I give my solemn vow to protect you and yours.
“I want you to hold me tonight. We don’t have to do anything else.” While his body wished to experience Draylon’s again, fatigue pulled at Yarif’s limbs.
He might even sleep better, not in fear of the guards outside the door or the emperor suddenly discovering he lived.
“I’d like nothing better.” Draylon closed the distance, bending and pressing their lips together.
Chapter Twenty-seven
Draylontriednottohover over the next two weeks and allowed Yarif time to get to know his family, but staying away proved hard. What if they convinced Yarif to remain in the mountain kingdom and dissolve the marriage?
Draylon couldn’t make up for his father’s horrible plotting if not given half a chance. Besides, he needed Yarif’s help if he hoped to become a worthy ruler for Renvalle. A surprising ambition for a man who never wanted to be king.
He’d been given the job. He would do his best for the kingdom and its people. If for no other reason than to aggravate his father, who likely planned to watch Draylon fail spectacularly in his new position.
Draylon recalled the previous night, how natural Yarif felt in his arms, like he belonged there.
Perhaps he did.
Now, night after night, the nightmares. Waking to an armful of trembling Yarif. All because of Father. Draylon had started off sleeping in the chair by the bed to keep the nightmares at bay once Nera weaned Yarif off the sleeping potions. Draylon wound up in the bed each time, not for sex, but for comfort.
Now he paced the room he’d been given, where he retreated when Nera sent him from Yarif’s side. Draylon’s pent-up tension sought an outlet. Two weeks had given him time to recover from his injuries and wonder about his next move. Maybe Rufe would be up to some company.
Two guards stood by the door. What? These guys weren’t here yesterday—had something happened? Hadn’t Niam ruled Yarif, Draylon, and Rufe harmless, unneedful of constant guarding?
Draylon ignored the guards and tapped on Rufe’s door. “Rufe, I…” The door swung open from an overly ambitious knock.
Niam leaned back in his chair by Rufe’s bedside in a practiced move designed to appear casual. Rufe, on the other hand, jerked away. Had Draylon interrupted something interesting? He must remember to tease Rufe later.
At least Niam’s presence explained the guards.
Draylon cleared his throat. “Forgive me. I didn’t mean to—”
“It’s all right, Dray.” Rufe beamed. “I’m feeling much better, and His Majesty came for a visit.” Rufe even had the good grace to look—sheepish?
Well, well. Even more interesting. Rufe always had been partial to redheads, but a king? He’d avoided such situations before, not wanting to be seen as a social climber—thus the discreet liaisons with Draylon.
King Niam turned to face the door. “Please, both of you. I’ve told you to call me Niam when we’re in private.” He nodded to a second chair. “Your timing is impeccable. I believe it’s time to strategize.”
Draylon raised one brow. “What about Yarif?”
“I’ll send for him.” Niam rose and stuck his head out the door, murmuring quietly.
In the time they’d been here, Draylon hadn’t seen many servants, so had no clue who might have just passed the door to be sent on an errand unless one of the guards went. The only people he’d seen were King Niam, the queen mother, a handful of guards, and Bert, who often slipped silently into a room, accomplished his task, then slipped out again.
Yarif joined them a few moments later, dressed in the style of the mountain folk, in hide trousers and a woolen shirt covered in delicate embroidered birds and vines and dyed the same color blue as his eyes. Nera’s close crop of Yarif’s hair, her attempt to minimize the damage, showed off high cheekbones and a refined jawline. He’d lost weight during his ordeal, but good meals and rest recently brought color back to his cheeks. In a word, he was beautiful.
Draylon would love to see Yarif in ceremonial Delletinian garb, which included a length of woolen cloth gathered at the waist, falling just below a man’s knees.
Draylon retrieved another chair and sat near King Niam and Rufe, pulling Yarif’s chair closer to Draylon’s than absolutely necessary. The memory of Yarif’s screams from last night still rang in Draylon’s ears.
Niam began. “Your Maj—”
“If I’m calling you Niam, call me Draylon or Dray.” Formalities slowed conversations, taking focus away from truly important matters.
Deep dimples formed on Niam’s cheeks. Though not much older than Draylon, he had a boyish quality to his features. He fixed his attention on Yarif. “My apologies. I fell into official meeting protocol. Yarif, you told me that Commander Illa Trandores carried out the abduction, and you believe she brought you here to make it look like an act of war on the part of Delletina.”
Yarif nodded. “Yes. She said her family once sat on the Delletina throne until deposed by your family, and she intended to retake her birthright.”
