Draylon nearly winced at his father’s horrible mispronunciation of the name. The woman turned to a companion, repeating the words in Renvallian. Ah, so not all at the table spoke Cormiran.
Father examined his fingernails as the nobles chattered at each other. The woman said, “But—”
“For your king’s treachery, you no longer have a say.” His Imperial Majesty Soland Aravaid, in all his arrogant glory, spoke in ominous tones. Only the foolhardy would dare challenge him now. “The marriage will take place, and King Draylon will rule Renvalle with King Consort Yarel at his side.”
Father wouldn’t make a mistake like mispronouncing another king’s name. He’d meant the slights intentionally. He sought to further make the point that, in his eyes, these people and their current king were nothing. “Many nobles of the court will be tried for treason. This kingdom will either fall in line or be crushed under the heel of the empire.”
If only Avestan were here. Draylon’s brother always managed to rein Father in before he went too far. Advisors hissed at Father in Cormiran to no avail. He continued, “I intend to establish a garrison here of both Renvallian and Cormiran soldiers. We cannot defend our borders without a sufficient army.”
“You seek to control us,” the woman grumbled.
“Based on recent behavior, Renvalle needs controlling.”
The woman opened her mouth. A glare from Father made her think twice.
“I’ve told you all of my plans that you need to know,” Father said. “Make preparations for the change in power.”
The Renvallians grumbled as they left the room.
The moment they’d gone, Father addressed the secretary. “I want every one of those nobles investigated. Look until you find something. We’ll make an example of them. They have no power. It’s time they understood their new positions.”
Draylon choked back anger, keeping his voice civil. “Your Majesty, please don’t destroy the kingdom you want me to rule. I have to live with these nobles and may need their influence.”
Father twisted his mouth in distaste. “You don’t need their influence. You have the ultimate power.”
Spoken like a man who’d just faced an uprising. “You have your style. I have mine. I won’t rule by fear of retaliation.”
Father threw back his head, booming out a deep laugh. “You have so much to learn.” He sobered. “I hope you learn before this kingdom tears you apart.”
So did Draylon.
Chapter Eleven
Paperssatonthedesk in the office once used by Yarif’s father. “They’re written in Cormiran,” Yarif said in heavily accented Renvallian, wrinkling his nose while sitting beside his future husband.
His husband. He’d have to get used to that. Also, the future father-in-law sitting across the desk. And the guards along the walls. And the two secretaries.
“My son can translate if you need.” The emperor’s Renvallian failed in comparison to Draylon’s.
Yarif nodded, reading over the documents silently while Draylon read them aloud, which he did verbatim, not shortening or leaving things out.
In the end, Yarif dipped the quill into ink and formally signed the forms, giving up all claims to the throne, trying not to think too hard about ending his family’s legacy. Someone located a Renvallian noble somewhere to drag in as his witness since all others available were the emperor’s men.
Next came the legal documents granting the wardship of Adrina and Emile to Yarif.
Yarif kept his lesser titles of Earl of somewhere he’d never seen and Baron of a place that was ninety percent pig farm.
With legal work done an hour later, Draylon’s hand on his arm kept Yarif in his chair as all others left the room. “Are you all right?” Draylon’s dark brown eyes dared Yarif to lie.
“As well as can be expected.”
“I’ve found that fighting a battle is easier with two swords than one.” Draylon tipped Yarif’s chin up with two fingers until their gazes met. “I know you didn’t want this. I didn’t either, but working against each other will only bring misery.”
“Working together might not be much better,” Yarif replied, though he understood what Draylon meant. He wasn’t in the mood for platitudes and left the room, never looking back, one last defiant act of free will.
Night settled over Renvalle Castle, the edges of the sky pink, purple, and blue. The forestland added various colors of green to the landscape. In the distance, blue and grey mountains stood, some capped in white. Yarif leaned with his elbows on the balcony railing, looking down on the city.
Life went on below his perch. Horse hooves clattered over cobblestones; two men shouted greetings to each other in Cormiran. His mother’s garden took up space to the left, and to the right, the courtyard with its gleaming marble. He’d never get the memory from his head of looking out the window at pink water and a noblewoman’s arm hanging at a grotesque angle from the central fountain.
