Page 46

N ever had a more beautiful sight existed than Renvalle Castle, bathed by the morning sun, even to Niam’s exhausted mind. The journey from first sight to the front gate seemingly took forever.

He stood in the courtyard, holding tight to his mule to keep his balance. His muscles screamed from too much riding and sleeping on the hard ground. Draylon and Rufe had chosen such an existence. What a spoiled little princeling Niam must seem to them.

Draylon himself strode from the castle, long paces eating up the distance.

Yarif followed behind until his eyes and mouth widened.

He ran, clutching Niam in a nearly painful hug and murmuring “Cousin!” for Niam’s ears only, though all in attendance were likely crafting their own explanations for the king consort’s enthusiastic greeting.

Yarif stepped back, a blush tinting his cheeks.

Draylon stepped forward with a more guarded greeting. “Welcome, King Niam. Please, come inside.”

Murmurs of “He’s a king?” rose from two young ladies on the fringes of the courtyard. Niam likely appeared more of a stable hand in his worn clothing, with unkempt hair and a bushy red beard he’d lose at the first opportunity.

Yarif likely regretted the hug, due to Niam’s current smell.

Niam managed a smile. “Thank you, King Draylon, King Consort Yarif.” His bow didn’t make him topple over by some miracle. “Can you provide provisions for my escort? And would you have a healer see to my secretary, Willem? The ride took a toll on him.”

“Certainly.” Draylon motioned over a young woman wearing a lieutenant’s insignia. “Lieutenant Lutrell. Please see King Niam’s escort and their mounts properly cared for. Also, send for a healer to check for any injuries.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” Lutrell saluted with an arm across her heart. She turned and addressed Casseign. After several moments, they appeared to have broken the language barrier with a series of short phrases and gestures.

Niam would check on Willem later.

“It’s always good to see you,” Draylon began, leading Niam away, “though I hardly think this is a social call.”

“I wish it was.” Niam trudged after Draylon to the Renvallian king’s office, every stair an insult to his pounding head.

Yarif said, “I’ll arrange food, drink, and a room,” and departed down the hall. Draylon watched him go, affection in his eyes. Would that Niam had someone who valued him so highly. An image of Rufe momentarily appeared in his mind.

Instead of sitting behind the desk, Draylon motioned to a pair of chairs by a window. Niam didn’t so much sit as collapse. “ King Draylon—”

Draylon held up a staying hand. “In private, call me Draylon. You look exhausted. Let’s table our discussion for when you’ve eaten.”

Niam’s stomach rumbled on cue.

Draylon chuckled. “I see something agrees with me.”

A tap sounded on the door.

“Enter!” Draylon called.

Two young women entered, placing trays on the low table in front of Draylon and Niam, one casting curious glances Niam’s way while the other poured two cups of tea. The pair departed as silently as they’d come.

Niam sipped the tea. He’d forgotten the high quality of Renvallian tea. “That’s so good.”

Draylon placed bits of cheese, meat, and bread on a plate he passed to Niam. “Eat and then tell me what brings you here.”

Niam managed but a few bites with his roiling stomach. “You remember the issues we had with Lord Whreyn?”

“How could I forget the bastard? He tried to kill my Yarif.”

Niam would have been scurrying for safety if Draylon had directed that growl his way. “He has systematically been removing my loyal guards for weeks and has had my sons kidnapped.”

“Kidnapped?” Draylon rose, dragging callused fingers through his close-cropped hair. “We should’ve killed him when we had the chance.”

“I agree, though we didn’t have enough solid evidence then.” Not without witnesses willing to come forward. He held little hope for Cousin Berthan’s continued existence .

“I suppose he’s using them against you. What does he want?” Draylon paced to the hearth and propped an elbow on the mantel.

“He wants me to marry his niece, renounce my sons, and name any son she and I have as my heir.” Niam snorted. Lady Olivia, having his son, wasn’t likely.

“Let me guess. Afterward, you’ll be locked away, declared insane, and dear old Uncle Whreyn steps in as regent.”

“That’s one option. He’s swayed other nobles to his side by convincing them a treaty with the Cormiran Empire isn’t in their best interests.”

“The fact you’re still entertaining the idea tells me it is.” Draylon sat again, picking at his own portion of meat and cheese offhandedly, attention riveted to Niam.

Niam nodded. “I won’t go into details, but if we don’t start organized trade with other kingdoms, we’ll soon be unable to keep our people fed. We have gold, but you can’t eat gold or plant nuggets for crops.”

“I see. Yarif has studied and presented ideas for new crops suited for Renvalle’s environment. Perhaps he can do the same for you.”

“I’d be most grateful for any suggestions.” Maybe a change in the old methods would yield better results.

Draylon took a sip of tea, the tiny cup appearing like a child’s toy in his enormous paw. “Who’s keeping watch while you’re gone?”

“My mother.”

Draylon let out a low whistle. “Formidable lady with ties to foreign nobles through her sisters’ strategic marriages. ”

Something not widely known in Delletina due to the circumstances of the queen’s birth, and a potential advantage. “The people are still with me, as are some guards, though they swore fealty to Whreyn under duress. Mother believes my leaving limits Whreyn’s options.”

“What do you need from us?”

Us? Oh. Niam nearly forgot that, as the emperor’s brother, Draylon could speak for the empire. “Forces, backing.”

“You know our troops entering Delletina could be seen as an act of war unless you formally name us your ally.”

Niam shrugged, exhaustion pulling his shoulders down. “What choice do I have?”

“Yes, this was a course of action you considered long ago.”

Niam stared at his hands. “I prefer to make a deal and set the conditions rather than be defeated by Craice and submit to them. They’re a violent people who’ll see us as less than themselves, despoil the lands, and abuse the people.”

“This is my belief, too. Has Rufe told you why he bears a tattoo?”

“I didn’t ask. I thought he’d tell me details if he wanted me to know.” Sometimes, not knowing hurt, thinking Rufe didn’t trust him.

Draylon stared out at nothing for a few moments before saying, “When he was younger, soldiers, most likely deserters from Craice, took him prisoner. ”

That explained his reaction in Niam’s office after the boys’ fateful ride. “That’s how he understood Craician. Did they… hurt him?”

“Starved him mostly. I got him back. The old Emperor insisted he wear a traitor’s tattoo for no fault of his own.”

The challenge in Draylon’s dark eyes and stiff set of his shoulders dared Niam to speak ill of Rufe. As if he ever would.

Niam pulled in a deep breath and exhaled slowly.

As much as he’d rather not enter another political marriage, he must consider the good of Delletina now, no matter how much his heart ached for Rufe.

“Mother also advised that taking a Cormiran noble for a consort could further thwart Whreyn’s plans, particularly a noble of the emperor’s choosing.

” The admission hurt. Once he’d ended his relationship with Alyss, he’d sworn to only marry again for love.

“She’s a wise woman. You said the people back you. They accept your sons as heirs?”

Without question. “Yes. My oldest, Quillan, is the crown prince and beloved by the people. He’s a sweet boy, highly intelligent.”

Draylon stroked his chin. “With two sons, you’ve no need for additional heirs.” The rise in his tone implied a question.

“No, I don’t.”

“Am I wrong in thinking you’d rather have a man for your consort than a woman?”

“You’re not wrong.” One arranged marriage with a woman who loved another was enough.

A slow smile spread over Draylon’s face. “Your mother’s plan has merit, and I think I have the perfect duke for you.”