Yarif had dwelled on his fantasy every time Father signed a betrothal contract for him. Some people, even nobles, married for love. Compared to the prior contracts, Commander Draylon came closest to Yarif in age.
The emperor intended to make Draylon a king. Which only made this union more critical.
Yarif rose from the bed, returned to the antechamber and the writing desk, and lit the lamp. Quill and ink at hand, he drafted a list of demands.
Chapter Seven
Rufeslunkfromtheshadows and settled into the chair vacated by Yarif. To the guards, he said, “You may go now. I think Draylon and I can take care of ourselves.” Once they’d left, Rufe told Draylon, “I’m glad to see you’re still the same silver-tongued charmer as always, Dray.” He tilted his head to one side. “No, wait. That would be me. You’re the guy who finds someone in his bed and wonders how he managed to make a conquest… Until the guy wakes up, expecting to see me.” Rufe grinned.
“That only happened once, and I hadn’t touched him. He was too drunk.” Draylon scowled, slouching into his chair. “But you’ve got a point. Maybe I should’ve gotten you to do the talking.” He wrinkled his nose. “You smell like a brothel!”
Rufe sighed. “I had no suitable clothes for traipsing around castles. Those I borrowed were already liberally doused.”
“Did a cook by the name of May procure them for you?”
“How did you know?”
“Trust me, Rufe, you want to stay on that woman’s good side.” Draylon wrinkled his nose again. “Right now, I think she’s not too happy with you. Not that I object to someone to commiserate with, but what are you doing here?”
“I wouldn’t dare miss watching the most awkward proposal in the history of awkward proposals. You could have told him he had nice eyes, a pleasant voice, or a throbbing endowment worthy of a king’s personal scrutiny. Or something like that. Stroke his ego a bit.”
“Please tell me you placed no bets on the outcome.” The last thing Draylon needed was for word of his humiliation to reach the troops.
“Would I do that?” Rufe batted his long eyelashes.
Draylon rolled his eyes. “Um… yes. That was awful.”
“Yes, it was, but you don’t have a knife sticking from your chest, so I say you could have done worse.”
“This isn’t a love match,” Draylon grumbled, “and I won’t pretend otherwise.” While he had no illusions of marrying for love and hadn’t known what to expect, Yarif’s sudden departure left Draylon—sad.
Sympathetic but sad. Why? Neither one wanted this. Maybe they could console each other.
Rufe refilled the single remaining wine glass and took a sip. “If you’re going to have to do this anyway, why not make the most of it? He’s gorgeous, has the breeding of a man fit to bring home to Mother, and he’s been raised to be a consort.” Rufe waggled his brows. “Sounds like fun.”
“What are you talking about?” While Draylon loved Rufe as a true friend, sometimes he imagined his hands wrapped around the asshole’s neck.
“Ah, if you don’t know about local customs pertaining to consorts, I won’t ruin the surprise.”
“I’m sorry you had to find out about the marriage plans the way you did. I didn’t have time to talk to you privately.” Which likely happened by the design of the emperor.
Rufe made a dismissive gesture with the wineglass. “The great emperor spoke, leaving you no choice but to do his bidding. Have I ever told you how grateful I am that you were born into the imperial family, not me?”
Despite all his efforts not to smile, Draylon finally succumbed to the urge. “I believe this is the second time this week.”
“Ah, yeah, right. I mean it more with each telling. Now…” Rufe sat the wineglass on the table. “What do you intend to do?”
“What can I do? Get married, try to run a kingdom, and hope I don’t do either too badly.”Hope he’s not a traitor. Hope he doesn’t knife me in my sleep.
Rufe snorted. “Oh, come on, now. You’re one hell of a soldier, clean up nicely, and aren’t the worst I’ve had in bed.”
“Okay, silver-tongued charmer, I think you’ve lost your touch because those are some of the worst compliments I’ve ever heard come out of your mouth—and I’ve heard plenty.”
“All I’m saying is, this country and that man could do much worse. I’ve known you most of my life and have drunk heavily lately. I think the two are related.” Rufe paused for more wine. “Anyway, whatever you commit to, you give your all. You can be a fantastic king and a good husband. Under the circumstances, you two might never fall in love and become the stuff of bards’ songs, but you can manage to tolerate each other. Because you’re not expected to have heirs yourselves, once you get the marriage consummation over with, you never have to see each other naked again if you don’t want.” He smirked. “I mean, who’d want a brute like you, scarred and with at least a decade over the mere slip of a boy?”
“He’s twenty-two. I’m thirty. And you did want to see this, once.” Draylon waved a hand, indicating his body. Though in hindsight, what had it been? Six months? Which told its own tale about how important sex was to their relationship.
“With that thought in mind,” Rufe began, with all the ceremony of an important announcement, “I must tell you in case you haven’t figured it out already. Our dalliances are now at an end. I’d hoped for one more time for old times’ sake, but you’re a betrothed man now.”
