Defy (3 page)

at least fifty pounds lighter. Deron was the biggest man in the

guard, and at thirty-six, also the oldest. But that wasn’t why he

was captain — no one had ever beaten him in a challenge. Well, no

one except me.

But when I fought him to earn my position on the guard a

year ago, I was too new and too young to be made captain, so it

didn’t matter.

Marcel came back with two tall cups, one in each hand.

“Water?” I asked, eagerly reaching out.

“Yep,” he said, but he pulled back, keeping the cups out of my

reach. Then he lifted one of them to his mouth and drank deeply.

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“Are you planning on sharing that, or am I supposed to apolo-

gize for beating you first?”

“Nope. No apology necessary. I fully intend to give you what

you deserve.”

Before I had a chance to react, Marcel tossed the entire con-

tents of the second cup into my face, drenching me. At first, I was

too shocked to do anything except stare at him. Then I burst out

laughing. The cool water actually felt good as it ran down my nose

and chin, dripped off my short hair onto my shirt.

“Well, that’s one way to admit you’re a sore loser.” I ran a hand

through my wet hair, shaking the excess water off.

“You two never stop, do you?” Rylan shook his head, a wry

grin revealing his straight, white teeth. His skin was the color of

cream with a hint of melted chocolate stirred in.

“I need to go check on things inside the palace,” I said, forc-

ing myself to look away from Rylan’s warm brown eyes. I had no

business noticing his smile or his teeth or what shade of chocolate

his skin and irises resembled. “Try not to lose any more sparring

matches.” I pointed at Marcel. “I don’t think too many would-be

assassins are deterred by cups of water in the face.”

“Yes, sir.” Marcel saluted me with the empty cup.

With a sigh and a suppressed smile, I turned away from my

brother and strode across the courtyard, purposely making my stride

as long as possible.

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 two 

T
he dining room was lit by hundreds of candles. The scent

of hot wax and too much perfume made my head hurt. I

stood at attention a discreet distance from where Prince Damian

sat, eating his dinner with his customary bored expression. The

women on both sides of him vied for his attention, one more bla-

tantly than the other, bending too close to the table, pushing her

very visible breasts even higher out of her dress. But the prince

only raised one dark eyebrow and lifted a spoonful of chilled pear

soup to his mouth.

I wanted to tell the women to quit bothering. Prince Damian

never took anyone to his rooms, and as one of his personal guards,

I was certain he never visited anyone else’s, either. I believed it was because engaging in
that
activity would require too much effort —

and if there was one thing the prince excelled at, it was laziness.

I looked away from the long table filled with lavishly dressed

men and women, and scanned the room. Marcel stood a few feet

away from me on Prince Damian’s other side. Across the room,

Rylan and his brother, Jude, stood near the door.

As the next course was brought out, the conversation turned,

as it nearly always did, to the war. After a few minutes of discus-

sion, Prince Damian sighed.

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“Must we always converse about this dreary topic?” He lifted

his wineglass to his lips. King Hector had wine and champagne

shipped in from Dansii, but only the royal family and their most

esteemed guests were allowed to drink it on a regular basis. The

rest of the dinner party had goblets full of native juices from

Antion — mango and papaya.

“But surely
you
don’t find it dreary, Your Highness?” A young woman I hadn’t noticed before tonight asked, her expression one

of surprise. “This war comes at a steep cost, of course. But I would

think that
you
of all people would be thrilled at the recent success the army has had in stopping those Blevonese sorcerers.”

Oh, here we go
, I groaned internally.

“I should?” the prince asked, his voice deceptively inviting.

“Why do you suppose that would excite me, in particular?”

The young woman — who couldn’t have been more than fif-

teen or sixteen, most likely newly presented at court — leaned

forward eagerly, exhilarated to have garnered the prince’s notice.

“Well, because of what happened to the queen. I’m sure you’re

just as eager to avenge her murder as the king is. Aren’t you?”

The entire room seemed to freeze, silence descending swiftly

as the prince pinned her with his gaze. I couldn’t see his eyes from

my vantage point, but I knew Prince Damian well. I could easily

imagine the icy glare he’d turned on her, his shockingly blue eyes

cold. The girl’s color drained slightly, to be quickly replaced by a

f lush creeping up her neck.

“I find that this . . . meal . . . has become unappetizing,”

Prince Damian finally said, rising from his chair. Everyone else

rushed to stand as well. “Please, remain and enjoy the food. Cele-

brate the army’s victories with as much exuberance as possible.”

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The girl stared down at her plate in humiliation, her former excite-

ment completely gone. She looked like she was about to vomit the

food she’d been eating all over the table.

“Guards.” Prince Damian f licked a wrist, signaling us. We fell

into line, Rylan and Jude in front of the prince, Marcel and myself

in the rear, as he exited the room. Once the dining table and the

awkward conversation were far behind us, Prince Damian stopped.

“Alex,” he said, turning to face me.

“Yes, Your Highness?” I stood at attention.

“I haven’t received word of this supposed victory.” He glared

at me like it was my fault. “I do
not
like to be ill informed at my own dinner parties. You will find Nolen at once and tell him that

I require news of the war efforts brought to me personally from

now on.”

From behind me, Marcel said, “My lord, Nolen has taken the

evening off to visit his sister in Tubatse.”

Prince Damian looked past me to my brother. “Ah yes.” He

pressed his lips together in irritation. “Then go find Iker instead.

Give him the same message. He’s probably better informed than

Nolen anyway.”

I nodded. Iker — the king’s most trusted advisor — probably

did
know more than Nolen, Prince Damian’s “handler,” as we

dubbed him. But I hated dealing with Iker and wished Nolen

hadn’t picked tonight of all nights to be gone. “Would you like me

or Marcel to go, my lord?”

“Your shifts are ending soon, I believe?” he asked.

“Yes, my lord,” Marcel confirmed.

“Both of you go and bring me word of his response before you

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retire for the night.” He waved us off as Marcel and I pressed our

right fists to our opposite shoulders and bowed.

The king’s chambers were in a completely different wing of

the sprawling, massive palace, and Marcel and I had to turn around

and head back the way we’d come to find Iker’s room, next to King

Hector’s private quarters.

Once we were out of earshot of Prince Damian, Marcel and I

both began to walk more slowly. He seemed to dread talking to

Iker as much as I did.

“Did you hear about any victories recently?” Marcel asked as

we climbed the staircase to the second f loor.

I shook my head. “No. And I’ve never seen that girl before. I

wonder if she’s really that stupid, or if someone put her up to it to try and get a reaction from the prince.”

“If so, she’s an excellent actress. I was sure she was about to

throw up when Damian stood to leave.”

I had to agree with Marcel; she’d been very convincing. Maybe

there’d been a report of a victory we hadn’t heard yet. But even

if there was, I couldn’t believe she’d had the audacity to bring up

the murder of Prince Damian’s mother at dinner. It didn’t matter

if that was why King Hector had declared war on Blevon; it was

not something to discuss over chilled soup and poached whitefish.

When we reached Iker’s door, it wasn’t completely shut. Marcel

tapped lightly on it. We waited, but there was no response.

“Should we go in?”

For some reason, I had to suppress a shiver. I didn’t like Iker.

He was a narrow man — everything about him was angular and

sharp: his beaked nose, his chin, the point of his head, which was

13

ill concealed by his greasy black hair. I did not wish to go into his room, yet we had no choice but to try and find him. “I guess so.

Prince Damian will throw a fit if we come back without a docu-

ment signed in blood, swearing to bring him news of any and all

victories as soon as Iker has them.”

Marcel went first, pushing the door open a bit wider. The

room was encased in darkness, all except for the back corner, where

a tall figure stood hunched over a table. The meager glow of a low

fire in the hearth next to him revealed the bony outline of Iker’s

body. There was a slight haze in the room, and an acrid, coppery

scent turned my stomach.

The moment we walked in, Iker straightened and whirled to

face us, blocking our view of what was on the table. “What are you

doing, barging into my personal room without permission?” he

demanded, his expression furious. He clutched a small knife in

one hand.

“Prince Damian sent us and your door was open. . . .” Marcel

gestured behind us.

“Leave my chamber at once.” Iker glowered at us, the faint

light of the fire behind him barely illuminating his features, giv-

ing him a dark, wild look. The air felt thick, heavy, entrapping.

Something was wrong in here and I was more than willing to

comply with his command. I spun on my heel and strode out. But

Marcel lingered. I turned to see him still standing in the doorway,

meeting Iker’s glare.

“Iker, was there word of a victory today that Prince Damian

was kept unaware of?” Marcel crossed his arms over his chest and

I groaned. I knew that position well. He wasn’t going to back

down or let Iker intimidate him. Normally, I wouldn’t have either,

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but it wasn’t just Iker I was eager to escape. It was his room; the

smell; the little knife in his hand, which was stained with some-

thing all too similar to blood; and the darkness that felt thicker

than normal, somehow. I couldn’t imagine what he was doing

in there, and I was surprised Marcel wasn’t as eager to leave

as I was.

“I said, leave my room,” Iker’s voice was low and threatening

now as he marched toward us. Marcel had the good sense to back

away. Either of us could have taken down the greasy-haired, older

man in a fight without even breaking a sweat. But he was our supe-

rior — almost as powerful as the king himself. It wasn’t a good

idea to infuriate him.

Iker pulled the door shut behind him and pointed at us with

the knife. “You may tell your prince that I will inform him of

any and all victories over Blevon at the king’s discretion. As for

the both of you, since you obviously have nothing better to do

than barge into people’s private chambers, I now require your

services.”

Even with the door shut, the smell still lingered in my nose. I

looked down at his knife and tried to keep my expression neutral,

despite the uneasiness in my gut.

“We have a new batch of orphans to place,” Iker said, “and the

king’s guard is down a few men right now because of illness. I

believe they should be arriving through the west gate shortly. No

one seems to like the job of taking the girls to the breeding house,

but I’m sure the both of you won’t mind.” His fingers tightened

on the hilt of the knife. “Am I correct?”

Revulsion made my stomach turn. I’d only been forced to

enter the breeding house once before. Even though I’d been inside

15

for just a few minutes, I still had nightmares about the place. The

stench of unkempt bodies and overused sheets. The echoes of

screams, the desperate sobbing behind closed doors. The heat and

fear that coated the air like smoke. The empty eyes of the girls.

The swollen mounds of their bellies. Bile rose in my throat and

panic seized me. I couldn’t go back there — I couldn’t lead other

girls to that fate at sword point.

Iker looked directly at me with a cruel smile on his thin lips

and repeated, “Am I correct?”

“Yes, sir,” Marcel finally answered for us both. “We’ll go

right away.”

“Maybe next time, you will think twice before disturbing

me.” Iker gave me one last dark look before going back into his

room, shutting the door firmly behind him this time.

16

 three 

T
he heat-drenched night made my uniform stick to my

damp skin as Marcel and I walked silently across the palace

grounds. Farther away from the main entrance to the palace, we

could see a large group of people being herded through the side

gate by some of the king’s guards. I had to employ every bit of