Page 49

R ufe felt somewhat human again after a few hours’ sleep and waited impatiently until sunup to search out Niam’s room. Two soldiers guarding the door? Good thing he was still their superior officer. They both snapped to attention.

“Good morning, Commander Rufe,” they blurted in unison.

“At ease. I’m here to see King Niam.”

“King Draylon said no one was to disturb him, sir,” said the elder of the two, who still couldn’t have passed thirty summers.

Rufe lifted one eyebrow, crossing his arms over his chest, and added a scowl for good measure. Nothing needed to be said.

The soldiers stepped aside. “Yes, sir.”

Rufe eased the door open and entered the antechamber. The door to the bedroom stood open. He peeked inside. Niam sat at a desk, back turned, sipping tea.

Rufe launched himself across the floor, yanking Niam up and into a hug.

Niam didn’t have time to reach for the dagger near his hand. He “Eeeped” instead, and, recognizing his attacker, went pliable in Rufe’s arms. “Rufe! I wondered if I’d ever see you again. ”

Never had anything felt so good as having Niam in his arms once more. Rufe drank him in.

“Whreyn,” Niam said, voice choked. “The missing and dead soldiers. He killed many loyal to me and bought the rest. Has threatened them unless I do what he says. He’s taken Quillan and Uri.”

“What does he want?” Draylon mentioned some demands, but Rufe had been too tired last night to understand everything said. Besides, he’d rather hear details from Niam.

“For me to marry his niece, denounce my sons’ claim to the throne, and name any son she and I may have as my heir.”

Without Niam to keep the peace… “You left? What’s stopping him from taking over?”

“Mother. She sent me here for reinforcements. Whreyn doesn’t know King Consort Yarif is her nephew and my cousin.”

Such news wouldn’t stay hidden for long. “Avestan should arrive today to sign treaties, and Draylon already has someone looking for the boys.”

Niam nodded. “Once I’ve signed, I’ll head back to Delletina with a force at my back. Can I count on you to come with me?” His expression turned hopeful.

He had to ask? “I’d go anywhere with you.”

Niam dropped into his chair again, staring at the fingers he tangled together in his lap. “I don’t want to discuss this as part of a treaty, but I’m told I need to marry a noble of the Cormiran Empire to further seal the alliance. ”

Rufe nodded. “Many marriages are based on less.” His own parents married for love, a rarity, but they’d both endured unhappy arranged marriages first.

“I don’t want another arranged match. I want someone of my own choosing.”

Rufe’s heart pounded in his chest. For so long, he’s seen himself as unworthy, and although he was neither prince nor king, there weren’t many available. However, one day, he’d be a duke. For the first time, he didn’t regret being Father’s heir.

He dropped to his knees beside Niam’s chair. “I’d be honored if you’d marry me, unless you already have someone in mind.”

Niam’s mouth dropped open, and all color faded from his already pale skin.

How could Rufe have misread things so horribly? He started to stand. “So… Sorry… I didn’t mean…”

Niam clasped both of Rufe’s hands in his. “I want nothing more, Lord Rufe.”

“You don’t.” Rufe released a long, relieved breath, a smile spreading over his lips.

They both rose, Rufe capturing Niam in his arms and melding his lips to Niam’s, lightheaded and not quite believing. He reluctantly pulled away to say, “I never thought we’d get to be together. This is beyond my wildest dreams.”

“Mine, too,” Niam said, mouth stretched wide into a smile.

“Are you sure this is what you really want?” Niam had already endured one planned marriage. Rufe didn’t want to force him into another. “You said you didn’t want to marry again. ”

“I meant that if I married again, it would be to someone I loved.” Niam gave Rufe a meaningful stare, mouth hitched up on one side.

“You marry for—”

“Love.” Niam followed the words with a kiss, sliding his tongue against Rufe’s. Rufe would have his life with Niam, stand beside him, protect him, and build a future together.

Whreyn and the other nobles said they didn’t want an alliance with the Empire, yet their actions set the wheels into motion. They’d also gain the Cormiran bastard as king consort.

Somewhere, the Unnamed Goddess must be smiling.

If not laughing hysterically.

Yarif procured Rufe clothes and a valet to help him dress for his wedding day. Avestan arrived mid-morning and insisted on the bonding first to formalize treaty agreements in the names of the Delletinian king and the king consort.

Rufe didn’t understand politics but trusted Avestan, who’d been spoon-fed politics since infancy.

What a whirlwind. Rufe had arrived very late last night, managed a few hours of sleep—alone, damnation!

— and now did his best to let the valet turn him into something that didn’t look like a three-day-old carcass lying in the sun.

The bath and shave helped tremendously .

Would he ever get used to wearing nice new clothing?

Or rather, something barely used, loaned to him by some unknown, but well-dressed benefactor.

The trousers fit a bit more snugly than he’d have liked, but Yarif had chosen a rather plain blue satin tunic, correctly guessing Rufe’s tastes for minimal embellishments.

The satin slippers felt odd after a lifetime spent in boots.

Rufe glared at himself in the mirror; riotous black curls slicked back into glossy waves. How was Niam feeling? Anxious? Resentful at being forced to bond?

Surprisingly enough, Rufe wasn’t resentful. There was no one in existence he’d rather bond with, though he found himself nervous. What if Niam changed his mind? Refused?

He blew out a heavy breath.

“Everything will be fine,” the valet told him with a small smile, possibly mistaking the reasons for Rufe’s concerns.

The chapel bells struck noon. Time to go. Rufe took the circuitous route, meeting with Yarif in an out-of-the-way stairwell, the best way to avoid seeing Niam until the ceremony.

“Are you ready?” Yarif asked. He’d worn gold today, richly brocaded and as shiny as his personality.

“Doesn’t matter if I am. This is going to happen.” Rufe no longer kept count of his many battles, but none, large or small, caused his hands to tremble so.

Yarif’s smile fell.

“Don’t mind me.” Rufe squeezed Yarif’s arm. “Just nervous.”

The smile returned to Yarif’s face. “To be expected. You don’t resent Niam or being asked to bond, do you? ”

What a ridiculous question! “I asked him.” Rufe would gladly have done so before now if he could.

“Oh!” Yarif brightened. “Then I suppose I’m obligated to say ‘hurt my cousin and die.’”

Rufe grinned despite his nerves. “I’ll keep that in mind.” Together, he and Yarif trudged down the stairs and across the courtyard to the chapel’s front door, knowing Niam would come in through the side and likely was already waiting.

Yarif’s brother and sister met them, each holding a basket of flower petals. If only Quillan and Uri could be here.

Rufe breathed in and out slowly a few times, then opened the door, letting the children in first. He followed with Yarif.

The last time Rufe entered Renvalle Castle’s chapel, he’d supported Draylon’s unwanted marriage, which later turned into a love match. He’d stood beside Emperor Soland Aravaid, fighting the urge to skewer the man for making Draylon marry against his will.

Rufe hoped his nuptials proved as successful and that this cleric spoke Renvallian better than the last one who’d mangled Draylon and Yarif’s ceremony. Too bad Nera couldn’t attend, but with her practical mind, she’d understand the expediency.

Likewise, Father and Mother weren’t here. Rufe and Niam would likely have to exchange vows again before their parents, but this ceremony solidified their bond, foiling Whreyn’s schemes.

Someone had been working hard, placing bouquets of colorful flowers in vases and stringing ribbons overhead. The fragrance mixed with the musty scent of a barely used chapel. Where had anyone found flowers during the winter? Someone must keep a solarium.

Light streamed in through open windows, accompanied by a soft breeze on a mild day. If Rufe had planned to marry, he’d have chosen a day like today.

Niam stood at the altar with Draylon and Avestan.

Rufe’s heart pounded. What a beautiful man.

And he was to be Rufe’s. Emile and Adrina scattered flower petals down the aisle.

Several servants and soldiers sat in the pews instead of family.

Niam’s secretary, Willem, sat between two soldiers, looking somewhat worse for wear.

Some in attendance had been like family to Rufe for some time now, especially Draylon.

Rufe took Yarif’s arm and strode to the altar, a custom that once depended on a bride or groom’s social standing but was now decided by a coin toss. Rufe stepped carefully, unused to satin footwear and terrified of slipping on a flower petal and sprawling on the hard stone floor.

Niam watched from by the altar, resplendent in green brocade likely borrowed from Yarif. The garments fit him well. Yet the highlight of the bonding ceremony would be taking them off, right?

Taking off Niam’s clothes. Rufe’s mouth went dry, as he imagined peeling off the lovely green brocade, exposing Niam’s body little by little.

Yarif nudged him.

“What? ”

Yarif leaned in to whisper, “You stopped moving. Are you all right?”

Oh. Rufe resumed his trek to the altar to do something he’d vowed would never happen—back when he didn’t know anyone he’d want to bond with or who’d bond with him. Once he stood shoulder to shoulder with Niam, Yarif stepped back.

Niam reached out and discreetly gave Rufe’s hand a quick squeeze.

The cleric wore all white, with no emblems to hint at the deity he served.

He started in flawless Renvallian, “We are here today before family and friends on this momentous occasion, connecting two illustrious dynasties. Who sanctions this marriage?” He repeated the words in Delletinian, a language Rufe had first become determined to master to know what praise or curses Niam uttered during sex.

And to eavesdrop on chattering nobles.

Avestan said in Cormiran, “I, Emperor Avestan Aravaid, sanction this marriage.” He repeated the phrase in Renvallian and Delletinian.

“Cormiran will do,” Rufe told the cleric, who nodded. The entire wedding party spoke Cormiran, as did many of the soldiers. He wasn’t sure about the servants, but didn’t want the ceremony to last all day.

“Commander Rufe Ferund, son of His Grace, Altonois Ferund and Her Grace, Prichia Ferund, the Duke and Duchess of Haston. Do you enter into this union of your own free will, and of your own free will do you make these vows?”

Rufe stood tall. Good things didn’t happen to him, not like this. Any moment, he’d wake to find this day to be a dream. He’d enjoy the moment until then. “By my own free will, I enter into this union and make these vows, pledging myself to King Niam Fjell.”

The cleric shifted his attention to Niam. “Your Majesty King Niam Fjell, son of King Reed Fjell and Queen Nera Fjell of Delletina. Do you enter into this union of your own free will, and of your own free will do you make these vows?”

Rufe watched, hoping to catch Niam’s eye. Niam stared straight ahead. Did he have doubts? Was he thinking of the last time he took vows? Rufe fought the urge to rub his sweaty palms against his thighs.

Niam’s voice remained steady as he recited, “By my own free will, I enter into this union and make these vows, pledging myself to Commander Rufe Ferund.”

Draylon stepped forward, dropping a ring into Rufe’s outstretched hand.

Thanks to its highly arched roof, Rufe’s voice sounded unnaturally loud in the nearly empty chapel.

“I present this token as a symbol of our binding, letting all who see know we are as one.” He lifted Niam’s left hand and placed a plain gold band on the third finger.

Niam deserved a better ring. Once the boys returned and all was right in Delletina again, Rufe would commission one, perhaps with emeralds to match Niam’s eyes.

He’d certainly saved enough during his military career, not to mention the allowance he’d now receive as heir — an allowance he’d always returned before, wanting to earn his own way in life .

Yarif handed a ring to Niam. Niam acknowledged him with a nod. “I present this token as a symbol of our binding, letting all who see know we are as one.” He placed the ring on Rufe’s finger, holding Rufe’s hand a few moments longer, stroking a fingertip over the shining band.

Typical vows would now be over. Rufe borrowed from Draylon’s bonding, adding lines used by long-ago warrior kings. “I give my solemn vow to use my skills and position to protect you and yours, up to and with my dying breath.”

Niam must have consulted with Yarif, for he replied as Yarif had done: “What skills and knowledge I have, I will use for you. I am no warrior, but in matters where I can assist, I will.”

The cleric cleared his throat and said, “Go forth and celebrate the bond the two of you have forged. Blessings on you and your families.”

Rufe lost himself in Niam’s shimmering green eyes. “Are you happy?”

“Yes. Very. But I’ll be ecstatic in a moment.” Niam grinned and covered Rufe’s mouth with his own, sealing the bond with a kiss.