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N iam paced outside the door as Mother and Casseign questioned one of their unexpected guests. She’d threatened Niam with torture if he woke Draylon Aravaid or Yarif, though Niam peeked in on his cousin periodically.

Maybe he should again. He nodded to the guard outside the door, then slipped inside.

Yarif lay on his stomach on the bed in a drugged sleep.

Niam added another log to the fire. Lowlanders weren’t used to the mountain chill; late in autumn, the nights grew savagely cold, particularly in this drafty old keep.

He’d rather take his guest to Dellamar, but they wouldn’t be safe, particularly as the kidnappers had come this way.

How many Delletinian nobles would demand Draylon’s head simply for being the emperor’s son?

But this could be a unique opportunity, figuring into Niam’s hopes for Delletina to one day join the empire. This might also be a chance to gain information, maybe even negotiate. Perhaps Draylon would prove more level-headed than his father.

How could he not?

Yarif’s face fell slack in sleep, but if he looked closely, Niam could almost make out the rounder features of Yarif’s younger self.

He’d been beaten, tortured, and abused. Niam’s spies in Renvalle kept him apprised of his cousin’s well-being, even if few knew of the familial relationship.

Though a skilled fighter, Yarif was a gentle soul fonder of books than of the sword.

Someone harmed him… Niam brushed back the hair from Yarif’s forehead. “It’s good to see you again, cousin, even if the circumstances could be better.” How Niam would love to bring back the bastards who’d perpetrated such evil for a chance to kill them himself—slowly.

Now, to pray his cousin recovered mentally and physically.

He left the room to find Captain Casseign waiting in the hallway, not quite at attention but close, wearing a carefully practiced neutral expression, though the creases on his brow gave away his concern.

“Did you learn anything?” Niam asked.

“Not much new information, though his story matches what we already knew. He is indeed Captain Rufe Ferund of the Cormiran forces. Your mother deems him a non-threat, at least for now.”

Niam recalled the intelligence shared by his spies over the years.

Captain Rufe Ferund, who’d fought harder than most to prove himself, given his birth and the stigma of the tattoo on his hand, was a known close associate of Prince Draylon Aravaid.

Although brutal in battle, both men had reputations for honor.

“Then we’ll yield to her wisdom, but keep him guarded. ”

“Yes, Your Majesty. Are you ready to question the prisoners?”

The prisoners. Two paid mercenaries rescued from the snow. “Yes. I believe we’ve kept them waiting long enough.” Niam led the way to the spiral stairs, then down below the keep’s main level. Casseign’s footsteps clicked behind him.

Questioning prisoners wasn’t his favorite pastime, but neither were many other unpleasant but necessary duties.

At last, they reached the lowest level, built into what had once been a natural cave. Barbaric ancestors used the space for cells. Mother turned most of the area into storage, leaving very little room for prisoners. Two men sat chained to a bench, with two guards nearby.

“Leave us,” Niam said, not waiting to see if the guards complied.

“But…” Casseign began.

“You stay.”

Casseign relaxed somewhat, positioning himself close enough to protect Niam from attack.

Both captives had blue eyes. Their hair might’ve been blond under the blood, mud, and filth. They weren’t native Cormirans. Niam asked in Delletinian, “Where were you taking your prisoner?”

Both men glared, one through a single eye as the other appeared swollen shut. Niam tried Renvallian and Cormiran.

At last, the one-eyed man perked up when Niam switched to Glendoran. “The woman promised us gold if we delivered him to a noble,” he said. The other man glowered, but the first seemed forthcoming.

“What did this noble want with him?”

The chatty man ignored the other’s growl. “We were to make him appear like he suffered over time to make Renvallians sympathetic. Then, the noble would leave his dead body to be discovered. The woman bragged about how there’d be a war with Renvalle, and she’d become queen of Delletina.”

Fire burned through Niam’s veins. How dare she! “Who was this woman?”

“She called herself Illa. She said her family had been cheated out of the throne. Some said she was a king’s mistress.”

“He means Illa Trandores,” Casseign explained. “ Commander Illa Trandores of the Cormiran forces.”

“Trandores.” Niam’s spies had been correct.

The Trandores had been minor nobles until they’d squandered their fortune and turned to thievery and extortion to afford their lavish lifestyle.

They’d been banished for their treachery.

However, as far as he knew, they had no connection to Niam’s family or a claim to the throne.

“Illa must be the old earl’s last granddaughter.

Was she King Lleval DiRici’s mistress? I also heard rumors of an affair with the emperor.

” That would explain how she’d caught a king’s ear.

But if she led the kidnapping attempt of the emperor’s son-by-bonding, had the emperor known of the plot?

One thing about court intrigue—never a dull moment.

No, the emperor couldn’t have known, could he?

Not when his son made a mad dash across the border, risking reprisal, to retrieve his consort.

Then again, sons killed fathers, and fathers killed sons or daughters all the time for ridiculous reasons.

Some for no reason at all. Yet, he’d named Yarif’s abductor a commander. Surely he knew of her actions .

“Who else was involved?” Niam asked, carefully concealing his impatience.

The two captives exchanged a glance before the first let out a scream. The second man drew a bloody dagger from his companion’s chest and threw the blade at Niam’s head. Niam felt the handle brush past his cheek.

A dagger protruded from the man’s neck before Niam could yell, “Stop!” Casseign was very good at his job. “I wanted to question them further.” So many answers Niam wouldn’t have.

Casseign wiped his blade on the dead man’s clothing. “He wouldn’t have cooperated, and he ensured the other wouldn’t either.” Kneeling by the bodies, he checked their necks with his fingers. He shook his head. “Dead.”

It all happened so fast! “Where did they get the dagger? Your men searched them, didn’t they?”

Casseign’s expression blanked, showing no emotion, though he clenched his fists. “I believe I need to retrain my men. With your permission, Your Majesty. I’ll send someone to take care of these two.”

Niam nodded. Had one of Casseign’s men deliberately allowed a prisoner to keep a weapon? Why hadn’t the second silenced the first earlier?

Because he wanted you to know just enough information to mislead you.

Niam managed a few hours’ sleep before dawn.

With a jolt, he recalled what had recently transpired.

His mother would doubtlessly frown on him seeing his cousin this morning until she’d checked on her patient.

Talking with Draylon Aravaid would require finesse, but Niam could speak with Captain Rufe of the Cormiran forces without Mother’s approval.

So young to be so renowned. He must be as skilled a fighter as Niam’s sources claimed.

He intercepted a tray-laden maid in the hallway near Rufe’s room. “I’ll take that,” he said, nodding a greeting to the guard on duty at the door.

The maid’s eyes widened, but she relinquished her burden. She’d grown used to Niam and his mother fending for themselves while at the keep, his chance to tune out the incessant chatter of courtiers fawning for his favor at the castle.

He waited until she left to tap softly on the door before entering.

A man lay on the bed, skin dark against the pale sheets, inky hair disheveled, full beard desperate for a trim or shave.

When he glanced up, his dark eyes nearly pinned Niam in place.

Niam’s breath caught in his throat. A sense of danger hung around Captain Rufe, sending a frisson of excitement skating down Niam’s spine.

He’d never taken a Cormiran lover, an oversight on his part if this well-built Cormiran was any example.

Captain Rufe wore no shirt, leaving his glorious yet scarred skin on display.

The sheets pooled at his waist, exposing muscular arms and a chest covered in dark curls.

A reddish mass of healed flesh, devoid of hair, marred one pectoral, evidence of a knife blow.

One arm hung over the side of the bed, exposing the hideous tattoo that branded the captain as a potential traitor.

Rising through the ranks showed his determination not to let people dismiss him.

What a barbaric custom, blaming someone for being taken prisoner. Would Yarif suffer the same treatment if he returned to the empire?

Niam would offer his cousin a place in the royal household and dissolve his marriage if Yarif wanted. For too many seasons, Niam had been forced to neglect his kin. No longer.

The prison… guest lifted his nose and sniffed the air. His stomach grumbled. “When my mother arrives in the great hereafter, I’ll be sure to admit she was right.”

“Right about what, precisely?” Niam answered in Cormiran, placing the tray on a table by the bed.

“That the goddess would send her helpers to get me when I died. Mother said they’d be more beautiful than any being I could ever imagine.”

Oh dear. What medicine had Mother given this man? And why had she never shared with Niam? His cheeks heated. “I can assure you; I am no messenger of any goddess.” Perish the thought.

Rufe’s smile fell. “How sad for them. They must be jealous of your beauty.”