His hopes were dashed a moment later. “Search him,” the captain ordered. To Yarif, he said, “My apologies, Highness, but you must understand.”
They were enemies. Not for a minute would Yarif think otherwise. He held his hands out to his sides, wincing each time a soldier found and removed one of his knives. “Captain. If your word means anything, you’ll prevent them from stealing my belongings.”
“Understood, Highness.” The captain pointed to the two uninjured men. “Bring the knives.” He led Yarif to the antechamber of Father’s office, trailed by the two guards. At least they hadn’t discovered the blade hidden in Yarif’s hair.
An imposing man sat in a chair at the head of the table where Father once sat to confer with his advisors. How dare he, with Father’s body not yet cold?
The man rose, training an incendiary glare on Yarif. Four guards stood beside the man, but the walking wall of muscle likely needed no protection. Yarif fought not to tremble in his boots. This brute could easily break him in half.
The stranger bore the same skin tone local farmers attained during the height of summer, working in the fields. His eyes were nearly black, and his dark brown hair desperately needed washing. His facial scruff appeared unkempt, but weeks spent in a siege took its toll.
Though… a razor. One good slash…
The barbarian could be considered handsome in a dangerous way, his hawkish nose and unkempt appearance keeping him from true beauty. A shrewd light shone from his eyes, reminding Yarif of his brother’s favorite hunting falcon.
Right before a kill.
The captain bowed, a gesture not lost on Yarif. Unless the customs he’d read about were wrong, soldiers greeted superiors by bracing an arm over their chest. A bow meant… royalty.His Highness.
Yarif watched both men with new eyes.
Once more, the captain spoke the predominant language of Renvalle, or a reasonable attempt. “Commander Draylon, may I present Prince Yarif, second son of King Lleval DiRici? He doesn’t speak Cormiran.”
What was this? A formal state dinner? “Third son, actually,” Yarif corrected. He had no intention of wiping his other brother’s name from family history simply because he’d not survived childhood.
Like most foreigners, the captain pronounced the name “Dee—reachy,” instead of “Dee-richy.” Unless Yarif missed his guess, Draylon was a first name with no family name provided. So the commander didn’t want his lineage known. Interesting.
Draylon… Draylon… Yarif ran through a list of the noble families of the Cormiran empire. Glendor had a minor prince named Draylon, but he’d be no older than twenty. The king of Herix legitimized one of his bastards, also named Draylon. No, wait. Not Draylon, but Wraylon.
The emperor named his son Draylon.
Oh, deities! Could this be the emperor’s son?
Commander Draylon’s brow furrowed. “I was told there were three children.” He spoke flawless Renvallian. Soldiers conversant in two languages? Weren’t they only taught to kill and destroy?
Yarif stiffened. “I’ve seen twenty-two summers.”Stay quiet! Don’t give them information!He’d just thrown away any chance of leniency for being a boy still.
The creases eased from the commander’s face. Much better. “My apologies, Prince Yarif.” The commander’s voice held a hint of mockery. “My intelligence is apparently out of date.” He scowled at the captain. What was his name again? Rufe Ferund. Renvallian solders used rank and first name. How many other armies did, Yarif couldn’t say. People often blamed the nation of Herix, where rumor said only five family names existed.
While Yarif occasionally met a dignitary from the capital—slippery and manipulative, mostly—he’d not had positive experiences with Cormiran soldiers.
Captain Rufe merely shrugged. The way he and the commander sent questioning glances each other’s way, or turned from Yarif to see what the other thought, hinted at familiarity.
“Be seated.” Commander Draylon waved a hand toward the next chair down the table, dropping heavily into his. Amazing the chair didn’t groan. The words sounded too much like a command. Soon enough, Yarif would be ordered around. He’d fight until the very end. He remained standing.
Two soldiers took up station behind Yarif at a nod from their commander
“Where are my brother and sister?” Yarif’s heart pounded. Anyone in this room could easily kill him without reason. “I was told I could see them.”
“I’m not bastard enough to drag two innocent children in here. They’re safe, with their governess, in what I’m told is their schoolroom.”
Not Yarif’s room, then. Maybe no one had found the escape routes yet. “Are the children safe?” They’d never be safe again as the children of a power-hungry deceiver who’d plotted against the emperor.
“Yes.” Commander Draylon shifted back in a chair much too small for comfort. He draped an arm over the back, tension easing from his face while formality momentarily lessened from his speech. “Last I heard, they were enjoying an afternoon snack. I told them you’d visit later. That you were busy at present.”
“They’re… they’re not afraid?” If these monsters harmed one hair on their heads…
“We’ve reassured them as much as we can. Strange how they asked about you and not their parents.” That hawklike gaze took in too much for Yarif’s comfort. Still, he wouldn’t look away. Couldn’t look away.
