Sara Larson - Defy

“Guards.” Prince Damian flicked 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 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 floor.

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 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 document 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, giving 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, 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 something 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 superior — 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 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.

THE 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 training to keep my expression passive, to keep control over the panic racing through me when I got close enough to make out their faces, to see the terror in the girls’ eyes. I counted eight boys and twelve girls. The youngest girl looked no older than five. She gripped an older boy’s hand tightly, her face ghostly pale in the meager light of the crescent moon hanging above us.