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T he two soldiers gripping Rufe’s arms weren’t gentle—he was an enemy, after all—nor were they overly cruel.

He’d lost track of endless stairs and hallways, relying on his escort to drag him a portion of the way. Why wouldn’t his legs hold his weight?

“Not much farther,” one of his guards said.

Good. Rufe didn’t know how much farther his legs would allow.

These two men were likely considered strapping for mountain folk, but neither could carry Rufe’s weight alone.

Where had they taken Draylon? How about Yarif?

Was Yarif lying about being King Niam’s cousin?

Rufe would’ve lied, too, to save their lives.

Then he gazed into gorgeous green eyes set in a concerned face, surrounded by copper curls. Rufe must be dying if the goddess sent one of her servants to fetch him. He reached out to touch, but instead sank into darkness.

Rufe jerked awake, reaching for his sword. He found only a pillow. Right. Rescued. Captured. Something. A bed. He lay in a comfortable bed, with a fire crackling merrily in a nearby hearth, warming his face while his rapidly pounding heart calmed.

Warm, for the first time in what seemed like forever. Soft snores came from nearby that didn’t sound like Draylon’s, and Yarif’s impeccable manners wouldn’t allow him to do something so crude as to snore.

Rufe scanned the room. Rough stone walls, a blazing fire. Tapestries and rugs gave the room a homey spot of color while helping to keep the chill at bay. Woolen blankets covered the bed, designed for warmth rather than fashion.

The culprit of the snoring lay sprawled in a nearby chair, mouth open. His hair fell around his shoulders, kept long in the style of many Highlanders. Standing, he probably reached a full six feet, slightly taller than Rufe. No one else appeared to be in the room.

The man choked off a snore, eyes snapping open.

Yes, a seasoned soldier who stayed on guard even while asleep.

He appeared overly young at first glance until Rufe noticed the lines at the corners of his eyes.

The insignia on his uniform didn’t match any of the Cormiran military.

Still, judging how he’d been the spokesman who’d accosted Rufe and Draylon at the cabin, he must fill some leadership role.

The man slumped forward, resting his elbows on his knees, blinking hard a few times.

He appeared to be of an age with Rufe and Draylon, in his mid-thirties.

His voice was a clear tenor when he spoke unintelligible words.

He sighed, rose slowly to his feet, crossed the floor in a few long strides, and opened the door to talk in hushed tones.

He returned to the chair and poured liquid from a carafe into a cup he handed to Rufe. Rufe sniffed, though many poisons mixed undetectably in wine. But why would anyone go through the trouble of bringing him here, making him comfortable, only to kill him now?

Rufe probed at a few injuries, only to find bandages. Someone had tended his wounds. He accepted and dutifully sipped the wine.

“Casseign,” the man said, patting his chest with one enormous paw. “Cass.”

“Rufe,” Rufe replied.

Casseign smiled. “Friend of Yarif.” The Renvallian words came out stilted, but Rufe caught the gist. Perhaps Yarif was known in these parts, which only caused more suspicion over Renvalle’s ties to Delletina.

If knowing Yarif helped Rufe’s case, he’d claim they’d been bosom buddies since the cradle, though he’d left the cradle long before Yarif’s birth.

All right, maybe not too long.

“Friend of Yarif,” Rufe confirmed. “How is he?”

The man simply nodded. “Yarif.”

The door opened to reveal a woman, who immediately fixed a curious green-eyed gaze on Rufe. Gray-flecked red hair framed a heart-shaped face. For a moment, Rufe recalled the goddess’s messenger he’d sworn he spotted earlier, but the messenger had been decidedly male .

Casseign stood, slapping an arm over his chest, then gave an awkward bow. The woman must be of some importance.

The woman acknowledged Casseign with a nod and a slight smile. She spoke in perfect Cormiran to Rufe. “So, you’re awake. How do you feel?”

“Like I’ve been in a battle I barely won.” No use lying. The soldier now standing by the chair likely missed little about the situation.

The woman gifted Rufe with a congenial smile like a doting mother might wear and seated herself in the chair vacated by the guard.

“I believe there’s a reason for that.” She sidled the chair closer.

The guard placed himself between Rufe and the woman.

She pushed him aside with a scowl. “I’m perfectly safe, captain.

This stranger is no threat to me. He’s a patient.

” To Rufe, she said, “You must forgive Captain Casseign. He’s the king’s most trusted guard for good reason.

I’m Nera, the healer, but I have also spent time in other lands and learned to speak their languages. What are you called?”

“Rufe,” Rufe answered. No need to discuss rank or anything else until he knew more about these people.

“Well, Rufe, let’s chat, shall we?”

Nera appeared too gentle to be much of an interrogator unless Casseign slipped drugs into the wine after all. “What shall we chat about?”

“I believe we’ve worked out the basics of what happened, but we have questions. Will you answer them? ”

“You have me at your mercy.” Literally. Rufe couldn’t have defended himself from an overzealous butterfly at the moment.

Nera chuckled. “I seriously doubt that. It appears that you and your hulking companion entered our mountains to rescue Prince Yarif of Renvalle.” She narrowed her eyes. “You aren’t responsible for his horrific condition, are you?”

What? “Never!”

She relaxed, idly picking at a fold in her skirt with her fingers. “Good. I don’t have to ask Casseign to throw you from a window. Did you confront the ones who did that to him?” Her concern suggested Yarif might have told the truth about knowing the Delletinian king.

“They’re dead.”

“Did you kill them?” The words held no accusation.

The blood on Rufe’s clothes wouldn’t let him lie. “Several, though I didn’t have the privilege of killing their leader.”

“But you killed some. So, you’re useful in a fight.

Tell me, Rufe, why did you and your companion come to rescue Yarif?

Couldn’t you have sent others?” Her calling the king consort “Yarif” spoke of a personal relationship or a lack of manners.

This healer comported herself with all the grace of a queen, so, personal relationship then.

“We trusted no one else.” The less Rufe said, the better. “Where are… the others? How… how are they?”

“I stitched the injury on the big one and have treated Yarif’s wounds as best I could.

It’s up to them now and the goddess to prevent infection.

Though your actions didn't betray your injured state, you suffered several wounds, resulting in significant blood loss.

You've been asleep for quite some time.”

He’d been through worse. “Can I see my companions?”

“Not yet. They’re resting. You understand that you’re from an unfriendly kingdom, don’t you? We need each of you to tell us why you’re here in your own words before we decide what to do with you.”

She looked too kind to be a kidnapper, but Rufe had known noblewomen who’d killed their own husbands. Until Nera proved otherwise, Rufe would play his hand with caution. “No one will pay a ransom.”

Nera’s face hardened. “We are not barbarians to hold people for ransom.”

Rufe flushed. Sometimes, he guessed wrong. “Apologies, madam. My life leads me to think the worst of people.”

She nodded to the tattoo on Rufe’s hand, which he promptly hid beneath the covers.

“I can see the evidence of your own people mistreating you; scars speak of your time as a warrior. We Delletinians behave in a civilized fashion, for the most part.” She poured herself a cup of wine from the same carafe Casseign had served Rufe from, so likely not poisoned.

“Because Casseign doesn't speak your language, I want you to tell me exactly what happened from Yarif's kidnapping until Casseign found you. I’ll translate.”

Rufe took another sip of wine and lay back on the bed. How much should he tell? Had anyone yet realized that Rufe’s “ companion” was King Draylon Aravaid of Renvalle, son of the hated Emperor Soland, and that Yarif was Draylon’s consort?

“The kidnapper’s name is… was Illa Trandores.” Rufe waited while Nera translated.

“We know of her,” Nera said, with a barely perceptible sneer, quickly schooled away. “Her family was Delletinian, though disgraced. They fled the kingdom.”

These people didn’t like Illa either. Perhaps a shared enemy would make them allies, or at least unite them against a common foe. “She kidnapped Yarif and brought him here, we think, to start a war with Renvalle.”

“Renvalle?” Nera’s blank facial expression gave nothing away. “Why?”

The news might not travel fast in these remote mountains. “The emperor accused Yarif’s father of conspiring with Delletina to murder him and break free of the empire. King Lleval paid the price, along with Yarif’s older brother.”

Nera made a gesture over her heart, which Rufe construed as an appeasement to a god or goddess. “Neither were fit to rule. Wouldn’t that make Yarif king?”

Rufe tried to keep his sigh inaudible. If indeed this woman knew Yarif, this next part might offend her. “Emperor Soland named another king, and Yarif became king consort.”

Nera remained outwardly calm, twisting her fingers in her lap, the only sign of irritation. “Did Yarif’s husband plan the abduction? ”

What? “No! He was frantic about getting Yarif back. Despite the odds, I believe the two care about each other and realize they’re stronger together than they are apart.

That’s why he….” Niam bit down on the words he’d nearly failed to prevent.

Maybe there were drugs in the wine to cause him to speak so freely.

Why was he telling all this to a stranger?

Nera spoke to Casseign briefly before turning her attention back to Rufe. “Why he what?”

No use lying now. “Why he wanted Yarif back.”

Nera barked out a laugh. “My dear Rufe, surely you don’t believe I don’t know your companion is Draylon Aravaid, apparently king of Renvalle now.”

Rufe closed his eyes, heaving out a sigh. “How do you know?” After all, she was only a healer for all her claims of travel, a privilege generally reserved for the wealthy.

“Although I trained as a healer in my youth, I am nobly born.” Her words held a teasing lilt.

“I beg your pardon, My Lady. I didn’t mean to be rude.” Rufe’s mother would box his ears if she knew of the slight.

The warmth of Nera’s smile eased Rufe’s embarrassment. “Think nothing of it. How were you to know I am Her Royal Majesty Queen Mother Nera of Delletina?” She winked. “Yes, the herbs in the wine loosen my tongue as surely as yours.”

What! “You’re….” Oh, dear Goddess. Here Rufe was chatting with a queen. While drugged!

Nera nodded and gulped the rest of her wine. “Yes, I am the mother of King Niam of Delletina and aunt to Yarif DiRici, though the kinship isn’t widely known. His mother and I shared a father, though another man claimed me publicly for his child. You have my thanks for my nephew’s rescue.”