“You ordered me to attend you,” Rufe reminded Avestan a moment before his brain kicked in. “My apologies, Your Majesty, I—”
Avestan lifted a staying hand. “If you dare to speak to me differently from normal, I’ll lock you in the dungeon.” He rolled his eyes upward, tapping a finger against his cleft chin in a thinking gesture, looking like a slightly older version of Draylon. “Or something. I’m still new at this emperor thing and haven’t devised creative punishments yet.” His expression brightened as he snapped his fingers. “I know! I’ll make you attend a ball.”
Rufe’s idea of the ultimate punishment. He couldn’t keep the horror off his face. “You wouldn’t.”
Avestan nodded vigorously. “Filled with hopeful matrons and their unmarried spawn.” He grinned. “So, you’d better treat me with the same amount of candor you learned from my brother. I count on both of you to keep me from becoming my arrogant father.” Avestan sobered and side-whispered, “May the gods have mercy on his soul, in case any priests are listening. This means you speaking your mind, at least while we’re alone. I’ll allow the courtier butt-kissing in public if you insist. Knowing you, though, you’re more apt to bite than kiss if some arrogant asshole expects you to be their sycophant.”
“Ah, you remember me, after all.” Rufe relaxed enough to force a smile.
“And all the times you were a brat.” In conversational tones, Avestan added, “Yes, I sent for you. First, I’d like to offer my condolences on the loss of your brother. I’m sure the news of his accident came as quite a shock.”
“It did. I thought he’d outlive me by a good many summers.” Men of war seldom lived to retire, while many men of leisure grew older, fatter, and balder. Not Father, though. He remained active.
“Already, the vultures are circling, vying to become your father’s successor. But here, where are my manners? Please, have a seat.”
Rufe chose an upholstered chair rather than share the settee. Avestan poured them each a goblet of wine from a crystal decanter, sunlight rippling colors across the floral pattern from the stained-glass window.
Rufe took a sip. Avestan’s hedging meant he’d soon say something Rufe didn’t want to hear. “As you commanded me to speak freely, I expect the same of you.”
Avestan’s half-smile turned sheepish. “Fair enough. I understand from my brother that you’re doing an incredible job as an emissary to King Niam of Delletina.”
Did Avestan know Rufe and Niam were lovers? Oh, wait! When he’d come to Rufe’s room in Renvalle to promote him to commander, Rufe had to crawl over Niam to get out of bed. Heat rushed up Rufe’s cheeks. “He’s kind to say so.”
Avestan snorted, an inelegant action for an emperor, further convincing Rufe that Draylon’s older brother hadn’t changedmuch. “Draylon? Kind? Are you sure you’re talking about my brother? But I agree with him on one thing. I always knew you could be more than a captain, though I believe some of your lack of ambition stemmed from your desire to protect Draylon and remain by his side.”
“Among other things.” Rufe set his goblet on the table and pulled up his sleeve, displaying the hateful tattoo he’d gotten after being held captive by an enemy.
Avestan flicked his hand as though batting away a pesky fly. “I’ve abolished the appalling custom. I don’t blame victims, and I understand you gained quite a bit of knowledge about our enemy during your captivity—knowledge you shared with Draylon upon your release.”
“There’s also the little matter of me being a bastard.”
Avestan winced. “Another custom I abhor. Some kingdoms in the empire acknowledge any offspring claimed by the parents.”
Maybe future generations would benefit. The horse had already left the barn for Rufe. “I thought you brought me here to help decide upon a successor to my father.”
“In a way, I have. None who’ve presented themselves are worthy of the honor, and as the duchy is in a strategic location, I count on the duke there to keep the peace. There is far more responsibility than what most potential heirs see. They want riches and glory. Leadership, done right, is never about glory.” Avestan differed from his father in this core belief. At that moment, he looked much older than his age, the pressure of an empire weighing on his shoulders.
Sadly, Rufe's brother had wanted the riches and glory that came from being Father’s heir and may have compromised a few young ladies by hinting at them one day becoming duchess. “Are you seeking my opinion?”
The smirk on Avestan’s face didn’t bode well for someone. Likely Rufe. “Perhaps. What I’ve called you here to do is to right a wrong.”
Chills ran along Rufe’s spine, triggering the need to run. His instincts usually served him well. “What are you talking about?”
“You are your father and mother’s firstborn son, by their confession, and your mother’s former husband also acknowledges your parentage. Even if your brother had survived, you are heir apparent by the new laws being enacted in the empire.”
Rufe's heart pounded. His father had never considered him a bastard, even if laws—and Rufe’s brother—had. “Just because I’m the firstborn doesn’t make me Father’s heir. Dukes can bypass sons if they find someone more suitable.”
“Which usually ends in battle with loss of life.”
True. Rufe had been useful in quelling those uprisings occasionally.
“My father did something right in recent politics,” Avestan continued. “Renvalle needed military influence, which it gained through my brother as king. Though Renvalle also has a wise and kind ruler in his consort.”
Please let Avestan not say what Rufe feared. Rufe swallowed a mouthful of wine, bracing for the worst. “And?”
“And the Duchy of Haston likewise needs a strong leader. Preferably one with a military background and proven loyalty to the empire.”
Rufe swallowed hard. If he’d taken another sip of wine, he would have choked. “What are you saying?”Spit it out already!Ringing started in Rufe’s ears, his world tunneling down to this moment, to him and Avestan.
