Page 24 of Crown of Iron
I release a breath that rattles my lips and stare up at the sky. Throughout my life, I've made my fair share of mistakes, but none of them compared to this. I'm a complete fool. Not only is Kyron not committing treason, his actions are noble. I run my hand over my face, trying to wipe away my shame, and push away from the wall. I'm ready to return to Basecamp, so I can crawl into bed and hide. Lesson learned: I make a terrible spy.
Defeated, I head in Nortus' direction.
Steps rush up behind me and a hand wraps around my wrist. Terror surges within me and I swing around, my hand balled in a fist. I stop short of throwing a punch when I come face to face with raging black eyes ringed in amber.
“What the fuck are you doing here, princess?” Kyron hisses.
“I was—I thought… How did you know I was here?”
“I knew you were up to something when I saw you in the stables this morning. You almost got away with it, but I caught a glimpse of you back at Lake Holly.”
I knew I should’ve stayed in the cover of the trees, especially when he was going around the lake.
“Why did you follow me?” he asks, stepping forward.
I move back with wide eyes and no answer.
Another step and again I maintain the space between us. “I asked you a question.”
“I—I…”
My back collides with the side of the house. Kyron traps me with a hand braced above either side of my head. My breath hitches, and I struggle to keep my eyes locked on his. His irises threaten to drown me in their inky depths, but the captivating golden brown surrounding his pupils anchors me. I should look away and back down. I'm in the wrong, but my pride won't let me.
His chest heaves, coming dangerously close to mine, and my lungs fill with his scent. “You're toeing a fine line, so choose your words wisely. What are you doing here?”
My body vibrates with the low rumble of his voice. Every fiber of my being liquefies and I'm seconds from melting at his feet. He terrifies me, confuses me, and captivates me. I'm a cluster of nonsensical emotions in his presence.
Why? Why does he have meso out of sorts?
Forcing my words from my dry mouth, I manage to say, “I made a mistake.”
Kyron's jaw ticks and his stare burns with fury. “You want to be a soldier? Here's your first lesson: mistakes have consequences.”
“I know,” I whisper.
“I don't think you do, so I'm going to make sure you never forget.”
The brutal images flashing through my head contain whippings and shackles. Or even worse, my gift being unwillingly siphoned from me. My stomach turns and I steady my breathing to keep from vomiting.
“You're going to walk up to that door, knock, and introduce yourself to Shianne. Let her know you're one of my soldiers, and you're here to help as punishment. Tell her you would like to do the one task in her house she's been dreading and get to work.”
Relief washes over me, cooling my heated skin. “Okay.”
I move to slip out from under his arm, but he blocks me. His breath brushes my cheek as he brings his mouth to my ear. “If you fuck this up, I suggest you not return to Basecamp. Understood?”
“Yes, sir,” I say, unable to mask the quaking in my voice.
Kyron pushes away from me and turns on his heels.
I sink against the wall while every basic function of my body resumes. This could have been so much worse. It shouldn’t surprise me. Every assumption I’ve come to about the general has been proven wrong. The only thing I have figured out about the man is that I know nothing about him.
I make my way to the front door, and an hour later, Shianne has the cleanest washroom in all of Lucent. I scrubbed every corner, wiped down the walls and dried the tub until it shined. What started off as penance ended up a labor of love.
Mia joined me while I completed my chore, sitting with her legs crossed at the threshold of the washroom. She spoke to me the entire time, giving me enough information to learn that her father was a soldier killed in battle. Her mother sells pastries in town on the weekends, Blaze wants to join the army when he is older, and she indeed is madly in love with Kyron.
After washing my hands and face, I join Shianne in the small kitchen. Dozens of flaky pastries cover the round dining table as they cool. The wood-burning oven crackles against the far wall, heating the kitchen. She sets me to work at the wooden counter in the center of the room. I spreadsweetened apples onto flattened dough while she works on creating the top layer of the strudel.
“Do you mind if I open the window?” I ask, wiping the back of my sleeve over my forehead.
