Sara Larson - Defy

I clenched my jaw, keeping my expression severe. “I told you, I’m fine.” I crossed my arms, taking a wide stance.

“Okay.” He held up his hands. “Then do you still want to spar this morning?”

“Of course.” I nodded curtly as I exited the room.

“I’ll go make sure everything is ready,” he said.

I lifted one hand to acknowledge him without looking back. Prince Damian didn’t like to be kept waiting. And I was too vulnerable to be standing alone in my room with Rylan right then — Marcel’s death had made me feel all too much like a girl again.

Squaring my shoulders, I took a deep breath, and opened the door to the outer room of Prince Damian’s chambers.

“There he is,” Nolen grumbled. “Alex, get over here before —”

“Alex!” I recognized the bellow from the inner room, Damian’s bedroom. The prince was on the verge of having another temper tantrum. I’d already endured one yesterday, when he demanded to know why Marcel and I hadn’t come to report Iker’s response to him as he’d commanded us. It was hard to believe that had been less than twenty-four hours ago.

“His Highness is rather unhappy this morning.” Nolen pursed his thin lips together. He was a small man, an inch shorter than me, with scrawny limbs that seemed too long for his body. He almost made me look burly.

“I gathered that.” I grimaced.

“ Alex! ”

“You’d better go. Good luck.” Nolen sat back down at the desk where he went through all of the prince’s correspondences, picking out only the most urgent and important missives with which to bother His Royal Highness.

I stood as tall as I could possibly lift my five-foot-ten-inch frame and marched into Damian’s room.

“Finally.” The prince stood by his window, watching me enter. Thick, velvet curtains the color of blood framed the enormous glass panes. His room was luxuriously appointed, full of furs, velvet, silk, and every other expensive fabric known to man. An enormous four-poster bed dominated the far side of the room, but he stood near his mahogany desk today. He was tall, with broad shoulders and a narrow waist. Even though his posture was perfect, he somehow exuded an air of indolence. His dark hair was perfectly pomaded into the current fashion, swooping back from his broad forehead, emphasizing his aquiline nose — his father’s nose. But his olive skin was a gift from his Blevonese mother.

Sometimes it seemed like those with the most rotten interiors were blessed with the most exquisite exteriors.

“Your Highness.” I pressed my fist to my heart and bowed to him.

“Yes, yes, get up already.” The entitled boredom of his voice grated on my nerves. He seemed to think it created loyalty to him, to act like the niceties of court were a nuisance, but in reality, it was one more thing that annoyed me. He knew I had to bow, to posture to his demands and acquiesce to his every whim — even though, at twenty-three, he was only six years older than me. To pretend like it was all for show, and one he didn’t enjoy, was ludicrous. I’d seen the gloating expression on his noble face too many times to believe that he didn’t relish everyone’s subservience.

I stood up straight again, at attention. The one thing I disliked most was when he looked at me as he was right then, his blue eyes cold and calculating. His lashes were dark, and the corners of his eyes tilted slightly, giving him an exotic look. But his irises were such a clear, crystal blue, it was a shock the first time I’d met him. For all of his whining and tantrums and other spoiled behavior, there was true intelligence and cunning in his eyes. Usually hidden, but sometimes, as was the case now, the sharpness of his gaze cut me through. There was a part of me that wondered what he really thought. What did he see when he looked at me as he was now?

I’d had years of practice at hiding emotion, of staying calm under pressure. Even the unwavering eyes of the prince couldn’t shake me. Not visibly anyway. But no amount of control could keep my pulse from quickening.

“I hear there was a death during last night’s pursuit.” Prince Damian tilted his head.

“Yes, Your Highness.”

“One of my personal guard?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Someone important to you, Alex?” He lifted a hand, examined his perfectly trimmed nails. Hands that had never seen work, never gripped a sword or loosed an arrow. He had the perfect build for fighting, tall and lean, but it was wasted on him.

“My brother, sir.” I clenched my jaw, looking down at the ground in an effort to maintain my composure.

“Your twin, if I recall?”

“Yes, sir.” Was he trying to drive the pain deeper? “The attackers were all taken down, Your Highness.” Keeping my voice low had become second nature to me, but I always had to work harder to make it sound natural when I was under stress.

“Very good.” He paused. “Always duty first with you, right, Alex?”

“Sir?” I couldn’t keep myself from glancing at him briefly. He looked up from his hand at the same time, so that our gazes met. There was something in the depths of his eyes, an echo of my own grief — an unexpected empathy — that made my breath catch in my throat. The intensity of his gaze — this wasn’t the way a prince looked at just another member of his guard.

“I had a brother, too,” he said, his eyes never leaving mine, his voice strangely soft. A flash of unmasked pain crossed his face. “I kept a stiff upper lip when he died as well. I’m … I’m impressed with your dedication to me and my safety.”

“It’s my duty, Your Highness.” My voice came out unsteadily and I hurriedly clamped my jaw shut. In the year since I’d won a position on his guard, I’d never heard him speak of his brother. His unexpected admission brought my own grief far too close to the surface. It took all of my willpower to force the emotion back down, to keep control.

Prince Damian watched my battle silently. “Alex.” He took a halting step toward me. “Must you always pretend — even with me?”

Despite all my training, I could feel the shock on my face, the sudden fear, and he froze with his hand partially outstretched to me. My heart pounded so loudly in my ears, I wondered how he couldn’t hear it as well. What did he mean? There was no way he knew my secret — it wasn’t possible. Was it? Panic made my throat constrict. He had to be referring to trying to hide my grief about Marcel’s death. That was all. I had to remain calm. Breathe. In and out.

With a sudden shake of his head, Prince Damian waved his hand in the air and in the space of a heartbeat, his normal, apathetic expression slid back into place. “Well, as you said, it is your duty to attend to my safety. I’m fortunate indeed to have such a 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 normal, condescending tone of voice returned as well — “I really wish you hadn’t killed the attackers. They could have proven informative. 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 showing 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.