Soldiers poured into the room from the hidden passageway and the door to the hallway.
Yarif would not go down without a fight. He struck, kicking the closest soldier straight in the gut. Two more came after him. He ducked below the first’s arm, neatly grabbing a knife from the soldier’s belt. Not a sword, but better than nothing. Besides, it looked like they wanted him alive.
For now. He couldn’t say the same for them.
He dove and rolled, coming up behind his second opponent. Another kick sent a table flying to bang against the door. Other guards had to overhear. However, they’d heard Yarif practicing before. The current ones were likely the commander’s soldiers anyway.
A blow to the head sent Yarif staggering. He rolled, regaining his feet, still clutching the knife and wiping blood from a split lip with his free hand.
With the door and panel blocked, his only choice for escape was the balcony. Or to hope for his husband to check on him. But what help would one man be, even one as impressive as Draylon? Oh, deities! What if the children came?
No. Yarif lunged, knocking a soldier’s feet from under him. The solder fell, taking out a comrade and loosening his grip on his sword.
“Thank you!” Yarif grabbed the sword, whipping the knife toward another soldier. The man screamed, collapsing to his knees while gripping the handle of the blade now firmly embedded in his shoulder.
Damnation. Yarif had aimed for the bastard’s throat.
Maybe he could make his way to the balcony to shout for help, provided he took Commander Illa hostage. He kicked the desk, driving back three soldiers. More took their places.
“I want him alive!” Illa shrieked.
Yarif slashed his way through the men standing between him and escape, the blade unfamiliar and unwieldy in his hand. He needed his rapier.
Armor slowed the soldier. While Yarif’s filmy garments offered no defense, they allowed him free movement.Parry, thrust, attack,he heard his old mentor coaching.
Outnumbered, outmatched. Weariness tugged at Yarif’s arms and legs. Panic sank its hooks into him. He wasn’t going to win.
Another man screamed as Yarif scored a point. He wouldn’t win, but he wouldn’t go easily either. His arm ached from the efforts of such a heavy blade. After this, he’d practice. Get Draylon to teach him.
If he ever saw Draylon again.
A crushing blow cracked against Yarif's skull, sending him staggering toward the wall. He swayed, then dropped to his knees. Where? What?Crash!Another blow. The sword slipped from his numb fingers.
A leering man’s face grew closer. Move! Why couldn’t Yarif move?
One more blow and the world went black.
Chapter Sixteen
Draylonfeltthedipin the bed as Yarif rose. Last night went better than expected. Yet how much had been real, and how much had Yarif fallen back on training, like steps in a well-rehearsed dance?
No, Yarif’s pre cum on Draylon’s tongue didn’t lie. Yarif had enjoyed.
But until he knew what Yarif planned, Draylon lay still, keeping his breathing steady. It would be nice to snuggle in bed a bit longer. Yarif fit so perfectly in Draylon’s arms. Was there a chance last night could be more than a single occurrence?
Yarif quietly dressed and slipped from the room. Why the sudden heaviness of Draylon’s heart? They weren’t a love match. Each had been forced into this situation, so why suddenly crave a few more precious moments?
Several times during the night Draylon had awoken to find himself wrapped around Yarif, or Yarif wrapped around him. Sometimes they both woke, made eye contact, then resumed their wedding night.
After all their intimacy, though, Yarif simply rose and walked away. Why? These were now his rooms too.
What had Draylon expected? They’d done their duty, married, consummated the marriage, and would now go back to living relatively separate lives, save for the occasional required public appearance.
Yarif had promised to help with the running of the kingdom. Maybe Draylon and Yarif could form a good working relationship, if not a marital one.
Draylon excelled on the battlefield, had defeated many a foe. Had gone against a stubborn emperor but now found himself afraid of making a misstep with his king consort.
Respect. Yarif wanted respect. He’d already earned some measure of admiration even in a short amount of time. Draylon should let him know.
