“That’s Commander Illa Trandores.” The name wasn’t spoken with reverence. “The emperor promoted her to fill my position.”
Commander Illa. Something seemed familiar about the cruel twist of her lips, how she glared at others with disdain. “Is she noble?”
“She was. I believe her family lost titles and land to some scandal years ago, though I’m uncertain which kingdom they came from. The Trandores have tried to worm their way back into favor ever since.” Concern knitted Draylon’s brows. “Why?”
“I’m not sure. I recognize her from somewhere but can’t recall.”
Draylon turned his attention to the woman. “I’m unsure what she’s done to earn the emperor’s favor. I’d have promoted Captain Rufe.”
Your lover?Yarif wanted to ask. No. Who Draylon bedded wasn’t Yarif’s concern unless it cast a shadow over the family. Or Yarif woke up to find an extra person in his bed.
He sipped his wine. He’d rather have had something stronger. Much stronger.
After a torturous two hours or so, Yarif finally left with Draylon. May stepped from the shadows, winked, and dropped something into Yarif’s tunic pocket. Poison, maybe? He’d check the contents later.
Staring up at the grand staircase, Yarif gave a heavy gulp. Now came the moment of truth.
Consummating his marriage.
He could refuse, or Draylon could. What would it help? They were married, and nothing could change things.
The crowd cheered as he and Draylon ascended the stairs. After a pointed look from the emperor, Draylon took Yarif’s hand. That was how they’d play the game, pretending to be a love match after knowing each other for a handful of days.
Love didn’t happen so fast, even in Yarif’s forbidden romance books. However, royal children learned from an early age how to act the part they were given.
They strode past Yarif’s room and Draylon’s. Where were they going?
At the far end of the hall, another staircase loomed. They couldn’t be going to Father’s old rooms. “No, I can’t.” Yarif nearly whimpered.
“It’s all right. I consulted with May.”
They strode past the old king’s suites to a set that had been used by the grandfather Yarif barely remembered, which had sat empty since the old man’s death.
Draylon opened the door, an uneasy half smile on his lips. “I hope the arrangement pleases you.”
Yarif’s favorite chair sat in the sitting room next to a perfect match he hadn’t known existed. A long, cushioned bench allowed more seating and might have been a refurbished relic from Grandfather’s time. A crystal wine decanter and two glasses sat on a low table, along with a selection of sweets. A low fire burned in the hearth, likely more for ambiance than to ward off a chill.
Oil lamps chased back shadows.
While Draylon poured them each a glass of wine, Yarif removed his hair pin and unbraided his hair, letting the loose strands tumble in waves. Next, he examined May’s gift from his pocket. How thoughtful. He’d need to thank her later.
Yarif pulled the cork from the vial and gave a sniff. Ah, yes. The liquid courage he so desperately needed. He downed half the contents while Draylon’s back was turned, feeling the liquid burn down his throat. Not too much. It wouldn’t do to lose consciousness on the wedding night.
He stoppered and returned the vial to his pocket in time to accept a glass of wine when Draylon turned around. Sweat beaded on Yarif’s forehead, though the room wasn’t overly warm. Were his hands shaking?
Yarif took the glass from Draylon’s trembling hand, placing both on the table. There was no need to make this unpleasant. He’d spent years learning how to be the perfect consort, without emotions involved.
He’d think of tonight as his final test.
Yarif cradled Draylon’s face between his palms.
“You don’t have to be attracted to me or even plan to share my bed after tonight. You’ve enjoyed men for a night without expectations, haven’t you?” Yarif tried to keep images of Draylon and Rufe out of his head. “We’re together with a long night ahead of us. We might as well enjoy as best we can.” Despite his efforts not to, Yarif added, “You don’t have a lover you feel you’re betraying, do you?”
Draylon stared at Yarif for a long moment before decisively shaking his head. “No. No lover. What about you?”
“I’ve never had a lover.”
“Never? You mean you’re a—”
