Warrior King: Warriors - Book 1, page 20
Color crept up Niam’s cheeks. “Yes, Mother.” To Draylon and Yarif, he said, “You have my sincere apologies. We’ll speak more later. Sadly, meetings with a few nobles and village leaders will occupy most of my day tomorrow. I hope you understand that I cannot let them see you. Not yet. You’re free to move about the upper floor but don’t come downstairs. I’m also keeping the servants away. As I said, there might be spies in my own household.”
“We understand,” Yarif and Draylon both said.
“Good. Now, eat, rest, and let Mother or Bert know if you need anything. I’ll check in on Captain Rufe.”
“I want to see him,” Draylon said.
Niam exchanged looks with Aunt Nera. “Tomorrow. Let him rest today.”
Draylon’s clenched jaw said just how little he liked the idea.
“I promise, our good captain is safe and healing nicely. Tomorrow, you can see him. You have my word.” With that, Niam left the room, herding Aunt Nera and Bert before him. Bert stared with wide eyes, an abundance of unasked questions etched on his face.
Finally, Yarif and Draylon were left alone. By unspoken agreement, they moved to the small table, where Nera had poured them each a glass of wine. For all Yarif had fantasized about a warm, soft bed, now he longed to sit again, though he kept his wounded back away from the chair back.
“Is this stew?” he asked, uncovering the dish. Ah, yes. Stew with chunks of meat, potatoes, carrots, and onions. Crusty bread accompanied the meal. Simple fare, so unlike most noble families’ repasts. Nera and Niam didn’t appear to put on airs. No, they seemed simple and down to earth.
Like Yarif’s mother had been. Or maybe Niam and Nera could be themselves here at the keep.
Draylon lifted a spoonful to his mouth, took a tentative taste, and smiled. “This is good.”
Wow, what a smile. It softened the harshness of Draylon’s face. Relaxed, he looked less of a barbarian, and more of an ordinary man.
A very striking ordinary man.
Draylon dropped his spoon into his bowl. “You’re not eating. Are you all right?”
What? Oh. Yarif took a bite, face heating at being caught staring. Then again, why be embarrassed by admiring the attractive man he happened to be married to?
So much had happened so fast, but the fact remained: Draylon had come for Yarif, rescued him, fought outnumbered, and won.
For Yarif.
Yarif managed a few more bites before his attention again strayed to the man across from him. Occasionally, Draylon flexed his shoulder or rubbed at his bandages with the opposite hand. Sometimes he winced.
“How’s your shoulder?” Yarif asked after the fifth or sixth time.
“It’s a bit sore. Thank the God of War, the arrow wasn’t barbed. It could have done a lot more damage.” Draylon looked up. “How’s your back?”
“It’s…fine. Aunt Nera said it’s healing. Mostly bruises, lots of welts, a few cuts.” Yarif shrugged, which only reminded him that he wasn’t completely healed. So many times he’d imagined the situation reversed and Illa receiving lashes, but Yarif couldn’t inflict such pain on anyone.
“May I see?” Draylon quickly added, “After we’ve eaten.” He nodded to Yarif’s half-full bowl. “Eat. You’ve lost weight, and I want you healthy before we even think about leaving this place.”
“So, we’re leaving?” Yarif had reveled in the low-stress environment, hearing stories of his mother, and the mere thought of braving the elements again made him shiver.
“I’m afraid so. The longer we stay away, the more problems we’ll find when we get home.”
Home. Did Draylon mean Renvalle or Cormira? “I’m worried about my brother and sister.”
“So am I, to be honest. I don’t know May well, but something tells me she’ll take care of them as far as she’s able.”
“She will. Too bad I didn’t have her with them the day the soldiers arrived. They’d have gotten away and now live in a village somewhere.” But Yarif wouldn’t have been with them. How were they? Were they afraid with Yarif gone? Were they being taken care of?
Yarif sure hoped so.
After their meal, Draylon checked Yarif’s back, giving a hum of approval. “Yes, healing nicely. I’ve seen men beaten for various reasons, but you didn’t deserve this. Nor to have your beautiful hair taken away.”
“Commander Illa seemed to think I deserved such treatment.” Yarif let every bit of bitterness show, self-consciously running a hand over the mess on his head—a mess Aunt Nera promised to help him sort out later. “I never heard. What happened to her?”
“I killed her.” Not a bit of remorse sounded in Draylon’s words. “And seeing this, knowing what you went through, I’d like to bring her back and kill her again.”
Throughout their time together, Draylon had been nothing but supportive. Even if Draylon’s father had paid to have Yarif tortured and killed. No one knew better than Yarif that sons were not their fathers.
They finally finished their meals and sat sipping their wine, a sweet concoction Aunt Nera called ice wine. She’d winked and added, Tough on the feet, I tell you, stomping ice instead of grapes. The fire crackled in the hearth but probably needed another log. With a full stomach and wine dulling pain, Yarif could relax, if only for a little while.
“Do you have any idea where Illa intended to take you?” Draylon asked.
“I heard her mention Wren a few times. Like, ‘When we get to Wren.’”
“Wren. We’ll have to ask Niam.” Draylon added wood to the fire. “There, that should keep you tonight. Is there anything else you need before I leave?”
Yarif’s mouth went dry as dust. Leaving already? Though sleep called to him, Illa waited for him in his dreams. Dare he ask? “I’m not… I don’t…”
Draylon stepped closer, resting a hand on Yarif’s arm. “Whatever it is, just ask.”
A hard swallow didn’t dislodge the lump from Yarif’s throat. “I… I want you to stay. All night. I mean, we’re both still recovering, but I…” He pulled his courage together and pushed on. For so long, he’d been alone, trying to bear every burden with no one to share the load. While their situation might change over time, at present they shared a goal: survival and righting a few wrongs.
I give my solemn vow to protect you and yours.
“I want you to hold me tonight. We don’t have to do anything else.” While his body wished to experience Draylon’s again, fatigue pulled at Yarif’s limbs.
He might even sleep better, not in fear of the guards outside the door or the emperor suddenly discovering he lived.
“I’d like nothing better.” Draylon closed the distance, bending and pressing their lips together.
Chapter Twenty-seven
Draylon tried not to hover over the next two weeks and allowed Yarif time to get to know his family, but staying away proved hard. What if they convinced Yarif to remain in the mountain kingdom and dissolve the marriage?
Draylon couldn’t make up for his father’s horrible plotting if not given half a chance. Besides, he needed Yarif’s help if he hoped to become a worthy ruler for Renvalle. A surprising ambition for a man who never wanted to be king.
He’d been given the job. He would do his best for the kingdom and its people. If for no other reason than to aggravate his father, who likely planned to watch Draylon fail spectacularly in his new position.
Draylon recalled the previous night, how natural Yarif felt in his arms, like he belonged there.
Perhaps he did.
Now, night after night, the nightmares. Waking to an armful of trembling Yarif. All because of Father. Draylon had started off sleeping in the chair by the bed to keep the nightmares at bay once Nera weaned Yarif off the sleeping potions. Draylon wound up in the bed each time, not for sex, but for comfort.
Now he paced the room he’d been given, where he retreated when Nera sent him from Yarif’s side. Draylon’s pent-up tension sought an outlet. Two weeks had given him time to recover from his injuries and wonder about his next move. Maybe Rufe would be up to some company.
Two guards stood by the door. What? These guys weren’t here yesterday—had something happened? Hadn’t Niam ruled Yarif, Draylon, and Rufe harmless, unneedful of constant guarding?
Draylon ignored the guards and tapped on Rufe’s door. “Rufe, I…” The door swung open from an overly ambitious knock.
Niam leaned back in his chair by Rufe’s bedside in a practiced move designed to appear casual. Rufe, on the other hand, jerked away. Had Draylon interrupted something interesting? He must remember to tease Rufe later.
At least Niam’s presence explained the guards.
Draylon cleared his throat. “Forgive me. I didn’t mean to—”
“It’s all right, Dray.” Rufe beamed. “I’m feeling much better, and His Majesty came for a visit.” Rufe even had the good grace to look—sheepish?
Well, well. Even more interesting. Rufe always had been partial to redheads, but a king? He’d avoided such situations before, not wanting to be seen as a social climber—thus the discreet liaisons with Draylon.
King Niam turned to face the door. “Please, both of you. I’ve told you to call me Niam when we’re in private.” He nodded to a second chair. “Your timing is impeccable. I believe it’s time to strategize.”
Draylon raised one brow. “What about Yarif?”
“I’ll send for him.” Niam rose and stuck his head out the door, murmuring quietly.
In the time they’d been here, Draylon hadn’t seen many servants, so had no clue who might have just passed the door to be sent on an errand unless one of the guards went. The only people he’d seen were King Niam, the queen mother, a handful of guards, and Bert, who often slipped silently into a room, accomplished his task, then slipped out again.
Yarif joined them a few moments later, dressed in the style of the mountain folk, in hide trousers and a woolen shirt covered in delicate embroidered birds and vines and dyed the same color blue as his eyes. Nera’s close crop of Yarif’s hair, her attempt to minimize the damage, showed off high cheekbones and a refined jawline. He’d lost weight during his ordeal, but good meals and rest recently brought color back to his cheeks. In a word, he was beautiful.
Draylon would love to see Yarif in ceremonial Delletinian garb, which included a length of woolen cloth gathered at the waist, falling just below a man’s knees.
Draylon retrieved another chair and sat near King Niam and Rufe, pulling Yarif’s chair closer to Draylon’s than absolutely necessary. The memory of Yarif’s screams from last night still rang in Draylon’s ears.
Niam began. “Your Maj—”
“If I’m calling you Niam, call me Draylon or Dray.” Formalities slowed conversations, taking focus away from truly important matters.
Deep dimples formed on Niam’s cheeks. Though not much older than Draylon, he had a boyish quality to his features. He fixed his attention on Yarif. “My apologies. I fell into official meeting protocol. Yarif, you told me that Commander Illa Trandores carried out the abduction, and you believe she brought you here to make it look like an act of war on the part of Delletina.”
Yarif nodded. “Yes. She said her family once sat on the Delletina throne until deposed by your family, and she intended to retake her birthright.”
Niam shot to his feet. “Her birthright? If her family ever sat on the throne, they did so when no one else was looking. Her great-grandfather was a minor noble. A monster who abused his family and servants. He was brought to court for trial and died before justice could be served. My grandfather allowed her family to keep their lands and money, both squandered by her kin. When she joined the Imperial Army, she forfeited her right to any title.” He stared out the window at gently falling snow.
Snow. Bah! Draylon would take sunshine and sand over snow any day.
Niam continued, “My family has ruled Delletina since we broke away from Craice centuries ago. Any claims she made were all in her head.”
Draylon took over the telling. “She claims my fath… Emperor Soland promised her a throne. Either Delletina’s or another, hinging on her providing the empire a reason to attack and take over this country.”
Yarif chimed in, “She whipped me. Never said why, just told her men, ‘Tie him up’ whipped me like it was a task she needed to accomplish, then we got back on our horses.” His hands clenched into fists at the telling. Only by truly listening did Draylon hear the wavering in his voice. “Said she wanted it to look like I’d been tortured over time.”
He spoke so matter-of-factly about such a horrible event. Even if a soldier under his command had committed crimes, Draylon never beat them with such casual disregard. He’d killed Illa too quickly, too painlessly. “They wanted to drive the people’s resolve to avenge their former prince due to his ill treatment.” Draylon maneuvered his shoulder ever so discreetly to rest against Yarif’s in a silent show of support.
Niam barked a laugh. “They had no idea Yarif is my own dear cousin. Of course, great pains were taken to keep that news private.”
Yarif turned toward Draylon, “I told you that commander Illa looked familiar. She held several meetings with Father and Baro. I couldn’t find out at the time who she was.”
Niam stared out at nothing for a few moments before speaking quietly. “I’ve delayed this conversation to consult with my sources. I knew of a woman speaking a Delletinian dialect who paid secret visits to king Lleval—a woman matching the description of your Commander Illa Trandores. I can assure you, she has no connection to me, and my spies believed her to have been Lleval’s lover.” Niam gave a self-deprecating laugh. “I wonder if I need better spies.”
Draylon would have to question those sources later. For himself.
Niam continued, “Rumors say that Delletina might have been in alliance with Lleval, but I ask you, what would we want with lands filled with sand and water? While I knew of the Trandores family, I didn’t know about Illa specifically, as her father and mother left the country years ago.” He focused his attention on Draylon. “In case I haven’t made myself clear, we are not warmongers. We have an army well trained in mountain combat to defend ourselves if necessary.
“We have no interest in any land beyond our boundaries, though certain villages along the border have raided some on the Renvallian side in the past. Tit for tat and mostly done as a bit of good-natured one-upmanship or sheer boredom. Afterward, I believe they settle their differences and have a celebration. I mean, how exciting could sheepherding be? Many in power try to deny facts, but marriage between Delletina and Renvallian citizens happens often.” Niam’s smile grew enigmatic. “Or marriages between our citizens and those of other kingdoms in the empire.
“A few nobles try to stir up the masses on occasion, telling them the empire will come and steal their lands, but none have ever gained much of a following.”
“Are you still opposed to joining the empire?” Draylon would much rather have Niam as an ally than an enemy. He wasn’t about to pass on an opportunity to build bridges.
Niam shook his head, lips thinning into a tight line. “As long as Soland is emperor, we will remain free. He wants only our gold and to take whatever he can for his own uses, not to create a mutually beneficial agreement.” His gaze strayed to Rufe, who ducked his head.
Rufe? Shy? Who was this man, and what had he done with the real Rufe? Also very out of character for Rufe to let a conversation go on around him without adding more input.
Draylon recalled past heated conversations with his father. “He’ll call it ‘for the greater good.’ I’ve become so tired of those words.” What Father meant when he uttered them was for my good. “He also intends to unite the continent as his legacy.”
“They’ll never win over Craice by force. Or Delletina.” Niam turned a thoughtful frown directly to Draylon again. “You’ve seen the hazards of our mountains. It’s highly doubtful a flatlander force could make any headway against trained mountain warriors. Between avalanches, sudden rainstorms resulting in flash floods, blizzards, and vast wildernesses, the land herself protects us.” The corners of his mouth quirked upward. “Ah, did I mention sinkholes?”
“Sinkholes?” Rufe, Draylon, and Yarif all asked together.
“The mountains are riddled with underground caves. When the ceilings weaken, the ground above suddenly collapses, which is why the village you stayed in came to be deserted. Trust me, we won’t be conquered. Better to negotiate with us.”
“And you won’t negotiate with the current emperor.” Just to make certain, Draylon had to clarify.
The muscles in Niam’s jaw flexed. “We will not. Countless innocents have lost their lives because he’d rather wipe them from the earth than talk to them. You were a commander”—he nodded at Draylon— “and you a captain”—he shifted his attention to Rufe, where it lingered. “While I would be reluctant to kill your subordinates or even face the two of you in battle, we will not be defeated, have our riches pillaged and our citizens stripped of their rights. If we joined the empire, there would have to be protections and advantages for us. My people will not suffer under my rule.”
“I understand.” Draylon truly did. His father, however, never would. “But now I need to plan the next steps.”
“What next steps?”
“Yarif and I must return to Renvalle, take up our positions there, and expose the true villain behind Yarif’s kidnapping and torture. His Imperial Majesty Emperor Soland Aravaid.” Draylon let out a long breath, closing his eyes against the ache in his heart. “My father.”
Chapter Twenty-eight
Emperor Soland wouldn’t be pleased to find Yarif alive and Illa dead. A spark of pride filled Yarif’s chest. Simply by surviving, he might save many from needless suffering. Thwarting his father-in-law’s plans was a bonus.
Now, to keep himself alive. He kept his voice steady while addressing Draylon, though rage at the emperor burned hot within him. “No matter where we go, your father will still want me killed.” Draylon usually said “the emperor” instead of “my father,” but the fact of the matter remained: Draylon’s father wanted Yarif dead, and from what Yarif had learned over the years, Emperor Soland usually got what he wanted.
