“WhatcouldEmperorAvestanpossibly want with me?” Could this be the beginning of an alliance?
Unless Avestan planned to follow through on his father’s assassination scheme. Yarif had fought too hard to stay alive to give in now.
He dressed carefully in the rooms he now shared with Draylon, hoping to win respect but unwilling to emulate the former consort by flaunting jewelry and clothing far beyond what all but the wealthiest could afford. Not his style.
Yarif had grown used to simple attire while in hiding, decorated with embroidery instead of jewels. Far more comfortable and less conspicuous. He chose plain brown trousers and a loose-fitting tunic of cream linen, open at the throat. Sturdy boots completed the outfit.
He stared down at his bare hand. Where was his ring now? On the mountain still, with Illa?
Draylon rose from his place on the bed. “I have something for you.”
“What?”
Draylon took Yarif’s hand, sliding on a golden ring with a beautiful sapphire stone. “I know Illa stole your wedding ring. And it was just something simple Father’s secretary acquired. While we were in Delletina, my mother sent this one. I found it with a note in my room.”
Yarif turned his hand, watching the stone catch the light. “It’s beautiful.” He’d always loved sapphires.
“It was my great-grandfather’s ring. I kept it locked away, never thinking I’d marry. It belongs on your hand if you like it.” Uncertainty clouded Draylon’s eyes.
“I love it. Thank you.” So much better than the plain band the emperor put no thought into.
Draylon smiled, lifting Yarif’s hand to his lips.
Yarif couldn’t help smiling as he faced the mirror despite his ruined hair and many bruises.
Marks of honor.
“Shall we go?” Draylon was coming with Yarif, right?
Draylon nodded.
Two guards fell into step behind as they left their rooms, much to the grumbling of Draylon, but this time for protection, not as jailers. Or so Yarif hoped. He wasted no time getting to his father’s old office.
One of the many secretaries in the outer office bowed low. “Good evening, Your Majesties. His Imperial Majesty is waiting.”
“I’ll wait for you here.” Draylon dropped a kiss on Yarif’s nose. “I’m right here if you need me.”
The woman opened the door to the inner office, then closed the door behind Yarif.
No one sat behind the desk.
“Ah, Yarif. Good of you to join me” came a cheery voice from the chair in the corner. Tea service and a plate of pastries sat on a low table.
Yarif had seen and spoken to Avestan before, but never alone. Steeling his nerves, he sat on the opposite chair where Avestan beckoned.
“Would you like tea?” Avestan filled two cups without waiting for an answer. “I must import some of your local teas when I return to Cormira. I’ve grown quite fond of them. My wife will love them too. She does enjoy a good cup of tea.” Avestan’s smile reassured Yarif that his head might not be on the chopping block.
“Thank you, Your Majesty.”
Avestan nodded. “Please. We’re brothers in the eyes of the law. Call me Avestan or Avi.” He took a sip of tea, closed his eyes, then reopened them with an “Ahh… I needed that.”
The day’s strain showed around his eyes, dark circles underneath.
Yarif took a sip from his cup. Having been raised on Renvallian tea, he didn’t quite understand why Avestan made such a big deal over something so familiar unless he merely meant to compliment one of the kingdom’s chief exports. “Thank you,” Yarif said. “You wanted to see me?” His frazzled nerves couldn’t handle making idle conversation until Avestan grew ready to state his purpose.
Avestan’s smile appeared tired. “Straight to the point! My brother said as much.”
What else had Draylon said? “Isn’t it better not to waste time?”
