Defy (7 page)

dedicated soldier in my guard.” He paused and the knot of terror

in my chest slowly ebbed away. He wasn’t going to accuse me of

being a girl — I wasn’t going to be thrown into the breeding

house. Prince Damian raised one eyebrow. “However” — his nor-

mal, condescending tone of voice returned as well — “I really wish

42

you hadn’t killed the attackers. They could have proven informa-

tive. Next time, just maim them.”

My blood pulsed hot through my veins as I forced myself to

give him a curt nod. The strange conversation, the look he’d given

me, they had to have been because of Marcel’s death. I had no idea

what had just happened — had it even been real? The prince show-

ing empathy, acting like he cared? Maybe it had been a grief-induced

hallucination. For one brief moment, I’d wondered if he might be

playing a part, too. It had never occurred to me that he might

be as trapped as I was. The thought sent a shiver down my spine.

I couldn’t afford to entertain ridiculous thoughts like that. Not

about him.

“Nolen.” Prince Damian suddenly raised his voice.

“You called, Your Highness?” Nolen appeared at the door

within moments, holding a parchment in his right hand.

“I am afraid these attackers’ failed efforts won’t be the last

attempt to break in to the palace. We must be more vigilant than

ever. The next few weeks are crucial to the war on King Osgand’s

kingdom.
Apparently
, there have been some recent victories I was unaware of, turning the tide of the war in our favor.” His lip curled in irritation. I wondered who had finally delivered the news to

him. It hadn’t been me. “Blevonese assassins will most likely be

trying harder than ever to break in to the palace. If people must

work double shifts, so be it. Alex, let the captain know I expect

at least half of my personal guard to be alert at all times, even at

night. Is that understood?”

“As you wish, Your Highness.” I bowed again.

“That is all. You may go.” He turned to the window, dismiss-

ing us both.

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I stalked out of the room, seething at his insinuation that we

weren’t doing enough. That he was in some sort of danger. Mad at

myself for thinking that maybe there was more to him than an

arrogant, spoiled prince seeking attention, digging for reactions. I

hoped Rylan had our sparring equipment set to go, because I was

ready to fight.

44

 six 

S
weat dripped between my shoulder blades and ran

beneath the binding on my chest. The air was heavy, sticky

with humidity; the sun’s glare was nearly unbearable. My lungs

ached, but I ignored the pain, the heat, the burn of calluses on my

hands as I swung my sword to parry Rylan’s attempts to strike me.

It was too easy to let myself remember that I’d been sparring with

Marcel two days ago, in this same ring.

Rylan had left himself unprotected on the right side. I struck

out hard and fast. My wooden blade hit him in the ribs with a dull

thud, knocking him to the ground. If it had been a real sword, he

would have been dead.

A light round of applause greeted my victory.

“Remind me never to spar with Alex when he’s upset,” I heard

Asher say.

“No kidding.
I
try to avoid sparring with him when he’s

happy
,” Jude commented back.

I stood over Rylan, my chest heaving, loosely holding the

sword. Extending my free hand, I helped him back up. “Good

fight.”

“Not from my end,” he grumbled, rubbing his chest.

45

Swiping at the sweat on my brow, I whirled to face the others,

who stood outside the ring, watching. “Anyone else?”

Jerrod, Kai, and Antonio were on duty, guarding the prince.

That left Deron, Jude, and Asher. They all shook their heads.

“You need to take a break, Alex. And we all need lunch,”

Deron said.

“I’m not that hungry, but you go ahead. I’ll catch up.” I ges-

tured for them to go.

Jude, Asher, and Rylan left, but Deron hung back.

“What is it?” I recognized the pensive look on his face.

“You know how upset we all are about losing Marcel.”

I remained silent, my jaw clenched. I didn’t want to talk about

it, but he was my captain.

He shifted his weight and looked down at me. “It’s just that

we have to fill his position soon. We can’t afford to be down

one man.”

“You think I’m not aware of that? Can’t I have at least one day

to grieve the loss of my brother before we pretend like he never

existed?”

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.” Deron’s voice

held a note of warning.

I lifted my practice sword back up and slashed it through the

air. “Either stay to spar or go away.”

Deron’s dark eyes narrowed at me. “Losing your brother was

a horrible blow, but that doesn’t give you an excuse to take it out

on the other members of the guard. Watch your tone with me and

try not to hit your sparring partners so hard.”

I clamped my teeth together, ignoring the uncomfortable

squirm of guilt in my stomach.

46

“I will give you the day to grieve Marcel. But I must post

notices that the competition to fill his position will take place

tomorrow afternoon.” Deron paused, and his expression softened.

“You know how sorry we all are.”

Deron turned without another word and walked away.

Even though my muscles burned with exhaustion, I forced

myself to lift the sword and work through my forms one more

time. Thrust, jab, parry, spin, and attack. The reason I was the

best was because I was relentless with my training. That, and if

Marcel was to be believed, I had been blessed with a gift. I’d

always teased him, saying that was just his excuse for why I always

beat him.

But the villagers had believed him. The fact that we were

half Blevonese didn’t make us many friends once the war started.

I’d heard whispers that we were enemy lovers. But I didn’t love

Blevon — I just loved my family. It didn’t matter to me where my

parents were born. After a Blevonese sorcerer took them away from

me, though, any love I had for my heritage had turned to hatred as

strong as anyone else’s.

The memories f looded up as I spun through the ring, lunging,

crouching, fighting a whole horde of imaginary foes and ghosts of

my past. I thought of the night when I was five and overheard my

parents talking about the king and his war. We lived close to the

border between Antion, King Hector’s kingdom, and Blevon,

King Osgand’s, and the threat of attack was always likely. Papa

began teaching Marcel how to fight, and I asked if I could watch.

I studied them, memorized the moves. Watching Papa spar thrilled

me in a way I couldn’t understand at that age. I only knew I
had

to do it, too — I had to learn to move like that, to spin and twist

47

and lunge, to make my sword become an extension of my body.

Beautiful and deadly, the most intoxicating dance I’d ever seen.

When I turned six, I asked if I could join them. Mama pro-

tested, but Papa thought it was just for fun. He was amused by my

interest — at first. I held back for the first few months, nervous

that they would be mad if I was any good.

Now, as I continued through my practice, the ghosts of my

family seemed to surround me. I imagined sparring with Papa

while Mama watched us, her expression hooded. I never knew if

she was proud of how good I became or ashamed.

Papa had called me his
zhànshì nánwu¯
. Though I’d begged

him to tell me what it meant, he never did. It was the language of

Blevon, not Antion. His parents had been from Blevon; they’d

moved to Antion when there was still peace between our nations.

Before Hector came with his Dansiian army and won control of

Antion, making himself king. Before he tore apart the alliance that

had once existed between the two nations by declaring war after

the queen’s death. I didn’t dare ask anyone else what
zhànshì

nánwu¯
meant. Having ties to Blevon wasn’t a good thing in

Antion — especially not inside King Hector’s palace.

I licked my lips and tasted the salt of my own sweat and tears.

I hoped that if anyone still watched me, the extra moisture on my

face would be indistinguishable from the perspiration dripping

down my neck. My muscles were on fire, my whole body cried out

from the exertion, but it wasn’t enough to drive the pain from my

heart.

I’d just grabbed a towel and wiped down my face when there

was a shout from across the courtyard.

“Alex! Come, quick!”

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I turned to see Asher running toward me. The sunlight shin-

ing on his red hair gave the illusion of his head being on fire. I

picked up my real sword, shoving it into the scabbard hooked

around my waist.

“What is it?”

He stopped halfway to where I stood, my hand instinctively

going to the hilt of my sword again. “The guard has been sum-

moned immediately. There’s been an attempt on the prince’s life.”

49

 seven 

P
rince Damian’s chambers were in an uproar when I

rounded the corner and rushed through the door, sword

drawn and ready — just in case.

“Alex, go assist Nolen. Asher, come over here,” Deron shouted

the moment I rushed through the door.

The entire guard stood around the outer room, swords drawn.

There were also some of King Hector’s men standing near Prince

Damian’s door — which was shut. I hurried across the room to

where Nolen stood behind his desk.

Asher had filled me in on the way back, telling me that the

would-be assassin had been a girl masquerading as a maid deliver-

ing the luncheon service to Prince Damian’s rooms. It was unusual

that he had been in his room for lunch. He usually joined his

father, the king, and the rest of court for luncheon and dinner.

When the girl had pushed the cart into his room, she’d drawn a

knife from her waist and lunged at the prince. Antonio had stopped

her in time and supposedly she was now being detained for ques-

tioning before being executed.

“Where is the prince?” I asked when I was close enough to

speak quietly to Nolen.

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“In his room. It was quite a shock to him, I’m sure. He’s not

used to women attempting to murder him.” Perspiration dotted

Nolen’s forehead, which he wiped with an already limp handker-

chief. It looked like Nolen was suffering from quite a bit of shock

himself.

“Where is the girl now?”

“Over there.” Nolen pointed to the other side of the room,

and I realized the king’s men were not hovering near the door, as

I first thought, but surrounding a chair just to the side of it.

Nolen continued to chatter in my ear, but I stopped listening

the moment one of the largest men shifted his weight, moving

aside so I had a clear view of the would-be assassin. She was tied to the chair and gagged. But when our eyes met across the room, hers

widened.

“Asheshka!”

She struggled in the chair, trying to speak around the gag.

Panic burned hot in my veins. What was
Tanoori
doing here?

When had she left our village and become an
assassin
?

“Why hasn’t someone taken her to the dungeons yet?” I yelled

over her attempts to speak my name. “Remove her from the

prince’s rooms immediately! Keep her tied up and gagged.”

The other guards looked to Deron. His dark eyes met mine

questioningly, but then he nodded. “Do as Alex says. One of us

will be down to interrogate her as soon as possible. No one else

speaks to her until then, is that understood?”

“Yes, sir,” the tallest man said. “You heard ’im, let’s get her

down in the dark where she belongs.”

I watched as the other men took her from the room, still

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struggling, her neck straining as she tried to speak through the

gag. With what I hoped was an imperceptible shudder, I forced

myself to turn away, to remain in control. Calm, collected.

“Asher, take Jerrod and Kai out in the hall,” Deron barked

out. “No one enters or leaves these chambers without being

searched — do you understand? No one!”

“Yes, sir!” Kai responded first. Jerrod and Asher both nodded

as they all trooped out the door.

“Alex, you, Rylan, and Jude stay here with me outside the

prince’s bedroom door. The rest of you may leave. We have this

under control.”

“I’m not sure we should leave. Maybe you aren’t capable of

handling this job. The king will want a report of how something

like this happened,” the largest of the king’s men said.

“I am the one in charge of the prince’s safety,” Deron said. “If

you have a problem, you are welcome to make it known, but not

right now. Right now we need to make sure he is secure.” Deron

met the man glare for glare. “Alex,” he continued, without turn-

ing to look at me, “go to the prince and check on him.”

“Yes, sir,” I said. My heart skipped a beat as I turned, heading

to the door of Prince Damian’s bedroom. Hopefully this time, he