Defy (11 page)

couldn’t come up with a different excuse fast enough, and already

the silence had stretched too long. “You cried out in your sleep, sir.

I was afraid that you had been attacked again.”

“That would imply a deplorable lack of awareness on your

part, if someone had managed to slip past you and get into my

room.” He ignored the mention of his crying out in his sleep

entirely.

“Sir, the child who brought the letter did so by way of a secret

passage — one I was not aware of before this night. I was con-

cerned that another such passageway might exist in your inner

chamber.”

“Do I detect a hint of irritation in your voice, almost-captain

of mine?”

I cleared my throat, and attempted to rein in what was appar-

ently my obvious frustration. “Sir, my only concern is your safety.

If there are passages that allow someone access to you that I’m

unaware of, it could lead to a failure to protect you from harm.”

“Ah, I see.”

I tried not to stare at him as silence fell, stretching out to fill

the space between us with a strange tension. He sat in his bed,

halfway undressed, while I stood in the middle of his room with

only a shirt, a binding, and some pants to hide my secret. If I really were a boy, it wouldn’t matter how dressed or undressed either of

us were. I wouldn’t have felt breathless from the force of his gaze

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on me in the darkness. But I
wasn’t
a boy and I needed to get out of this room before he realized it.

Finally, he lay back down in bed without another word, pull-

ing the sheets over his shoulder and shutting his eyes. When he

didn’t say anything else, appearing to have decided to ignore me

and go back to sleep, I turned on my heel and rushed for the door.

If he refused to answer my questions, there was obviously

something he was hiding. I only hoped it wouldn’t lead to a suc-

cessful assassination, because if he died, I would, too — for failing in my job to protect him. I grumbled under my breath as I yanked

open the door.

“Stupid, stubborn —”

“Good night, Alex.” His voice made me jump and I nearly

gasped out loud.

“Good night, sir.” Cheeks f laming, praying I hadn’t spoken

loud enough for him to hear, I shut his door.

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 eleven 

A
fter a brief sponge bath before the sun rose, hoping no

one else would be up so early, I hurried to switch my tunic.

I didn’t dare change the binding on my chest; it would take too

long. I couldn’t risk someone walking in on me — especially

Prince Damian. Not that I would expect him to be up so early, but

then again, he seemed to be full of surprises recently.

Voices outside the door to the prince’s chambers alerted me

moments before it opened and just as I predicted, Nolen strode in

with Deron and Jerrod on his heels.

“The night was uneventful, I take it?” Deron stood in the

middle of the room, arms folded across his wide chest. He wore

the traditional uniform of Prince Damian’s guard: white tunic,

thick vest dyed a deep blue with the emblem of the Antion nation

on the right breast — a jaguar crouched on a branch, prepared to

attack.

“Yes, sir,” I responded, choosing not to mention the letter or

the secret passageway. Or the midnight conversation with the

prince. I trusted Deron far more than I trusted Prince Damian,

but I had promised not to tell anyone. And there was a part of me

that wanted to find out what was really going on before alerting

anyone else to the prince’s strange nighttime activities.

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“Excellent. Hopefully, you are good and rested, then. The

competition will be held starting at noon today.”

“Why would I need to be rested for the competition?” I

noticed Jerrod scowling behind Deron. His pale eyes met mine for

a moment before he looked away.

“Because the candidates will fight you, of course.”

“The tradition is to fight the captain.”

Deron nodded. “True. However, you beat me. Everyone

knows the position technically should have been yours. If you’d

been just a few years older, it would have been. The men will fight

you, and whoever lasts the longest will join the guard.”

“And the prince?”

“I’ve assigned Jerrod and Asher to stay with him at all times

during the tryouts.”

Jerrod’s scowl made more sense now. Everyone knew that he

wanted the position of captain someday, and before I came, it had

looked like he might be the man to beat for the position — if

something happened to Deron. But then I beat Deron. While

Deron had taken his loss with grace (although having still retained

his position as captain probably helped), Jerrod had treated me

with thinly veiled contempt ever since.

And now he was relegated to being a babysitter while I was

given the task he probably felt he deserved. Of all the men on the

guard, he was the only one who refused to spar with me unless

forced. He didn’t like to lose.

“Kai and Jude will spar first, weed out the men, and then

we’ll have you fight the best of the bunch. Go grab something

to eat and head outside to help Rylan set up the ring and get the

gear together.”

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I nodded at Deron’s dismissal. After retrieving my own vest

and donning it, along with my scabbard and sword, I started to

head out.

“Oh, Alex, one more thing.”

I paused and looked back at Deron.

“The girl — the one who attacked Prince Damian yesterday —

is sentenced to hang tomorrow morning just after dawn. Rylan

said you asked.”

“The prince wanted to make sure she was punished to the full

extent of the law,” I said, hoping the sudden nausea in my gut

wasn’t apparent in my expression. “I told him I would find out.”

“I’ll be sure to let him know.” Deron waved me off. I turned

away once again and this time he didn’t call me back.

I easily dispatched the first two prospective guards, barely even

breaking a sweat, even though it was another sweltering day.

Clouds sluggishly passed overhead, offering occasional reprieve

from the relentless glare of the sun, but the air was thick with

humidity. As the afternoon wore on, the sky grew increasingly

somber and the line of men standing outside the ring grew smaller.

Finally, only two remained.

“There will be a fifteen-minute break, and then the final two

will fight for the position of personal guard to the prince,” Deron

called out when I beat the tenth man in under three minutes,

knocking him to the ground with a hit to the back and then fin-

ishing him off with my wooden sword pressed to his exposed

throat.

“Damn, you’re good,” he muttered as he lumbered back up,

stepping away from me warily.

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I nodded in acknowledgment and then turned and walked

over to where Deron stood talking to Rylan and Kai.

Rylan handed me a rag and a cup of water. I downed the water

in one long draft while Kai continued regaling them with a tale of

some lady’s maid he’d apparently seduced the night before.

“I’m out there working while you’re over here gossiping about

the latest skirt you’ve been chasing?”

“Or undoing, as the case may be.” Kai grinned, unrepentant.

“You shouldn’t work so hard all the time, Alex. You’d be surprised

how impressive women find it when a member of the prince’s

guard pays attention to them.”

I just shook my head, using the rag to wipe away the sweat

dripping down my hairline. Kai and his women. I liked him well

enough, but I was glad he didn’t know I was a girl. He was attrac-

tive, I supposed, taller, with his light brown hair pulled back in

a ponytail and his green eyes always crinkled at the corners from a

constant smile. But if I had to pick the most handsome man on the

guard, I definitely preferred Rylan’s warm brown eyes. His more

subdued, quiet humor. The surprising gentleness he had with chil-

dren and animals.

But then my thoughts strayed to the night before. Heat rose

in my body as I remembered a different pair of eyes. Shockingly

blue and —

“Alex?”

I jerked and blinked. “What?” Luckily, I’d been staring at

nothing, instead of at someone. But I still had to fight not to blush.

“Are you tired? Do you need a longer break?” Rylan asked. I

met his concerned gaze and quickly looked away. What was wrong

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with me? I had to stop thinking about Rylan and the prince or any

other male like that.

“I’m fine.”

“We can wait longer if you need,” Deron agreed.

“What he needs is a good —”

“Kai, shut it,” Rylan cut him off.

“I said, I’m fine. Let’s get this over with.” I stormed back into

the ring.

Rylan could read me better than I wanted to admit, because he

was right, I was tired. The sleepless night was wearing on me. But

I couldn’t afford to let it show. These last two men were the best

from the previous rounds with the other guards. So far, the lon-

gest fight had lasted six minutes. One of them had to go longer

than that, and the position would be his.

I took a deep breath and then nodded my signal.

The second-to-last man was only about an inch taller than

me. He was thin, wiry, and he held the wooden sword loosely in

his left hand. He obviously hadn’t made it this far on brute strength like many of the previous men. He must be more like me — fast,

skilled.

A single raindrop splatted on my cheek, taking me by surprise

as we lifted our swords up to our faces, acknowledging each other.

I glanced up and noticed that the clouds had solidified into a gray

tumult above us. Another drop hit my forehead and slipped down

my nose as I looked back at my opponent. He wore a piece of fabric

over his nose and mouth, hiding half his face from view. Above the

covering, he had thick, ebony hair, eyes so dark they were nearly

black, and olive skin. An unusual combination for the Antion

83

nation. He must have been like me — someone with Blevonese

heritage. The air felt charged as I stared at him, and a sudden chill ran down my spine. Something different — something I couldn’t

put my finger on — hovered around him.

“Does the dust bother you?” I asked as we began to circle.

He didn’t answer.

I tightened my grip on my sword. So that’s how it was going

to be. I didn’t want someone with an attitude on the guard with

us, and I was more determined than ever to dispatch him in fewer

than six minutes.

He finally lunged first, a quick jab that I easily def lected.

Slowly at first, then faster and faster, he attacked and I parried,

learning his movements, his method. He was good, but not

remarkable. Not what I’d expected. I had a strange suspicion he

was toying with me. It irked me that I couldn’t see his mouth; I

couldn’t ascertain his expression other than from his dark, discon-

certing eyes.

Raindrops continued to fall sporadically as the minutes wore

on. A quick glance at Rylan confirmed what I was afraid of: He held

up four fingers. Only two minutes remained to beat the masked

opponent. Annoyed and unsettled, I began to attack him, rather

than waiting, hitting him with a sudden frenzy of lunges and jabs.

I spun and twisted and hit and hit and hit. More than once, I made

contact, but he parried more of my blows than I expected, and the

ones I did manage to get past his defenses didn’t knock him down.

But the attack revealed a weakness on his right side; he wasn’t as

fast at defending it. I faked to his left, and he took the bait. Before he could react, I twisted around and swung with all my might at

his right side.

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A killing hit. His eyes widened. He couldn’t get his arm

around fast enough to block me. But just before my sword should

have hit him, it collided with a barrier — as though I’d hit a wall

instead of soft human f lesh and bone. My arm vibrated from the

impact and I very nearly lost my grip on the sword. Then, as

though I’d imagined it, the barrier disappeared and the wooden

blade hit his ribs. He groaned and fell to the ground as though

nothing unusual had happened —

as though I actually had

knocked him to the dirt. I stood over him in confusion and shock,

my grip loose on my weapon. It had all happened so fast, those

watching probably didn’t even notice. But I knew he’d done some-

thing — something to stop my hit from hurting him. And then

he’d pretended to lose.

He stood up and brushed himself off.

“Five minutes and twenty seconds,” Deron called out.

“Pity,” my opponent murmured and walked away as I stared

after him. Despite the heat and the muggy humidity of the

impending storm, an icy chill rushed over me, making goose

bumps rise on my skin. Ignoring the final contender, who had

stepped into the ring, I went over to where Deron stood watching.

He tried to conceal the concern on his face.

“Is everything okay, Alex?”

“Who was that man?”

Deron glanced across the ring. When I followed his gaze, the

masked contender was already striding away, not bothering to