Page 43

R ufe rose from his nap on the comfortable bed in a room much nicer than the barracks he normally slept in while visiting the capital. He sampled the repast left by servants, his stomach too tied in knots to do anything more than pick at the eggs and toast.

He donned the finery he usually scoffed at and would much rather wear leather or armor. I’ve nothing to fear. I’ve known Avestan Aravaid a long time. He’s a good man. An honorable man.

However, that was before Avestan became Emperor Avestan, succeeding his cruel and manipulative father. Had the power changed him?

Rufe strode down the hall to Avestan’s office and sat in the antechamber, waiting until someone summoned him.

He drummed his fingers against the armrest, bouncing the foot crossed over his leg.

A twinge reminded him of old injuries. He uncrossed his legs while a million scenarios passed through his mind.

What did Avestan want? To soften him for more bad news? Was something wrong with Father?

Instead of the expected page, a man Rufe recognized as Avestan’s personal secretary entered the antechamber, donning as much of a welcoming expression as his rigid nature allowed.

“My dear Commander Rufe. It is good to see you again.” He might be telling the truth based on the smile kicking up a tiny fraction, the most the man ever smiled.

“His Imperial Majesty will see you now.”

Rufe rose from the uncomfortable chair, likely designed to discourage anyone from lingering, and fussed with his unaccustomed finery.

He’d rather have worn anything but the extravagant tunic and breeches in shades of deep green—well, except for the stinking woolen clothing he’d abandoned upon meeting Vihaan.

Cooler clothing for a warmer climate. The boots were nice, though.

Rufe might ask about keeping the soft cowhide footwear. Or conveniently forget to return them.

He followed the secretary through the doorway of what had once been Emperor Soland Aravaid’s office, a place he’d visited once—and never told Draylon about when the emperor had threatened Rufe’s life if he pursued a permanent relationship with Draylon.

The emperor needn’t have worried, as Rufe only sought Draylon’s friendship and the occasional romp in the hay, on the ground, or, when extremely lucky, in a bed.

The sexual part of their relationship ended with Draylon’s betrothal.

A portrait of Avestan’s empress and children graced the wall where a boar’s head used to intimidate the easily swayed. Avestan sprawled on a velvet settee rather than holding court from behind the desk, as his father would have. “Ah, Rufe. So good of you to come. ”

Avestan acted as though a mere soldier had a choice when the emperor sent for him. Rufe bowed. “Your Majesty.”

The door clicked shut. Only then did Rufe notice the missing secretary. Father always said the good ones could go unnoticed or blend into the background.

“You ordered me to attend you,” Rufe reminded Avestan a moment before his brain kicked in. “My apologies, Your Majesty, I—”

Avestan lifted a staying hand. “If you dare to speak to me differently from normal, I’ll lock you in the dungeon.

” He rolled his eyes upward, tapping a finger against his cleft chin in a thinking gesture, looking like a slightly older version of Draylon.

“Or something. I’m still new at this emperor thing and haven’t devised creative punishments yet.

” His expression brightened as he snapped his fingers. “I know! I’ll make you attend a ball.”

Rufe’s idea of the ultimate punishment. He couldn’t keep the horror off his face. “You wouldn’t.”

Avestan nodded vigorously. “Filled with hopeful matrons and their unmarried spawn.” He grinned.

“So, you’d better treat me with the same amount of candor you learned from my brother.

I count on both of you to keep me from becoming my arrogant father.

” Avestan sobered and side-whispered, “May the gods have mercy on his soul, in case any priests are listening. This means you speaking your mind, at least while we’re alone.

I’ll allow the courtier butt-kissing in public if you insist. Knowing you, though, you’re more apt to bite than kiss if some arrogant asshole expects you to be their sycophant. ”

“Ah, you remember me, after all.” Rufe relaxed enough to force a smile.

“And all the times you were a brat.” In conversational tones, Avestan added, “Yes, I sent for you. First, I’d like to offer my condolences on the loss of your brother. I’m sure the news of his accident came as quite a shock.”

“It did. I thought he’d outlive me by a good many summers.” Men of war seldom lived to retire, while many men of leisure grew older, fatter, and balder. Not Father, though. He remained active.

“Already, the vultures are circling, vying to become your father’s successor. But here, where are my manners? Please, have a seat.”

Rufe chose an upholstered chair rather than share the settee. Avestan poured them each a goblet of wine from a crystal decanter, sunlight rippling colors across the floral pattern from the stained-glass window.

Rufe took a sip. Avestan’s hedging meant he’d soon say something Rufe didn’t want to hear. “As you commanded me to speak freely, I expect the same of you.”

Avestan’s half-smile turned sheepish. “Fair enough. I understand from my brother that you’re doing an incredible job as an emissary to King Niam of Delletina.”

Did Avestan know Rufe and Niam were lovers? Oh, wait! When he’d come to Rufe’s room in Renvalle to promote him to commander, Rufe had to crawl over Niam to get out of bed. Heat rushed up Rufe’s cheeks. “He’s kind to say so.”

Avestan snorted, an inelegant action for an emperor, further convincing Rufe that Draylon’s older brother hadn’t changed much.

“Draylon? Kind? Are you sure you’re talking about my brother?

But I agree with him on one thing. I always knew you could be more than a captain, though I believe some of your lack of ambition stemmed from your desire to protect Draylon and remain by his side. ”

“Among other things.” Rufe set his goblet on the table and pulled up his sleeve, displaying the hateful tattoo he’d gotten after being held captive by an enemy.

Avestan flicked his hand as though batting away a pesky fly. “I’ve abolished the appalling custom. I don’t blame victims, and I understand you gained quite a bit of knowledge about our enemy during your captivity—knowledge you shared with Draylon upon your release.”

“There’s also the little matter of me being a bastard.”

Avestan winced. “Another custom I abhor. Some kingdoms in the empire acknowledge any offspring claimed by the parents.”

Maybe future generations would benefit. The horse had already left the barn for Rufe. “I thought you brought me here to help decide upon a successor to my father.”

“In a way, I have. None who’ve presented themselves are worthy of the honor, and as the duchy is in a strategic location, I count on the duke there to keep the peace.

There is far more responsibility than what most potential heirs see.

They want riches and glory. Leadership, done right, is never about glory.

” Avestan differed from his father in this core belief.

At that moment, he looked much older than his age, the pressure of an empire weighing on his shoulders .

Sadly, Rufe's brother had wanted the riches and glory that came from being Father’s heir and may have compromised a few young ladies by hinting at them one day becoming duchess. “Are you seeking my opinion?”

The smirk on Avestan’s face didn’t bode well for someone. Likely Rufe. “Perhaps. What I’ve called you here to do is to right a wrong.”

Chills ran along Rufe’s spine, triggering the need to run. His instincts usually served him well. “What are you talking about?”

“You are your father and mother’s firstborn son, by their confession, and your mother’s former husband also acknowledges your parentage. Even if your brother had survived, you are heir apparent by the new laws being enacted in the empire.”

Rufe's heart pounded. His father had never considered him a bastard, even if laws—and Rufe’s brother—had. “Just because I’m the firstborn doesn’t make me Father’s heir. Dukes can bypass sons if they find someone more suitable.”

“Which usually ends in battle with loss of life.”

True. Rufe had been useful in quelling those uprisings occasionally.

“My father did something right in recent politics,” Avestan continued. “Renvalle needed military influence, which it gained through my brother as king. Though Renvalle also has a wise and kind ruler in his consort.”

Please let Avestan not say what Rufe feared. Rufe swallowed a mouthful of wine, bracing for the worst. “And? ”

“And the Duchy of Haston likewise needs a strong leader. Preferably one with a military background and proven loyalty to the empire.”

Rufe swallowed hard. If he’d taken another sip of wine, he would have choked. “What are you saying?” Spit it out already! Ringing started in Rufe’s ears, his world tunneling down to this moment, to him and Avestan.

“I’m saying, my dear Commander Rufe, that I have legitimized your birth with the blessings of your parents and confirmed your status as heir. Congratulations, heir apparent to His Grace, Duke Altonois Ferund of Haston, his legitimate son.”

Rufe shot to his feet, panic nearly stealing his breath. “No! I can’t! What about Delletina?”

Avestan laced his fingers, extending the two index fingers to his pursed lips. “I have another emissary in mind.”

Rufe paced, pulling at his hair. No! Although his brother had taunted him, Rufe never wanted to be a duke. He thrived on battles and tactics. The one argument he wanted to make but couldn’t was that he didn’t want to be away from Niam.

Though hadn’t he accepted they’d never see each other again when he left?

What would Avestan say if he knew Rufe and the king of a kingdom outside the empire continued to be lovers after he’d caught them in bed together? Rufe calmed himself enough to say, “While I appreciate the honor, Your Majesty, I must respectfully decline. ”

Both of Avestan’s brows rose. “And allow your arrogant cousin to take control? What would become of your parents in their old age? The servants? The people.”

Damnation if Avestan didn’t make a point.

Choosing any of the current eligible relatives might lead to Father's early, suspicious death. Then what would become of Mother, who many of Father’s kin slandered for giving birth to Father’s child while married to another? The entire empire was full of bastards.

“Also, you could better support King Draylon as duke,” Avestan wheedled.

The argument deemed many of Rufe’s reasons moot. But what of Niam? Rufe recalled the rumors and how Niam could prevent an uprising by marrying an enemy’s niece, of all the times they’d had to pretend they were nothing to each other, sneaking around.

Rufe cleared his throat. “What does my father say?”

“He’d have chosen you long ago if the law allowed. While he loved your brother dearly, he recognized Ronwith’s… shall we say… unsuitability. You were and always have been his choice.”

Heart heavy, dreams of a life with Niam dying—a life he could never have truly hoped to have—Rufe drew in a deep breath.

“You honor me, Your Majesty. I’d like to discuss the matter with my parents before agreeing to your terms.” Now, to return to a place he’d sworn never to go again except to visit his parents: Myerly Hall.

His past awaited.