All humor fled Rufe’s face. “I won’t leave you.”
“You can, and you will. Get him to safety. That’s our entire mission.”
Rufe held Draylon’s gaze. “You’re not rescuing him simply out of a misguided sense of obligation, are you?”
Draylon glanced away. Rufe gripped Draylon’s chin until they faced each other again.
No lying to Rufe. “No. We’re bound, but it’s more. I know I can’t rule a kingdom without him. I need him.”
“It’s more than that.” Rufe’s wide mouth lifted at one corner. “You’re coming to like him, aren’t you?”
“He’s not at all what I expected. In the past, lovers have wanted me to use my power, connections, and wealth to their advantage. Wanted me to take care of them. Yarif never stopped going to his office, working tirelessly for the kingdom. And he’d kick me in the balls if I even suggested he needed taking care of.”
“You hope that if you gain his admiration, he’ll do the same for you.” Rufe could be astute when he wanted to.
Draylon ground his teeth together. “I don’t want blind loyalty. I want to know he’s with me because he wants to be.”
Rufe reeled back as though slapped, then laughed. “Oh, ho! You love him.”
Fire raced up Draylon’s cheeks. “Maybe not now, for we hardly know each other, but I’m fond and can see that fondness growing over time.” As much as he would admit to right now.
Rufe saluted. “Then I’ll do everything I can to see you get your chance.”
“I hope to do the same for you one day,” Draylon quietly murmured. “I know you say you don’t want a mate, but I’ve seen it in you. Remember that I won’t let you be pulled in by anyone who isn’t good for you.”
“Why do you think I’m here by your side, helping you get Yarif back?” Rufe patted Draylon’s cheek with one gloved hand. “How long have I known you? You’re not gonna get anyone better, you old grouch. Yarif will be in your arms again by sunset. This, I promise.” He wrinkled his nose. “Though I’d suggest a bath first. You’re beginning to smell.”
“Better than that horrible cologne you were doused in at Renvalle.”
Rufe winced. “I’m inclined to agree. That stuff was hideous.”
Rufe’s mule shoved her big head into Rufe’s back, nearly sending him sprawling. He laughed. “Okay, foul beast. See if I ever sing your praises again.”
The mule sidestepped, trying to avoid being mounted. In the end, Rufe swung into the saddle, saluting before riding away.
Draylon finished packing his saddlebags, then scratched his mount’s long, furry ears. “Help me get Yarif back, and I’ll sing your praises all day long.” The creature answered by baring its teeth far too close to Draylon’s hand. Draylon jerked his hand back. “Oh, no, you don’t. I’ve learned your evil ways, my friend.” He missed Gryphon, but Vihaan was right. The sturdy warhorse wouldn’t have been much use along narrow mountain paths.
Draylon mounted the mule, carefully avoiding teeth, and fell into line behind Rufe, ready to reclaim his consort.
No, not his consort. Yarif.
The man Draylon had a sneaky suspicion he might come to love.
If they both lived through the next few days.
Chapter Twenty-one
Thewalltooneside of Yarif grew steeper, the mountaintops disappearing from view into lowering skies. Though Renvalle’s snow typically fell later in the season, he’d been told Delletina’s winters came early, staying long. If those clouds held a storm, this passage between two mountains might soon be impassable.
They’d resorted to riding nose to tail long ago, with Yarif right behind Illa.
Of the group, only Yarif and Illa studied the skies. She’d been oddly quiet, except to snarl, “Move your lazy asses! We need to get through while the weather holds.” If the remainder of the group indeed were from Cormira, many had likely never seen snow.
And didn’t know the dangers.
Tales abounded of travelers unlucky enough to get caught in a storm, buried in snow until the spring thaw. Delletina could be a cold, unforgiving land, the beauty of which lured in the unwary to harsh rainstorms capable of washing away whole villages in a matter of moments, and snows as high as the common house’s roofline.
Yarif shivered under his threadbare blanket—his only protection against the bitter cold. They’d taken him in only his wedding finery, now stained, torn, and not nearly warm enough. His boots, made more for show than function, also didn’t protect against rocks the few times he’d been made to walk.
