The Case of the Commandery Princess and the Prime Minister’s Narrow Escape
Chapter 26
Azula climbed into the opulent carriage gifted to him by Basileus Dio and sat on one of the plush velvet benches. Basileus Dio expressed his disappointment that he couldn’t talk to him but promised to call him to the palace soon. Soriel hugged him and promised to visit when she could get away. Azula was sure it would not be soon since she was in charge of investigating Olneth, and that did not look like an easy job.
Azula shifted on the bench, expecting Raithion to sit next to him, but Raithion chose to sit opposite him. Raithion looked handsome in his dark Commandery Prince coat. It made him appear majestic, not that he wasn’t always.
Azula moved to sit next to Raithion, but to his surprise, Raithion stood and took the seat Azula had just vacated.
“What are you doing?” Azula asked.
“Offering you the courtesy you deserve, Your Highness,” Raithion said. “I don’t want you to say the Draeya Commandery Prince slighted the Sura in any way.”
Azula frowned. “Why are you talking to me like that?”
“What do you mean, Your Highness?” Raithion asked, reaching out to adjust the curtain so he could look outside. The sun was setting, and the streets were filled with people hurrying home.
The carriage was taking the most direct route to Doriel Manor, located on a residential street where other merchants had their homes. It was an affluent street, and Doriel Manor had stood there a long time.
Azula crossed his arms against his chest and studied Raithion’s closed-off expression. “Are you upset with me?” he asked.
Raithion shrugged. “What would I be upset about? Your Highness got the Sura Clan exonerated and is willing to negotiate with Lyria. What else is there to be upset about?”
Azula narrowed his gaze as he watched Raithion. A cold wave surrounded him. He looked like he was trapped in a winter cloud, not planning on leaving unless Azula dunked him in a furnace.
The carriage kept moving. The Sura guard rode on fine horses provided by the palace stables, leading the way home. Azula had last seen Doriel Manor the morning he carried out his father’s ashes.
Azula let out a long sigh. He was bone-tired after waking up at three in the morning, traveling in a wine jar, and facing off with Basileus Dio. He wanted sleep, food, and a steaming bath. He had hoped for some kisses, but the man who was to provide the kisses was angry at him with just cause. Azula could understand Raithion. After all, he had kept a big piece of information from him.
The carriage soon arrived at the Doriel Manor gates. They were open, and the Sura guard rode in, heading to the stables, while the carriage stopped at the front of the manor. Wolfe and Sennin had already dismounted from their horses and stood at the manor doors, opening the locks with keys they got from Raithion.
It surprised Azula to see that the immediate grounds of the property were neat: the gardens and the stone paths were well maintained, and there was not a hint of disrepair in sight. Even the house looked pristine.
He glanced at Raithion, who was finally looking at him.
“Are you angry with me because I didn’t tell you about the Nerasa Kingdom annexing Sura Island?” Azula asked, attempting to sound casual. Deep down, a tight knot of guilt twisted in his chest. He knew he was dead wrong for hiding it. He just fiercely hoped Raithion would let it go.
“What right do I have to be angry with you?” Raithion asked. His clipped tone was enough for Azula to know that he had struck the nail squarely on the head. Those striking green eyes flashed with barely contained fury. “You are the Sura Prince. I have no right to interfere with what you choose to do for your people.”
Azula’s brow lifted when Raithion shoved the carriage door open and vaulted out. Despite his very obvious temper, Raithion still turned around and held his hand out. Azula swallowed a sigh, took the offered hand, and stepped down onto the cobblestones. The moment his boots hit the ground, he turned to face him.
“Raith.”
“You don’t get to say my name like that when I’m this angry with you,” Raithion snapped, shaking his head. “You dared to stand before the Basileus with your own secret plans. Do you have any idea how terrified I was when he pointed a sword at you? Do you think he is some cuddly toy sitting on a plain seat in that imperial court? He could have killed you, and those courtiers would have praised him for a job well done. Azula!”
“It worked, though, didn’t it?” Azula crossed his arms and lifted his chin. He was not about to concede defeat, not when his heart was still racing from the sheer danger he had put them in. “My gamble worked out, and I got what I needed for my people. Why are you so angry?”
Raithion let out a sound of pure, unadulterated disbelief. “You dare ask me why I’m angry? You lied to me. You refused to trust me. And now you want to know why I’m upset? Azu, it seems I haven’t been in your heart even once since we met.”
Raithion stepped away with a sharp huff, crossing his own arms. They were now mirroring each other on the manor driveway, two grown men pouting like toddlers.
Azula stared at that dangerously dark expression, his heart giving a painful skip. Raithion was truly, deeply furious. Guilt warring with his pride, Azula reached out to touch Raithion’s arm, but Raithion sidestepped the gesture.
“You’re safe at home,” Raithion said, his voice dropping into a horrifyingly polite, official cadence. “I have assigned Maenaer legion officers to guard the perimeter of this property. The rest of your guard can manage the inside. The people you left with Noriel will arrive tomorrow morning. Please, be comfortable. Your Highness, the Lyria Kingdom hopes you will feel at ease here.”
“Oh,” Azula scoffed, absolutely loathing that stiff tone. If Raithion wanted to play the haughty diplomat, Azula could play the demanding royal with great fanfare. “Well, tell the Lyria Kingdom not to bother visiting me unless they’re hauling five carts of solid gold and silver in compensation for all our Sura clan troubles.”
“Is that really what you want to ask for?” Raithion’s eyes narrowed to dangerous slits.
“Why not?” Azula shot back, glaring up at him.
“I will be sure to relay your greedy request to His Majesty.”
“Fine. You do that,” Azula said, tossing his hands up. “You two seem close, anyway. He is practically your brother. What do I, a lowly prince from a tiny island, have to say in the face of all that imperial power? Isn’t that the real reason you’re angry? Because I used the only leverage I had to face off with that wild beast on the throne without asking your permission?”
“Azula! You are throwing a tantrum!”
“I’m throwing a tantrum?” Azula let out a loud, incredulous laugh, vaguely aware that Wolfe and Sennin had completely paused at the front door to watch the spectacle. “I’m not the one sulking because I didn’t share a few minor details.”
“A few minor details? You call the annexation of your home a minor detail? You think breaking Basileus Dio’s sword in his own court is a small thing?” Raithion pointed a very accusatory finger at Azula’s nose. “You didn’t trust me with your life. You’ve been so hellbent on getting your own way, you never considered me once.”
“Considered?” Azula stared at him, genuine shock piercing his defensive anger. “I have trusted you with my life, Raith! My life, the life of my best friend, Wolfe, and all the guards traveling with me. We have been in your hands this whole time. What do you mean I haven’t considered you? Raithion Maenaer, I do not have to stand here and take this. If you want to sulk, go do it at your own house. This one is mine now. I am hungry, I am bone-tired, I desperately need sleep, and I absolutely do not need your temper!”
“Fine! Who said you needed to deal with my temper? I think you’re just eager to get rid of me as fast as you can!” Raithion shouted as he threw his arms out.
Azula closed his eyes, inhaled a deep breath of the evening air, then spun on his heel and marched up the stone steps toward the open double doors.
Hearing heavy boots crunching on the gravel behind him, Azula whirled around and pointed a rigid finger at Raithion’s chest. “Don’t come in. Go home and sulk there.”
Raithion stopped in his tracks, nodding furiously. “Right. Who said I even wanted to come in?” He spun around with a spectacular huff, marching toward one of the horses the guard had left near the carriage. “I have my own house, too! Don’t wait for me!”
Azula marched over to a flower bed by the entrance, snatched up a broken, thorny branch from a pomegranate tree, and hurled it directly at Raithion’s retreating back. It bounced harmlessly off his heavy coat. Satisfied with having the last word, Azula turned and stormed into the manor.
*****
Wolfe and Sennin watched the heavy wooden doors slam shut behind Azula, exchanging barely hidden, knowing smiles. Next to them stood Sharian, who was busy watching Raithion ride off in a dramatic, dust-kicking storm.
Wolfe let out a soft, amused sigh, leaning against the stone pillar. “Sharian, how long does it take for your Draeya Prince to get over his anger?”
Sharian chuckled, shaking his head at the fading hoofbeats. “I think that is up to your Sura Prince. Only he can answer that question. Why don’t you talk him into letting Lord Raith into the house?”
Sennin snorted and crossed his arms. “I think we shouldn’t worry about it. They will find each other on their own in one day. Two, tops.”
Wolfe chuckled, a mischievous glint in his eye, and patted Sharian’s shoulder. “I have a plan. Sharian, go after the Draeya Prince and tell him that Prince Azula’s personal items are stuck in the Sura carriages that are currently sitting at the Maenaer home.”
Realization dawned on Sharian’s face, transforming into a wide grin. “Right,” he said. “Wait for me. I’ll be back later.”
Wolfe nodded and watched Sharian hurry down the stone steps, practically vaulting onto a horse grazing on the sweet-smelling grass near the carriage. Sharian rode off, spurring the mount to catch up with the sulking Draeya Prince.
“What did you tell him that for?” Sennin asked, raising a skeptical brow.
Wolfe’s smile widened into something profoundly smug. “Throughout this journey to the capital, the one person who has been the most meticulous about Prince Azula’s daily needs is the Draeya Prince. He even had Sharian pack extra boxes of those hazelnut wafers the prince likes to eat from Draeya County. They may fight like wet cats, but the Draeya Prince will be back here by nightfall to make sure Prince Azula has his softest clothes and a warm meal.”
Sennin stared at Wolfe for a moment, letting the sheer cunning of the plan sink in, before letting out a soft, appreciative chuckle. “We’ll see if Sharian is back later.”
“Oh, he will be back,” Wolfe said with absolute certainty, turning toward the main house. “Now, why don’t we find out what is needed inside? I cannot believe we are actually back here. It feels really good.”
“Princess Alise and Lady Lasma will be ecstatic,” Sennin agreed as they stepped over the threshold, moving deeper into the quiet, familiar house.
****
Azula entered Doriel Manor for the first time in five years, his heart aching as he took in the familiar halls. The furniture was all placed according to his mother’s preferences: comfortable couches, empty flower vases standing on tall stools along the walls, a painting of the Sura Mountain on the furthest wall of the great room, and coffee tables laden with small, empty candleholders crafted by Sura blacksmiths.
Azula let out a soft sigh. He missed the scents: the sweet-smelling incense, food cooking in the kitchens, and the flowers that usually filled the vases. He hoped that warmth would return now that they had the manor back.
Azula climbed the stairs fast to the second floor. He had hoped to do this with Raithion, but that warrior had stormed off covered in a dark cloud of anger. Azula shook his head and decided to think about Raithion later; their fight needed to be resolved, but not yet. He needed to rethink how he was going to coax a warrior out of his anger.
For now, he needed to focus on what he and Alise had agreed upon. There was one last thing he needed to find to give the clan its true foundation in this kingdom. The house looked like it had been searched and cleaned. He hoped the secret Alise had told him about was still intact.
Azula headed straight to the main bedroom. Alise had told him it would hold any remaining information from Marius. They had tried to carry everything important as they escaped the city, but the hustle of being on the run meant they could not carry it all.
Azula entered his parents’ private room and stopped. The king-sized bed was stripped. Only the bare wooden frame remained. There was no mattress or covers, but Azula could almost imagine his father sitting on the edge of the bed, smiling at Lasma. That old man had been in love with his wife until the end.
Azula smiled at the memory and stepped deeper into the bare room. The shelves were empty, and the closet door stood open on the wall on his left. That, too, was empty; there was nothing inside it. Azula tried not to let it sting too much. He had hoped to find his father’s clothes, his father’s things, but that seemed impossible now.
Azula let out a soft sigh, trying to push the hollow feeling aside, and focused on the rack of four shelves mounted on the wall next to the closet. Whoever Raithion had assigned to care for the manor had done an immaculate job keeping the pests and dust out.
Raith. Azula scrubbed a hand over his face. A sharp, irritating knot of longing twisted in his chest. He wanted nothing more than to see the man standing beside him right now, grounding him as he always did, but they had fought. And it was deeply annoying.
Azula knew, deep down, that he was in the wrong; he had lied and kept a dangerous secret, but admitting it aloud felt like swallowing glass. His pride stubbornly refused to let him apologize, so he fiercely hoped instead that Raithion would simply cool off, get over it, and come back to him without demanding a confession of guilt.
“Damn man didn’t even give me a chance to kiss him to thank him for getting us to the palace,” Azula murmured, crossing his arms as he stared at the shelves. “Stupid fight.”
They were mounted horizontally on what appeared to be a standard dividing wall, rather than a load-bearing structural one. The late afternoon sun spilled through the windows behind him, casting long, stark shadows across the wood. As Azula stepped past the round table and its three chairs, a discrepancy caught his eye. There was a distinct, unnatural gap in the middle of the third shelf. It looked uneven, as if two separate pieces of wood needed to be pushed together to perfectly realign.
Azula frowned, staring at the segmented space. His father, Marius, might have been obsessed with getting every Sura clan member married the second they came of age, but he possessed a brilliantly technical mind. Marius was the reason Azula had inherited such mechanical talent.
Rocking back on his heels, Azula smiled and reached out to touch the third shelf. He ran his left index finger along the smooth wooden surface until he hit the gap, then traced the metal mounting track recessed against the wall. The track itself was one continuous line, but the wooden shelf was split.
Azula shifted his hand, running his fingertips underneath the bottom of the third shelf, feeling along the hidden track on the wall. His fingers suddenly caught on a small, cold piece of protruding metal tucked off the wall just before the separate pieces of wood. He paused, blindly tracing the tiny latch. It felt like a small lever. Pressing firmly with his index finger, he tested the resistance. He pushed it to the right, but it stuck fast. With a soft, knowing smile, he pushed it to the left. The little metal lever glided smoothly until it sat parallel to the wall.
The separated sections of the third shelf slid smoothly along the track, closing the gap until the wood met perfectly with a resounding click. Instantly, the section of the wall shifted forward a fraction of an inch, the seam on Azula’s right popping open like a door.
Azula grabbed the edge of the false wall and pulled it outward. A wave of stale air and dust plumed into his face as the heavy panel swung wide on hidden hinges. Coughing, Azula pressed his sleeve over his nose and mouth, squinting into the gloom. Beyond the threshold lay a sizable secret room, smelling of stale air, flanked by ten towering shelves on each side that reached the rafters.
Black wooden boxes rested on the shelves to Azula’s left, four on each of the ten tiers. Azula walked up to one of the black boxes and opened it. Inside, he was shocked to find neat layers of gold blocks. He could not help laughing.
“Old man, you were like a squirrel hiding your treasures in a cave,” Azula said. He closed the box and took in the sheer number of them. “Good. The clan is always in need of gold. This should be enough to establish ourselves in this capital again.”
Azula left the boxes of gold and moved to the shelves on the right. These boxes were made of fine rosewood. He opened one and found books and papers: blueprints for tools, gadgets, and jewelry designs the workshops used to create for money. Some were highly prized, while others were run-of-the-mill farm tools. Each one was valuable.
Azula touched each box with reverence, knowing they represented his people’s lifeline. He hoped their clan would be able to make these things again. In the corner, hidden on the bottom shelf, was a black box similar to the ones holding the gold.
Azula frowned as he looked up at the neat line of ten shelves to see similar black boxes above. He opened the ones above and found precious stones. These were used to make valuable jewelry for noble families, and they would not have been taken while the clan was on the run. Thankfully, Marius had thought of building a secret storage room. At the very least, the clan would be able to make money while Azula woke Doriel Manor.
Azula closed the box and crouched down to study the one hidden on the bottom shelf in the corner. It was different because it was labeled at the top with the name Witia. Azula picked it up and paused, moving to the shelves with the gold. He took one of those boxes and headed out of the secret room. He placed both boxes on the round table and turned back to the hidden vault. The rest of the boxes he would leave for Alise to manage; she would know what to do with them all as soon as it was safe for Sura people to walk the streets of Genad City.
After all, the case that had turned them into villains was not solved yet. Who knew what would happen?
Azula closed the hidden door and watched the third shelf separate once the panel clicked shut. He studied the seam that sealed completely into the closet doorframe. No wonder whoever had cleaned this room had not found the secret room. Marius truly had his own tricks. Thankfully, the clan now had a foundation to work with.
Azula moved to the round table and shifted the box of gold to the side. He would use some of it to ensure the manor was stocked with necessities and food to feed his guards. He pulled out a chair, removed his heavy coat, and reached up to untie his hair before he sat down and opened the box labeled Witia.
****
Raithion arrived home in a foul mood. He found his mother in the mess hall used by the guards, quietly shelling peas to use for the next day. She hugged him tight the moment she saw him and asked one of the kitchen helpers to bring him a plate of hot food. Raithion sat at a table in the mess hall and let out a heavy, frustrated sigh, his heart still smarting over his stupid fight with Azula.
In fact, he had wanted to stay at Doriel Manor tonight and help Azula stock the house with essentials. But now, that plan seemed to have failed miserably. He could not ignore Azula’s maddening need to hide things from him. He understood why Azula had done it, but it still didn’t feel okay. He wanted Azula’s full, unconditional trust.
Shaking his head, he looked up as Sharian hurried into the room.
“Lord Raith,” Sharian said, catching his breath. “The Sura Clan carriages are still here. That means Prince Azula’s personal effects are here, too.”
Raithion closed his eyes, groaning as he remembered that Haedor had brought the carriages here specifically to hide the fact that Azula was already inside the palace.
“Damn,” Raithion cursed under his breath. “Sharian, get a troop of legion officers to take them to him right now. Don’t leave out anything.”
“Okay,” Sharian said, frowning slightly. “Are you sure you won’t go yourself? The manor is empty. They don’t even have plates.”
“Take the carriages back first,” Raithion said with a dark scowl. “If he wants plates, he will tell me or get them on his own.”
Sharian sighed and hurried out to arrange for the Sura Clan’s carriages to head back to Doriel Manor.
Moments later, his mother returned carrying a steaming plate filled with wild rice, sautéed vegetables, and roasted chicken. His mouth watered instantly. He picked up his fork and ate a few quick bites, feeling marginally fortified, though his temper hadn’t cleared.
He bit into a chicken leg, maintaining a fierce scowl with every single chew. His thoughts remained trapped on Azula. Did Azula get anything to eat yet? Had he bathed? The plumbing at Doriel Manor hadn’t been checked in five full years. Would it even work? What about Azula’s bed? Were there even mattresses in that abandoned place?
Raithion’s frown deepened as he tore off another aggressive bite of chicken. He was still furious that Azula had lied to him, but the thought of his prince sleeping on a cold, bare floor was actively tormenting him. He was thoroughly annoyed that they were fighting, yet he wanted nothing more than to march right back over there, grab Azula by his fine lapels, pull him into a deep kiss, and make sure he was taken care of.
“I’m starting to wonder if the cook ruined the spice mix in that poor bird,” Silveren said dryly, sliding her bowl of peas to the side. “If you scowl one more time at that chicken, I’ll confiscate it on principle.”
Raithion let out a long sigh and took another bite, completely ignoring his mother’s jab.
“Raith.”
“Mom,” Raithion said, his gaze shifting to her. “What is the name of that high-end shop that makes the mattresses you like so much?”
“Sweet Sleep,” Silveren said, narrowing her eyes, suspended in suspicion. “Why?”
Instead of answering, Raithion raised a hand, motioning for one of the legion officers eating at a nearby table. He scrutinized the guard’s face as the man trotted over.
“Tophen?” Raithion asked.
“Yes, Your Highness,” Tophen said, standing at attention.
“Take a team to Sweet Sleep immediately,” Raithion ordered. He paused, mentally picturing the floor plan of Doriel Manor to calculate the number of rooms that could be used as sleeping quarters, before quickly giving up. “Um, ask them to deliver mattresses that would serve at least sixty people directly to Doriel Manor.”
“At this time?” Silveren interjected, her eyes going wide with utter disbelief. “The sun has gone down! Sweet Sleep closes for the night, you absolute lunatic.”
“Get them to stay open,” Raithion instructed Tophen, ignoring his mother. “Use my official token if you need to drag the owner out of bed. Make sure Prince Azula’s mattress is the absolute most comfortable one in the building. Help them install the mattresses yourself. Go.”
Tophen gave a brisk nod and bolted out of the dining room to round up a team of six.
Raithion let out a soft, relieved sigh, feeling a fraction of his anxiety ease, until he remembered that beds came with sheets, pillows, and blankets.
“Mom,” Raithion said, turning his gaze back to her. She was already staring at him as if he had grown a second head. “Where do you get the best sheets?”
Silveren let out a short, incredulous laugh. “Are you outfitting a new home that I don’t know about?”
“Yes,” Raithion said without missing a beat. “Where do you get the sheets?”
Silveren studied him for a long minute, then rubbed her temples with her right hand. “We get our personal ones woven from our workshops in Draeya County. But if you need a ridiculous quantity immediately, you can get them from Elder Fabric near Rem Street.”
“You.” Raithion pointed a finger toward a second legion officer quietly sipping tea in the corner.
“Eric,” the soldier said quickly, standing up and marching over to Raithion’s table.
“Go to Elder Fabric right now and buy enough sheets and blankets to outfit all sixty of those mattresses Tophen is getting. Make sure Prince Azula’s are the softest they have. I don’t want him to be uncomfortable.”
“Yes, Draeya Prince!” Eric said, saluting before dashing away.
Raithion nodded to himself, taking another bite. “This chicken is actually really good. I should have sent a few dozen cooked ones to Doriel Manor.”
“Enough!” Silveren slammed her palm onto the table, making the cutlery rattle. “The chickens are still alive in their coops! No one is slaughtering sixty birds in the dead of night to roast them and haul them across the capital! That is too much work. What in the world has gotten into you?”
Raithion blinked, sinking back into his chair as if surprised by her outburst. “Is it? Well…if we can’t slaughter sixty live chickens right now, the inn Noriel owns can manage it. They cater large banquets all the time, don’t they? I’m sure they can manage to feed sixty people on short notice.”
“Raithion Maenaer!” Silveren started, her voice rising an octave.
Raithion looked around the dining hall, letting out a decisive sigh. “Actually, I’ll go handle that one myself after I finish eating. I need to make sure Azula gets hot food for the night anyway.”
Silveren let out an exasperated huff, throwing her hands in the air, as Raithion wolfed down the rest of his dinner, chugged a full goblet of water, and offered his mother a breezy, cheerful wave as he strutted out the door to go see his stubborn prince.
****
Silveren was left at a loss as she watched Raithion rush out of the mess hall like a man on a mission. Thanir walked in soon after, and she stood to greet him with a kiss on his cheek.
“What’s gotten into him?” she asked as Thanir joined her at the table. “He’s turning the city upside down over sheets, mattresses, and roast chicken.”
Thanir shrugged, settling into the chair Raithion had just vacated. An attendant quickly cleared away Raithion’s dirty plate and hurried off to bring Thanir a fresh cup of tea and his own plate of food.
“Stop worrying,” Thanir told Silveren as she settled back into the seat across from him. “You should be happy. He’s gone and found you a prince for a son-in-law.”
Silveren gaped at her husband. “What? This house has only two daughters.”
“The son-in-law is marrying your son,” Thanir said plainly, causing Silveren to press a hand flat against her chest.
“What?” Silveren asked, her voice rising in astonishment. “Where on earth did he find a prince?”
Thanir accepted his plate from the kitchen attendant and took a thoughtful bite of the chicken.
“From the very island where Yulin was saved. The Sura Prince has a fiery temper as bright as his hair; he actually dared to threaten the Basileus today. Raithion will certainly not have it easy from now on,” Thanir said with a chuckle.
Silveren sank back into her chair, her mind reeling in absolute shock at this dizzying turn of events. For years, she had quietly worried about Raithion. He was a commander of men, a warrior who carried the weight of the realm on his broad shoulders, always putting everyone else’s safety and comfort before his own. After his marriage turned sour and his wife died, she had secretly feared he would become jaded and devote his life to duty. She worried he would never open his heart to anyone.
Yet here he was now, throwing the weight of his royal title around not to win a war, but to make sure a prince had comfortable bedding and a warm meal. It was utterly ridiculous. It was wildly dramatic. And it was the most romantic thing she had ever heard.
She had never imagined Raithion, stubborn, fiercely independent Raithion, would end up meeting someone out in the world and bringing them back home.
Yet, as she watched Thanir’s contented smile at the idea, a sudden, profound realization washed over her: her headstrong son had fallen in love.
A sudden, helpless burst of laughter escaped her lips, breaking the silence in the room and making Thanir smile at her.
“Oh, heavens above,” Silveren said, shaking her head as the full absurdity of Raithion’s demands finally clicked into place. “No wonder every other sentence out of his mouth was ‘make sure it’s the softest mattress,’ and ‘I don’t want him to be uncomfortable!’ The boy is hopelessly in love!”
She laughed as Thanir ate quietly, watching her with joy on his face.
*****
At eight at night, Azula sat reclined on a couch in a smaller, comfortable sitting room downstairs. The couch was arranged by the windows, offering him a perfect view of the front of the house and the hallway.
Sennin and Wolfe were busy dealing with deliveries that had been streaming in steadily for the past hour and a half. It had started with the commotion of mattresses being delivered. Azula had been making sure the plumbing in the house would hold out until a more comprehensive check happened. The tub in the main bedroom was working, and once he got the pipes working, he took a bath, washed up, and dressed in comfortable clothes.
He came down when he heard the thumping of heavy footsteps and excited shouts as people moved beds and placed mattresses on them. Soon after, a merchant who sold blankets, sheets, cushions, and towels arrived, and another great upheaval began as packages were taken upstairs and sorted in the great room and kitchen.
Azula, too tired to examine the root cause of all the deliveries, headed downstairs to find a quiet place.
He lay back on the plush, comfortable pillows, resting his feet on the edge of the couch as he studied a map he had found in the box labeled Witia. Alongside the map, there were delivery notes, travel notes mentioning farming villages in Witia that he had not had time to read, and a painting of three men sitting outside a modest cottage. On the back of the painting was a note.
“Brothers forever,” Azula read the inscription. It was signed by Tajan.
Placing the painting on the short table next to his couch, Azula studied the Witia map.
Marius had marked a gold mine with a round, red mark and a second location that didn’t look like anything. It was in the middle of a forest, and a green line was drawn from this location, leading to the capital city, Genad.
Azula traced the line for a moment before he realized it might be a trade route or a merchant’s route for carrying goods. Goods like gold? Azula frowned. Why would it be so far from the gold mine?
“Why did Dad have this?” Azula wondered out loud. The gas lights in the manor were on; the person who had cleaned up the place had maintained the coal gas system out back. Azula stared at a lamp for a long time, mulling over the map and the strange green line.
Sennin came to stand at the entrance to the sitting room.
“Your Draeya Prince has been busy,” Sennin said. “He has stocked the household with everything we may need. Your bed is made. I swear he would be here to heat your bath water for you if he could.”
“I already bathed,” Azula said, touching the high-quality cotton robe he wore over a soft white tunic and softer pants. His feet were bare, and his damp hair fell around his shoulders. He was ready to go to bed as soon as he got a meal.
“A messenger came,” Sennin said. “Told us not to cook so late. We should expect a food delivery soon.”
“That is thoughtful,” Azula said, his gaze on the map. “It’s curious that he has been so busy all evening. I thought he was going to his house.”
“Aren’t you the curious one for fighting with him after all he’s done?” Sennin asked. “Why do you think he would do all of this for us?”
Azula smiled. “If he comes, let him through. I’m waiting to see what he does.”
Sennin sighed and shook his head. “Azula, there’s nothing wrong with yielding a little toward him. He’s been supportive of you, of us, of the Jinyi. You can’t always be hard on Lord Raith after all he’s given. Be nice to him.”
“Then he should show up here for me to be nice to him,” Azula declared.
“Oh,” Sennin said with a little laugh, and moved away.
Azula folded the map and placed it on the short table before he stared at the ceiling.
After an inordinate time, he caught a shadow at the entrance, and he closed his eyes, asking, “I think I’ve waited for him long enough. Should I go to sleep now, Sennin?”
“You haven’t eaten.” Raithion’s voice had him sitting up.
Azula froze when he saw Raithion walking up to him carrying a platter with savory roasted chicken and an assortment of vegetables. He brought it to the table, and Azula had to shift his feet when Raithion sat next to him on the couch.
“Your eyes are bloodshot,” Raithion noted. “You didn’t sleep enough last night. Eat, and then you can go to sleep.”
Azula wanted to comment on Raithion returning to the manor, but stopped himself when Raithion cut a piece of chicken and directed it to his mouth with a fork. Azula took the bite and chewed the delicious roast chicken with a happy, delighted nod. His stomach growled, and he shifted closer to the edge of the couch to concentrate on eating. Raithion gave him the plate and let him pick up the fork and eat at his own pace.
When Azula had eaten a few bites, he glanced at Raithion sitting next to him, and his heart skipped. He swallowed his food, and with the courage of all warriors, he leaned in and kissed Raithion’s cheek.
“I’m sorry,” Azula said when Raithion glanced at him. “I hid the Nerasa letter from you, but it was because I thought you would object to any attempt to present it to Basileus Dio.”
“And you were right,” Raithion said after a moment of looking into his eyes. “I can’t watch you get in trouble, Azula. You know that.”
Azula smiled and leaned into Raithion’s side. He continued eating, and when he had had enough, Raithion took the platter away. He brought back a warm, damp cloth and handed it to Azula to wipe his hands. Azula drank the water from the goblet on the short table and met Raithion’s gaze when the other man remained standing a few feet away.
“Are you staying here?” Azula asked quietly.
“If I stay, we’re talking,” Raithion said, his green eyes filled with determination.
“Okay,” Azula nodded. “Let’s go to my room. Wolfe and Sennin will lock up the manor for the night.”
Azula stood and picked up the map and the painting he had found in the Witia box. He led the way upstairs and to the second floor. He entered the main bedroom and paused when he realized the place had been transformed. The bed was no longer a shell. There was a mattress made up with soft white cotton sheets and a heavy blanket. Sheer curtains hung from the bedposts. The couches along the wall had cushions and a soft blanket.
“You’ve been busy these last few hours,” Azula said as Raithion closed the door behind him.
Azula placed the map and the painting in the box on the round table. He had put away the gold box in a safe in the closet, along with his clothes and trunks when they arrived from the Maenaer residence. He removed his gown and draped it over a chair.
“The manor was stripped of most of its linen,” Raithion said. “The rats were getting to it, and we needed to keep everything clean.”
“Oh,” Azula said, moving to sit on the edge of the bed.
Raithion stripped out of his outer jacket. He looked like he had bathed at some point. He wore a soft black tunic and soft trousers. His feet were bare once he removed his boots. He walked to the bed and pulled the covers back.
“I’m sorry; your father’s personal belongings were destroyed by dust mites and rats by the time I noticed the manor needed constant maintenance,” Raithion said. “If I discovered it earlier, I would have saved it all.”
Azula let out a soft breath and shifted on the bed as Raithion joined him. He moved into Raithion’s arms and hugged him tight. “Thank you for protecting our home.”
Raithion kissed his temple. “I’m sorry we fought,” he said. “At court, I was…scared that I would lose you without a chance to fight for you. Like I did when you left five years ago.”
Azula closed his eyes. “I hope we never find ourselves in the same situation again. But if we do, I’ll do my best to share what I need to do with you. No matter how hard it is.”
Raithion let out a relieved sigh and hugged him tight.
Azula’s fingers dug into Raithion’s back, loving the comfort of the hug, and he smiled. “In the spirit of sharing, I can tell you about how Sura Island met the Nerasa Kingdom.”
“I’d love to hear it,” Raithion said as he stroked his fingers through Azula’s long hair.
“It’s a long story, but the short of it is that we sailed to the Nerasa Kingdom to trade with them. I saved a man named Trevan Pearcliff from drowning,” Azula said, cutting out the shipwreck and the struggle to survive on Nerasa’s shores. “He is a general related to the Nerasa Kingdom’s prime minister. Through him, we were able to establish a strong trading base on the Nerasa coast. We were able to bring back grain and essential healing herbs to the island. Through Trevan, I managed to make enough gold to support the island, train an army, and create the Jinyi, the guard that travels with me. When you arrived on the island, Trevan gave me the annexation letter because he knew we wanted to return to Lyria to negotiate an agreement that would serve us.”
“Okay,” Raithion said with a nod, shifting slightly so that he could look into Azula’s eyes. “This Trevan…was he someone close to you? Someone you…maybe kissed?”
Azula studied him for a moment, then chuckled. “Raith, are you jealous?”
“He sounds too helpful for a stranger,” Raithion said, looking away with a scowl. “He even trained your guards. He seems overly invested.”
“Stop,” Azula said. “Living in the Nerasa Kingdom was not easy. As I said, Trevan is the son of a prime minister. Some people attacked us for trading with him, thinking they could affect his standing in the Nerasa Kingdom. If he had feelings, I never reciprocated them. I was too focused on protecting the island and giving us a strong foundation to survive, Raith.”
“So—” Raithion started.
“You’re the only one I’ve kissed,” Azula said, making Raithion turn and fit his lips to his, kissing him with a desperation that had them both breathing hard when the kiss ended.
Raithion sighed and pressed his forehead to Azula’s. “I’m sorry you had to live through that. I’m sorry, my heart, that you had to find a way to survive in that world. I wish that I could have been there to support you.”
“It’s not your fault,” Azula said, wrapping his arms around Raithion and holding him tight. “It’s over now, and we are here and facing a new chapter in our lives. Speaking of which—” Azula let go of Raithion and scrambled off the bed. He went to the round table and picked up the box labeled “Witia.” He brought it to the bed and smiled when Raithion arranged the covers so that he would be able to place the box on them.
“I found this box in my father’s things,” Azula said.
Raithion frowned, looking around the room.
“It was in a place you can’t find easily,” Azula said with a small smile. “I can’t figure out why he would keep a box named Witia. It has travel notes and stories about a village in Witia. The most curious thing is this map.” Azula opened the map for Raithion to see, placing it and the painting over the box. “This painting of three people is also strange. This man in the middle looks young, but he is somewhat familiar. Yet, I don’t think I’ve met him.”
Raithion frowned as he studied the painting; then he touched a small mole on the man’s upper lip with wide eyes. “It’s Gesi Ajai. He’s younger, but it is him.”
Azula was even more confused. Why did his father have a painting with Gesi Ajai in his things?
Raithion turned over the painting and read the note. “Brothers forever, Tajan. Curious.”
“It is,” Azula said with a sigh, letting out a yawn.
Seeing it, Raithion folded up the map and the painting, put them back in the box, and got off the bed. He took the box back to the table and returned to the bed.
“We’ve both had a long day,” Raithion said, pulling the covers back and urging Azula to stretch out on the bed. Once he was settled, Raithion went around the room, dimming the lights; then he returned to the bed and settled in beside Azula, pulling the covers over them carefully.
“Sleep,” Raithion said, pulling Azula into his arms.
Azula let out a contented sigh as he rested his head on Raithion’s warm, solid chest, his breathing easing.
“Raith,” Azula murmured as he listened to Raithion’s steady heartbeat.
“Yes.”
“Thank you for getting us to the palace and helping my clan clear its name,” Azula said.
Raithion sank his fingers into Azula’s hair and stroked it gently. “It’s what I should do, my heart. I love you.”
Azula smiled in the dark and spoke his first promise. “I love you, too, Raithion Maenaer.”
Raithion froze and sat up, reaching out to turn up the lamp on the wall near the bedside table. He looked into Azula’s eyes again. “Say it again.”
Azula smiled widely. “I love you, Raith.”
Raithion let out a relieved sigh and kissed him hard, wrapping him in his arms. “You’re going to be the death of me. We fight one minute, then you undo me at night with such simple words. Azu, do you know you’re making a promise to me?”
Azula wrapped his arms around Raithion and let out a soft chuckle. “I know. I’m no longer a mourning chief after today. I can make a promise.”
Raithion let out a soft groan when Azula gently disentangled himself and shifted, turning his back to him. The warmth of Azula’s body remained close, but there was a sudden, electric stillness in the air.
A heavy, fluttering anticipation rose in his chest, chasing away the lingering shadows of their earlier argument.
Azula reached up with both hands, his fingers sweeping his long, strawberry-blonde hair over his left shoulder, exposing the slender line of his neck and the bare, vulnerable expanse of his right nape. Over his shoulder, he met Raithion’s green eyes.
“I still need to go back to Sura Island to officially lay down my role as a mourning chief,” Azula murmured, the quiet of the bedroom amplifying the raw emotion in his voice. “But now that I’ve found justice for my father and the others, the waiting is over. I can finally make this promise.” He took a slow, steadying breath, his heart pounding a frantic rhythm against his ribs as he offered up his deepest trust. “Raithion…will-will you make a small braid in my hair?”
Raithion’s sharp gasp shattered the quiet. For a long, suspended second, neither moved. Then, Raithion leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to Azula’s temple.
Azula closed his eyes as his heart raced in his chest. In Sura tradition, a mourning chief’s hair remained unbraided until the clan grew strong and regained its standing. With the exoneration, he finally felt like he could breathe, like he could let a lover braid his hair, and he could make a promise without fear of the future.
The tender brush of Raithion’s fingers at the nape of Azula’s neck sent a shiver straight down his spine. It was such a small gesture, yet the weight of it felt monumental, a profound, indelible claim being laid upon him after nearly six years of isolation.
Raithion took his time, painstakingly sectioning a delicate lock of hair at Azula’s nape, then worked quietly as the thin braid took shape. When Raithion reached the end, Azula lifted his right arm and untied a delicate red string from his wrist. He held it out, letting Raithion take it to secure the tip of the braid.
Once the knot was tied, Azula turned back around to face him. A knowing, radiant smile touched his lips. Without a word, Azula reached up, his fingertips grazing Raithion’s jaw before sifting into soft dark hair. He carefully sectioned a small chunk of dark hair and began to weave a small braid into Raithion’s hair. His fingers worked steadily, weaving his own devotion into the warrior who had protected him, challenged him, and loved him without reservation.
Azula secured the end with a second red string from his wrist, smoothing the tiny plait against Raithion’s cheek.
“I’m running out of these,” Azula whispered, a smile curving his lips as he brushed a thumb over the remaining threads on his wrist, red strings placed there by the monks living on Sura Island and at the hidden village in Draeya County. Only three remained on his right wrist, two on his left. “I’ll use them to braid your hair whenever I can. Thanks to your unwavering care, Raith, I’ve fulfilled my clan’s deepest wish. And you…you’ve become my first true promise after so long.”
Meeting Raithion’s intense green eyes, Azula let every wall he had ever built crumble into dust. He smiled, his soul laid bare. Azula leaned closer, his forehead resting against Raithion’s, his breath warm against Raithion’s lips.
“I’m yours,” Azula promised, the words ringing in the quiet room. “Always yours.”
A choked sound escaped Raithion as he pulled Azula fiercely into his arms, their lips meeting in a deep, desperate, consuming kiss, sealing the claim they had forged together. The last remnants of their tumultuous evening dissolved, leaving only a burning hunger and a love so deep it consumed them both.
****
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