“Oh? What part do you object to? Ruling as king or being saddled with me?” The words tasted bitter and sounded worse. How could this be happening?
“I’m not the firstborn, and my brother has children. My role was never to lead.” This was the closest Draylon had come to claiming kinship with the emperor. “I was trained for war at an early age, and I’d like to think I’m good at it. I worked my way up the ranks. I earned the title ‘commander.’ Men like me don’t make good spouses, leaving at the emperor's whim on a moment’s notice, sometimes gone for months with little guarantee we’ll return. I couldn’t do that to someone. I never intended to marry.”
All that without taking a visible breath. Impressive. “Oh. So it’s nothing personal. How will this play out?” If Yarif couldn’t finagle his way out of the wedding.
“You’ll have to formally abdicate the throne, I’ll be named king, and we marry.”
After which Yarif’s role would be fulfilled, and few would care if he landed at the bottom of a cliff. He looked up from contemplating the broken plate. Those might as well be his bones. “When would this happen?”
Draylon didn’t answer immediately, allowing far too much time for Yarif to imagine the worst. “In three days.”
“What?” Three days? “I’m not to be given time to mourn, plan, or even think?” Yarif's voice came out shrill, but he couldn’t be bothered to worry who might overhear. “What of my father’s and brother’s funerals? It’s our custom to burn their bodies, releasing their spirits for the gods to judge.” Yarif hadn’t held much stock in some religious customs, but his kin should be given the dignity of a proper sendoff.
“Their bodies have already been disposed of.”
This time, Yarif screamed, banging his hand on the table. “I wasn’t allowed to be there as their next of kin? His children weren’t allowed to say their goodbyes? Uncouth barbarians! Every last one of you!” What a horrible lack of respect. For all his treachery, Father had been a king.
Throughout the tirade, Draylon remained quiet, though not looking in Yarif’s direction. “I understand your anger. Believe me, I do, but what I’m offering, what the emperor is offering, is the best possible outcome for you and yours. The emperor doesn’t care whether you like his decision or not.”
Yarif took several deep breaths, letting each out slowly, digging his fingernails into his palms. Stabbing this arrogant bastard to death right now might satisfy revenge, but at the cost of Yarif’s life, and possibly Emile’s and Adrina’s. Yarif needed to take his time and recover from the shock of the unexpected proposal.
Make plans.
He couldn’t make plans in his mother’s garden with this savage beast of a Cormiran watching his every move. “I need to think about this.” He fled into the castle so fast his guard had to run to keep up.
Yarif had said he’d check on the twins, but they’d know something was wrong if he saw them now.
Several people crossed Yarif’s path. He took no note of any of them, storming past, up the stairs, and into his rooms. He tried to slam the door, but the guard caught it. “Sorry, Your Hi… Your Majesty. I’ve been ordered to stay with you at all times.”
Yarif fumed. The guard flushed, but whether in anger or embarrassment, who could say? He was an older man, perhaps Father’s age…
No. No thinking of Father now.
Yarif’s gaze landed on the ornate panel hiding the passageway out of the castle. The former governess likely told the soldiers all about its existence.
He engaged the door lock—at least they allowed him that much privacy—ran into his bed chamber and threw himself onto his bed like he hadn’t in years. Married! In three days! Why so suddenly?
At least the guard didn’t follow him.
Thoughts and ideas clicked into place. Yarif sat up, propped on his arms behind him. The emperor needed to secure this kingdom, shield the borders against invaders who’d take advantage of the chaos, and return to the capital.
He could easily establish a garrison here by placing Commander Draylon in charge. What could they want with Yarif?
Ah. Easier to legitimize a takeover with a puppet to play along.
The illusion of showing mercy to the family of a traitor. Yarif knew the local language, but then again, so did the commander, but Yarif also knew the people. He had no illusions of being a great leader, but making him consort would keep him in the public eye. Poor Baro had depended on Yarif for business matters. Rather than Draylon spending time and effort to put the pieces together and keep the kingdom viable, Yarif could step right in, knowing full well how things ran.
If Draylon spoke to May, she’d likely disclosed that Yarif would be the brains behind the throne when Baro came to power. While May might be the personification of the Goddess of Motherhood, she couldn’t keep a secret to save her life.
In the public eye.Renvallians would see Draylon as a foreigner, tolerated at best, despised at worst. Yarif was Renvallian by birth. Plus, as consort, if given the power, he could continue the charitable works started by his mother.
And hewouldbe given the power. While he didn’t like scheming, one used the tools at hand. From what Draylon had said, he’d never wanted to marry. Perhaps they could have a marriage like Father and Mother’s, where they put on a united front when necessary but otherwise led separate lives.
No doubt Draylon would take lovers aplenty. To make the illusion work, he must be discreet. The emperor could take Yarif’s stepmother wherever he liked, but the children must stay here, under Yarif’s watchful eyes, learning of their heritage. He’d make that his one inescapable demand.
Theywouldn’tgo to the temple to learn to be consorts. Nor would they be sold off.
Yarif revisited an old fantasy from his younger days. A dashing man smiling at him, eyes full of love. The chapel bedecked in summer flowers, even roses from Mother’s garden. People would come from every kingdom in the empire to witness the marriage of Prince Yarif to the mystery man.
