here without your guards?” Rufe asked in Delletinian .

“I saw you sitting out here and wanted to talk. I slipped out a window.” Uri answered in flawless Cormiran, a remarkable achievement given Delletina's isolation from the empire, which made finding good tutors difficult.

“You must be freezing!” Rufe rose, slipped from his cloak, and draped the massive garment over Uri’s shoulders. “Promise me you’ll not do something so dangerous again. It’s not safe.” He resumed his place on the bench.

Uri shrugged one shoulder. “I’m safe with you.” A statement, not a question.

Rufe motioned his guard over. The man dutifully put himself closer to the prince. Now no one could say the boy wasn’t supervised. “What did you want to talk to me about?”

Uri sat. “Papa says you’re a dipo…dip…”

“Diplomat?”

“Yes.” Uri gave a decisive nod. “Dipomat.”

“I am.”

“I heard my guards talking. They said you’re a soldier and you’ve killed a lot of men.”

The chills passing over Rufe weren’t necessarily from the cold.

How could he explain to a child who shouldn’t hear tales of carnage?

He’d not had much experience with children since being a child himself.

“Yes, I served with the Cormiran Empire forces until the emperor asked me to negotiate a treaty with Delletina.”

“My guard said the emperor was a greedy old man who’d kill us all. ”

“Uri!” Rufe would have words with guards who spoke so carelessly around a child.

“Many considered the old emperor a hard man, but he wouldn’t have killed all Delletinians.

” Rufe wouldn’t mention how Soland killed Yarif’s father, brother, and countless Renvallians.

“However, Emperor Soland is dead. His son, Emperor Avestan Aravaid, now rules in his stead. Emperor Avestan is a kind and honorable man who wishes to establish a good relationship with Delletina and her people.”

“Truthfully?” Hope chased back the shadows on Uri’s face. Too many shadows for such a young boy.

Rufe gave a decisive nod. “Yes. I’ve known the new emperor for a long time, and he’s nothing like his father.”

“You should tell that to my guards,” Uri grumbled.

“I intend to have words with them.” And not kind words either.

“So, you really are a warrior?”

“Yes.”

“I want to be a warrior when I grow up, but Papa won’t let me learn the sword. He says I’m too young.”

“You are young yet. I was slightly older than you before I began training.” The guards weren’t the only ones Rufe planned on speaking to. Even a heavily guarded prince needed to learn self-defense.

“I hope so. You’ve got a lot of scar—”

“Prince Uri! You get away from that man at once!” a shrill voice sounded, loud enough to make Rufe wince. A slender, middle-aged woman approached, hands on her hips, guards behind her .

Rufe stood, inclining his head, and answered in Delletinian. “I mean him no harm, my lady.”

The woman hurried forward, putting herself between Rufe and Uri. “I don’t know how you took him from his room—”

“I came to him, Magda,” Uri said, stepping out from behind his governess, or whoever Magda might be.

She glared. “Come along. Wait until I tell your father!” She tossed the cloak to Rufe, lip curled, wrapped Uri in her own, and bustled the child away.

Uri stalled long enough for a quick wave, then let the formidable woman hurry him along. Magda glowered over her shoulder. So, another one who thought Cormirans murdered babies in their sleep.

Footsteps on the gravel path had Rufe readying for Uri’s second escape. A man of middle age approached the garden bench instead, dressed in the sturdy woolen clothing of the mountain people. Strands of curly hair, a mix of black and gray, peeked from beneath the man’s fox fur hat.

The guard nodded, and the man approached. “Your Highness—” Two simple words gave away the accent of a man of the highlands, though his dark hair and eyes suggested Cormiran ancestry.

Rufe cut him off, answering in the Delletinian he practiced for hours daily. “I’m no highness. I’m simply Ambassador Ferund.” No need to muddy the waters by mentioning “Commander Rufe of the Cormiran Army.” The locals hated him enough already, without reminders of his station .

The man bobbed his head. “I come with a message from King Draylon of Renvalle.”

Draylon? Breath caught in Rufe’s throat.

They’d seen each other mere weeks ago. Why a message now?

Had Vihaan arrived and given his report?

Rufe extended his hand, took the rolled parchment, and broke the seal.

The script was Draylon’s own, not dictated by a secretary.

Which made the words even more difficult to make out.

My dearest Ambassador Ferund,

The formal address didn’t bode well. Then again, Rufe and Draylon weren’t merely friends anymore to pass informal missives, and any message risked interception. Rufe read on:

It is with deep regret that I must inform you of the passing of your brother in a hunting accident. I am recalling you immediately on behalf of the emperor to attend to family matters. An honor guard will wait at the border to escort you home.

You have my deepest condolences.

Draylon

Ronwith dead? Rufe scanned the message again. There must be some mistake. Ronnie couldn’t be dead. He’d been so arrogantly vibrant and full of life. Rufe’s shaky legs gave out, sending him collapsing onto the bench. The parchment and cloak fell to the ground. The cold no longer registered.

“My Lord…” the messenger began.

Rufe waved the man away. “Go to the kitchen. They’ll serve you a meal.”

The man might have answered, but Rufe couldn’t be sure.

His mind filled with images of his younger brother: the babe wrapped in blankets, his parents cooing over the cradle.

Rufe watching over Ronwith to keep bullies away.

Then, Ronwith, strutting through Myerly Hall with all the confidence of a youth who knew he’d inherit a fortune at his father’s death.

All this will be mine, Rufe, and you’ll be out on the street.

No, Rufe wouldn’t. He’d left his ancestral home at the first opportunity and hadn’t darkened the door in at least five summers. The dark ink on his wrist gave the servants even more to gossip about. And now, it seemed, he’d finally return.

Though his brother lorded his position over Rufe, he’d still been Rufe’s baby brother. What family business might involve Rufe, a bastard? His parents were likely despondent over the loss of their heir.

Who’d inherit the dukedom now? Cousin Martino, who’d drink his way through Father’s fortune? Or perhaps Uncle Lief, a womanizer who’d seemingly fathered children with every available woman in the surrounding areas except his wife.

Rufe must go home, regardless of how little the idea appealed to him. Draylon had spoken, and Rufe needed to be there for his parents. But going home meant leaving Niam during a critical time in his rule and while his life was under threat.

Rufe would have to be careful while traveling. He and Niam had enemies, and once he passed back into Cormira, any grasping relative with a chance of inheriting Father’s lands and title would also be after his head.

He’d go alone. Dangerous, yes, but he’d move faster alone, and anyone watching from a distance might not feel threatened by a single traveler.

Then again, just because the message had been sealed didn’t mean the courier hadn’t somehow opened the scroll and spread the word of its contents and Rufe’s likely departure.

Trusted guards could keep Niam under watch until Rufe had gotten well away from the castle.

Mother would welcome him. Father, too. He’d stayed away because he loved his brother, and maintaining distance helped Rufe continue to do so.

But how could he leave Niam and the boys with their lives in danger? Could he possibly escort the boys to Countess Exa’s first?

He’d have to go to the one person in all of Delletina who might help.