Draylon rolled his broad shoulders. “I wasn’t asked, but my preferences for male company are known.”
Such a relief. “That’s good. The thought of being with a man who is repulsed by me…” Yarif let the thought trail off.
Draylon gave a bittersweet smile. “I find it hard to believe anyone could be repulsed by you. But the same goes. I know you don’t want this marriage, but will marriage to a man compound your discomfort?”
“Like you, I prefer men. You’re the only person besides my brothers, sister, and mother to ever be concerned with my wants and needs.”
Draylon raised one brow. “Even as the man who killed your father?”
Something Yarif tried to put from his mind to preserve his sanity. “I’m not sure how I feel about his death, but believe your telling of how he died. For the time being, I mustn’t dwell on it.”
“I’ll do everything in my power to be a thoughtful husband, but I must admit, as a bachelor soldier, I don’t have much practical experience making a relationship work. We’re both at the emperor’s mercy. Don’t act against me, and I’ll return the favor.”
Yarif stared at the floor. Maybe life with Draylon wouldn’t be so bad after all. In most arranged marriages he’d seen, the two people merely tolerated each other, taking other lovers. Mother had loved Father and stuck with him, defending even his worst behaviors. At the same time, Father bedded anyone who wandered too close. Yarif couldn’t—wouldn’t—live like that. In the end, Mother had stopped laughing, neglect weighing like a yoke upon her neck, until she sickened and died.
He'd overheard servants saying Mother died to escape Father. No, she’d never have left Yarif.
Despite his and Yarif’s suspicions about each other, Draylon had promised to try to make this situation work, which gave some measure of hope.
Even trying, though, didn’t guarantee success.
Maybe. Just maybe. Marrying Draylon wouldn’t be so horrible after all.
What was Yarif thinking? This man was his enemy! Admitted to killing Father. Not without reason.
Yarif now fully understood an expression he’d heard about certain couples.He’d best sleep with a knife under his pillow.
Ever the overachiever, Yarif would sleep with two.
Chapter Ten
RufewaitedasDraylonexited the borrowed chamber of some minor noble—who’d fled when the war trumpets sounded—somewhat cleaner than when he’d arrived. At least Rufe’s injuries had begun to heal. He’d worn ceremonial armor rather than what he’d wear into battle, which still would intimidate the uninitiated.
Draylon opted for a borrowed long-sleeved tunic to lower the temptation to scratch his own healing wounds. Besides, no one at the upcoming meeting wanted to acknowledge that someone else’s blood spilled to keep them in their lofty positions.
“I wonder what our dear emperor has in store for us today,” Rufe said, eyeing Draylon up and down, one side of his mouth lifted into a smirk. “I’ve noticed a flock of clucking hens gathering outside the first-floor council chamber. They’ve squawked your name more than once.” He shrugged. “Have I ever told you how glad I am that you got stuck with the emperor for a father and not me?”
Draylon shook his head. “Only about a million times.” He felt awkward without armor, though he rested his hand on his sword hilt. “I feel naked, but Father told me to present myself as both prince and commander. I think he hopes to strike fear into the nobles.”
“I’m sure it has nothing to do with your looking like the offspring of a bear and a bull.” Rufe slapped Draylon on the back—a little too hard since they were both used to wearing scale armor. “I’m here to protect you, Highness.” Rufe made an exaggerated bow, made ungainly by his armor. “What is that you’re wearing, by the way?”
Draylon stared down at his light green tunic, embroidered with a leaf motif, and the fitted brown trousers. He hadn’t had much to pick from due to his size, and would have nothing at all if he’d not befriended May. “I’m told it’s the height of Renvalle fashion.”
“Oh, that explains it. Lucky for us we’re seldom at court. Because that outfit? If you approached me at a party, I’d turn you down for your clothing choice alone.”
“A situation Father intends to change, at least as far as court is concerned.” Draylon hadn’t told Rufe yet about the full extent of Father’s plans, as Rufe had been busy securing prisoners. While Draylon trusted Rufe with his life, he didn’t want to further their divide—in Rufe’s eyes, anyway. “Come, we need to get to the meeting.”
“We?” Rufe grabbed Draylon’s arm. “Why do I have to go?”
Because, in a way, this affected Rufe too. “Because things could get a little… heated, and I need someone I can trust at my back.”
Draylon trudged toward the stairs, hiding a wince. He was a soldier, a warrior. What purpose had he in a council chamber? Or these far too elaborate clothes.
Personally, he agreed with Rufe.
The first-floor hallway looked familiar from when a much younger Draylon had once visited with his father for unknown reasons. Before Renvalle sought independence from the high throne and hatched a plot to murder the emperor.
However, Draylon never saw any children at the time. He’d have remembered Prince Yarif. Oh, right. Yarif would've likely been a babe in arms at the time.
