“Yes, Your Majesty,” the two men said in unison. As one, they turned and marched from the room.
Once they left, Niam said, “I’ve alerted my secretary, who will look into Whreyn’s properties. I’ll discover if he has foreign visitors and what his finances are like. I need any leverage or flaws we can exploit to discredit him if needed. He’s long ago earned my distrust, so I’ll likely return to the capital to find files upon files about him. Do not worry. If he’s in any way connected, he’ll be stopped.”
“Thank you.” The muscles in Draylon’s jaw twitched.
“It will take him three days to return to his estate. In that time, we must plan your departure.”
Chapter Thirty
WhileYarifwasn’tina hurry to return home to face what waited there, he’d grown increasingly agitated, worried for the children, and generally being unused to idleness. Not to mention whatever threat Lord Whreyn posed.
Though the days had allowed both Yarif and Draylon time to heal, time to plan with Cousin Niam, and chances to learn more about family history—and each other—the time had come to leave.
Yarif took the opportunity during a rare free moment to stroll the family’s private garden behind the keep. Two guards remained a few paces behind to give the illusion of privacy. A soft snow blanketed the grounds, and melting ice filled the basin of an ornate fountain carved with vines. A common theme in Delletinian artwork.
He’d dressed in a simple tunic and trousers, with a servant’s cloak for warmth. No sense in drawing attention to himself, even if he’d been assured he’d be perfectly safe here in the gardens. After all, who’d be daring enough to attack King Niam’s keep?
The crisp scent of snow filled Yarif’s nose, along with woodsmoke from the fireplaces. As beautiful as this place was now, he imagined the flowers his aunt described blooming in spring. What a beautiful garden it must be, designed for Niam’s great-grandmother.
As much as Yarif hated the cold and longed for home, he’d miss this place, particularly sitting by the fire with Draylon, talking, reading, or saying nothing. They spoke Delletinian to improve Draylon’s language skills.
Surprisingly, Rufe’s new abilities surpassed Draylon’s. Or maybe not so surprising, given how much time he spent with Niam.
Yarif looked up at approaching footsteps.
Draylon strode across the garden, dressed as Yarif was, in borrowed clothes far warmer than anything he’d likely ever worn before. His boots crunched in the snow.
While he wore no armor, he’d donned a short sword and carried knives since the incident with Lord Whreyn. Yarif had noticed Draylon practicing in the courtyard from time to time, regaining use of his sword arm.
His heart lifted at the sight of Draylon. They rarely spent time alone during the day, a moment or two here or there. Usually, they were in meetings with Rufe and Niam, Aunt Nera joining them for meals, along with Bert on occasion. For all his friendliness, something about the boy put Yarif on guard.
Yarif and Draylon usually fell into bed together each night, often too tired to do anything but snuggle into each other’s heat, maybe share a few kisses before they drifted off to sleep.
The nightmares came less frequently, banished by Draylon’s solid presence.
Now, though, Draylon came alone. Yarif gently laced his fingers with Draylon’s.
Draylon flashed a smile. “I may owe Rufe. I convinced him to occupy Niam and allow us some time alone.” He glanced over his shoulder at the guards. “In a manner of speaking.”
The assignment likely didn’t take a lot of convincing, given some of the longing looks between Niam and Rufe. Whatever the reasons, Yarif would take the reprieve away from strategies, negotiations, and thoughts of more than the here and now.
“More snow fell last night.” Yarif had sat by the window, watching the fluffy white flakes fall until Draylon arrived for bed. “But not enough to hamper our travel, Aunt Nera said.”
Draylon shivered. “Yes. Snow is beautiful, but through a window or from a distance.”
Yarif agreed. Then, Draylon turned, intensity in his warm brown eyes, admiration, and maybe so much more. Before Yarif could puzzle out the mood, Draylon took his mouth in a hungry kiss.
Something whizzed by Yarif’s head, thunking into a nearby tree.
“Down!” Draylon pulled his sword and took a defensive stance. Another arrow flew, closer this time. “Run!” Hand on Yarif’s biceps, Draylon pulled, keeping himself between Yarif and danger.
The guards took position, shielding Yarif and Draylon.
Another arrow hit a tree. Were these archers that bad, or were they merely sending a message?
Two men stepped from the trees. Draylon gave Yarif a shove. “Go! Tell Rufe and Niam.”
Yarif nodded, nearly too frozen from fear to act. No! He was no delicate thing, and Draylon’s life might hang in the balance. Another man charged from the trees as Yarif launched himself for the keep.
