Page 59

T he tunnels’ twists and turns began to make sense to Rufe as he visualized which passageways led to which parts of the castle.

He remained quiet, not knowing if the tunnels carried sound, lost in his own thoughts. Did they have enough Herixians to defeat the Craicians? Rufe had fought side-by-side with Herixians before, learning their unique fighting style in the sparring ring.

Craicians were an unknown. The ones he’d encountered seasons ago surely didn’t represent the kingdom's best fighters. Their training emphasized leaving no survivors, just like at the farmhouse of Rufe’s nightmares.

Only a fancy sword spared Rufe the farmer’s fate.

He shuddered, forcing the memory from his mind. Seasons ago. Not relevant now.

Then all thoughts fled when he caught sight of Niam’s ass flexing in his trousers by the lantern’s light as they climbed, and he no longer registered anything but how Niam would look naked. It took a moment to realize when the flexing stopped. Rufe drew his dagger.

Niam gave Rufe a tired smile from over his shoulder and slid a door partially open .

Nera waited, a broad smile on her face. “Greetings, my sons! I’ve had a hot bath drawn and have suitable clothing for each of you. I sent food to the temple but had more brought here.”

Niam shook his head. “That wasn’t necessary.”

“Of course it was. Mothers feed their sons, and I expect you’ve not eaten well on the road.” She gave them both an up-and-down perusal. “You’ve both lost weight. The clothing I ordered might not even fit you. Now, I’ll leave and let you two attend to business.”

She’d no sooner left than Rufe threw Niam against the settee. “I’ve been watching your ass flex in those trousers for the last half hour. Take them off.”

“Shouldn’t we bathe first?”

“Soldiers aren’t discouraged by a bit of dirt.” Rufe urged Niam’s mouth open and darted his tongue inside.

Before Niam could completely pull down his trousers, Rufe took Niam’s suddenly interested cock into his hand.

Niam moaned, gripping the edges of the settee and thrusting his hips upward.

Nothing better than an enthusiastic lover.

Rufe slowly worked his hand over Niam’s shaft, sliding his tongue along the underside of Niam’s jaw.

Pre-come trickled from Niam’s cock, adding to the slickness of Rufe’s grip.

Despite Niam’s objections, he didn’t smell dirty, just the mustiness of a man, filling Rufe’s senses, making him want things they currently didn’t have time for.

Niam worked his fingers into Rufe’s curls, holding him in place, ravaging his mouth, and thrusting erratically, inadvertently pulling Rufe’s hair. Oh, how Rufe loved things rough in the bedroom. He redoubled his efforts, moans vibrating from his tongue.

Niam whimpered and cried out, “That’s amazing! Don’t stop! Please don’t stop.”

Not even a possibility. Rufe reached into his own trousers, stroking his cock in time with Niam’s. Oh yes! He wanted Niam’s passion, needed it, and might die if deprived.

With a final whine, fingers gripped tightly in Rufe’s hair, Niam spurted into Rufe’s fist. When he flopped back onto the settee, Rufe reared back, stroking himself hard. Gods, if he didn’t cum soon, he might…. “Ahhh….” Rufe shot spunk onto Niam’s trousers, his tunic, and on his now-flaccid cock.

Oh. Was sex always this good when a lover stuck around? Or maybe only this particular lover made Rufe fly. He flopped his body into Niam’s lap, knees still on the floor, and allowed himself a few moments of boneless ecstasy, Niam gently petting his hair.

Rufe didn’t know how long he lay there, finding peace amid a storm, but after a while, Niam squirmed.

“We need to bathe and dress. Mother will be back soon.”

Mother. She’d referred to Rufe as a son. So much acceptance came as a shock, but he could surely adjust with time.

He rose, helped Niam finish undressing, and paced while Niam bathed. If he watched, they might never get dressed. Niam relinquished the tub to Rufe and rifled through the clothing. “This must be yours. It’s too large for me.”

As long as it wasn’t the reeking tunic Rufe had once borrowed from a Renvallian noble when they’d captured the castle, he’d cope. He wasn’t expecting a blue velvet tunic carefully stitched with ivy vines and dyed deer hide trousers in a slightly darker shade.

Niam wore similar attire in shades of green—perfect to set off his copper hair, green eyes, and fair skin. His footwear resembled slippers more than boots, not made for outdoor use.

“Sit,” Niam commanded, waving a hairbrush once Rufe finished dressing.

Rufe sat. Oh, by the goddess, those bristles through his hair felt divine. He moaned, tipping his head to get the brush to the right spot.

Niam chuckled. “You’re worse than Uri.” He slicked Rufe’s hair away from his face, humming with satisfaction, and faced the mirror.

He stared over Rufe’s shoulder. They were so different in build, coloring, bone structure, and height, but what a sight they made together. They’d catch eyes for sure wherever they went.

Last, Rufe donned a belt and sword much finer than his own. Nearly as fine as the one Draylon gifted to him seasons ago.

“This weapon belonged to my great-uncle,” Niam said. “He was a renowned warrior, too. Mother honors you with the gift.”

“It’s too beautiful to defile with the blood of enemies.” Rufe ran his hand over the pommel, inlaid with an emerald the size of his thumb.

“Uncle would be disappointed if you didn’t. Although it’s finely crafted, it is a formidable weapon. ”

Rufe removed the sword from the sheath, testing its weight in a few practice swings. The weapon seemed made for his hand and recently sharpened. He re-sheathed the polished steel, more a work of art than a tool for death. “Hopefully, I’ll not need it soon.”

A tap came to the door, followed by Nera entering, holding a hand over her eyes. “You’re dressed, aren’t you?”

“Yes, Mother,” Niam answered in put-upon tones.

Nera peeked through her fingers for a moment and dropped her hand. “Oh, goodness. You two look even better than I imagined. The very vision of what a king and consort should be.” She dropped a basket on a low table. “Eat, as I don’t imagine you’ll feel much like eating later.”

Rufe sat, enjoying roasted chicken, bread, and cheese. Between their climb through the tunnels, bathing, dressing, and their meal, they’d used far more daylight than he’d ever used in preparations before. It must be late afternoon now. Then again, Draylon and Vihaan’s errand would take time.

“Come now,” Nera said, clapping her hands together. “We mustn’t keep the good people waiting.”

Niam scowled, crossing his arms over his chest. “Mother, what are you up to?”

Nera grinned, looking so much like her son in a mischievous moment. “You’re about to knock the legs from under Whreyn.”

An assignment Rufe wouldn’t pass up. Casseign, Draylon, and Vihaan stood outside the door.

“Vihaan, what are you wearing?” While he looked the epitome of a military officer, instead of Cormiran red and blue or Glendoran green, his tunic and trousers were black, the tunic emblazoned with a white goat, matching Cass.

Only Vihaan’s included gold braiding around the collar. The uniform of a Delletinian officer.

“It’s honorary,” Cass explained. “We want everyone to know we’ve accepted Cormira, Glendor, and the other imperial kingdoms. The commander of the Delletinian forces is currently under arrest for conspiring with Whreyn. We’re sending a message to all who wear the uniform.”

Draylon appeared every bit his kingly self in similar attire to Rufe’s and Niam’s, in shades of deep magenta. Yarif would approve. Rufe must arrange for Draylon to take the garments home with him.

“Come along,” Nera urged, making shooing motions with her hands. “We want the timing to be perfect.”

Voices grew louder as they strode down the stairs from the royal family’s floor to the main level of the castle, via the main staircase. A maid’s eyes widened when she saw Niam and Nera. She dropped into a curtsey, a blush staining her cheeks when she caught sight of the others in the procession.

Nera smiled. The maid nodded and scurried off. Rufe swore he heard a giggle. The servants would buzz about the king and his consort within minutes. Many footfalls approached, marching in unison—two dozen soldiers dressed in Delletinian black and white.

Vihaan addressed a young woman, a captain, based on her insignia. “Take up position here. Arrest any who try to leave.”

“Yes, Commander.” She gave a sharp salute .

“I’ll wait here as well,” Casseign said, staring into Vihaan’s eyes a moment longer than expected.

Nera opened the door to the dining hall. Nobles filled tables, chatting among themselves while dining. The scent of some kind of savory stew assaulted Rufe’s nose, but as Nera predicted, his stomach twisting into knots made hunger impossible.

On the family’s dais sat Whreyn with one of his co-conspirators and his niece, wearing a gown likely worth Nera’s entire wardrobe.

All conversation ceased. Whreyn’s eyes widened. He jumped from his chair—Niam’s chair—mouth opening and closing, but no words emerging. He finally found his tongue. “Why look! It’s our king, well enough again to venture from his rooms.”

Rufe and Niam ignored the gawkers all talking at once. They strode hand in hand to the dais, eliciting more hissed comments. Whreyn stared at their entwined fingers.

Niam climbed the dais with Rufe, Vihaan, and Draylon behind him. He glared at Whreyn. “I believe you’re in my chair.”

Whreyn barely hid a scowl.

Niam faced the nobles, waiting for the murmuring to cease before speaking.

“I understand there have been many rumors in my absence. I’ll try to clarify.

” He glared at Whreyn. “Lord Whreyn and his co-conspirators sought to wrest the throne from my family by kidnapping my sons and keeping me hostage until I agreed to his terms.”

Gasps went up from the crowd. Whreyn paled and stepped away. The wall of muscle named Draylon and Vihaan stopped him, one on either side. All murmuring in the room ceased .

Niam continued, “He hoped to force me to make his niece my consort, deny my sons’ inheritance, and make the child she already carries my heir, regardless of the fact I’m not its father.”

The niece—seated in the customary consort’s spot at the table—paled and sought her uncle, mouth wide. Whreyn wouldn’t even look at her.

“All this to become regent and eventually take the throne. His second plan was to usurp me outright.” Niam paused until more murmuring died down.

“What of the princes?” someone cried.

“Rest assured, we rescued Uri and Quillan, and they are with trusted friends.”

Or so Rufe hoped. He watched the man he’d married and never felt so much pride. Several people made hasty retreats for the door. They wouldn’t get far.

“Even now, Craician soldiers are planning an invasion in the forest near our city.” Niam delivered the news dispassionately, declaring himself unafraid.

Gasps came from the crowd. More than one woman screamed. Several people cried. The niece feigned a dramatic swoon to be fussed over by two noblewomen. She recovered soon enough.

Niam held up a hand. “Again, this was Whreyn’s plan.

But the ones he thought would help him help no one but themselves.

He has sacrificed every one of you for his greed.

He has told you that Delletina joining the empire would destroy our kingdom.

Maybe under Emperor Soland, but under Emperor Avestan Aravaid, we shall prosper.

Despite what Whreyn may have told you, they don’t want your lands or children. ”

“What do they want?” an elderly lord asked.

“To open trade with us again. Yes, they want our gold. Not to take, but to barter. We’ve lost many villages to natural disasters. They can help us make our land farmable again.”

“Lies!” Whreyn screamed. “All lies!”

Draylon grabbed his arm. “I would advise you, Lord Whreyn, not to slander your king. Especially not to the emperor’s brother.”

Whreyn flinched away, his gaze now terror-filled and trained on Draylon. Draylon grinned.

“Because of Lord Whreyn, we weren’t able to complete a treaty with Lord Rufe as the emperor’s emissary.

I escaped Whreyn's machinations and have met with the emperor myself. We have a signed treaty. Delletina has formally entered into an agreement with the empire. There’s nothing you can do to stop progress, Whreyn. ”

Whreyn struggled, but Vihaan and Draylon held tight. “Just wait until the soldiers get here!”

How bold of the man to confess to his crimes.

“They’ll never breach the city walls. Even now, Herixian and Glendoran soldiers have them surrounded.” Niam returned his attention to the people. “This is part of the treaty. Protection from our ancient enemy.”

“I shall still be your bride,” Olivia exclaimed, seemingly recovered from her faux fainting. “I carry your child! ”

Niam might’ve once felt pity for her, a young woman cowed by her powerful uncle. Now he saw her for what she was: a conniving woman who’d stop at nothing to get her way. “No, you do not, and I cannot marry you. I am already married to Lord Rufe Ferund, heir to the Duke of Haston in Cormira.”

Olivia screamed, flying at Niam, claws out. “Uncle swore to me—”

Nera grabbed the woman's arm before she got close. “I think you’ve said enough, lass. I’d stop now before you further incriminate yourself.”

“Let go of me!” Olivia screamed.

Nera whirled the woman to face her. Olivia paled, then attempted a graceful swoon, spoiled when Nera let go, forcing Olivia to catch herself on a chair.

Niam lifted his and Rufe’s linked hands. “My loyal subjects, I’m honored to introduce King Consort Rufe Ferund Fjell.”

A heavily bejeweled matron rose from her chair, shouting, “Long may he reign!”

Several others joined in. Not all, but enough for a majority. Rufe and Niam would have their hands full, but they’d work through the ranks, weeding out the dissidents.

Casseign burst through the door. “Your Majesty! The battle has begun!”