Page 16 of Crown of Iron
Kyron flicks a strand of my wet hair with his index finger, clearing it away from my eyes. The urge to smack his hand away thrums through me. I brush away the violent desire, calling on my royal training. I straighten my back and lift my chin. It’s a fake façade, a mask to hide my muddled senses.
The general is both intriguing and terrifying. Until Esmeray, I'd never been this close to a Stigian. I always thought they wouldn't hesitate to siphon if they got close. I'm not sure how it works, if he just needs to touch me or is he powerful enough to will my gift to him? Using another person’s gifts to fuel my own is an atrocious thought, something I’d never even consider.
I sharply inhale when we are almost nose to nose. The way my gut flips tells me that this man is stronger than anyone I've ever encountered. And I've met my fair share of powerful Khiros. The thought that he stole his position amongst my father’s soldiers is one I can’t shake.
“And didn't I tell you to find something else to wear?” he asks.
“I–I know, but no one told me?—”
“No more excuses.” His jaw twitches as he lifts his hand and waves his first two fingers. Over the general's shoulder, the bald, red-bearded man from his office steps out of the stables.
Kyron's voice is a low rumble as he says, “I expect you to follow my commands or return to where you came from. I don't have time for games,princess.”
My face reddens, and for a split second, I consider going home. One night in this place and it's clear I'm not cut out for the life of a soldier. This place is do or die, and I've not experienced many things without some form of guidance. It didn't matter if it came from Borin, my family, or Leif. I've never truly been on my own. And now, I’m majorly failing. My first orders were basic commands, and I couldn't find a way to follow them.
No. I won't go home before my first day has truly started. I've gone against the king to be here, and my siblings are counting on me. More importantly, my father needs me to rescue him sooner rather than later. I will finish what I started.
“Yes, sir,” I say with a sure tone that doesn't match my turmoil on the inside.
“Put her to work, Ulric.” Kyron turns on his heels, leaving cinnamon and pine lingering in the air.
Once he has stalked out of sight, Ulric jerks his head to the side. “Well, let's get to it, prince–”
“Please, don't call me that. I'll do whatever you need me to do, just don't call me princess or little lady or anything that patronizes me.”
“All right, what should I call you?” he asks with the thick brogue of the western farming communities.
I pause for a moment and weigh my options; I don't want to use my given name. If news reaches Basecamp about the missing princess, Raelle will be a dead giveaway. I need to do whatever I can to prolong my time at Basecamp and win the trust of my father's soldiers. I also know that if I make something up, I likely won't answer to it. I settle for my common nickname in the hopes of it giving me some anonymity.
“Elle. My friends and family call me Elle,” I say, extending my hand.
Ulric tightens his fingers around mine with a firm shake. “It's a pleasure to meet you. Major Ulric Fraser, but we forgo the formalities around here.”
“Could have fooled me,” I mumble, Kyron's orders replaying in my head. He spat them with unwavering authority, and they felt very formal to me. The man had no problem exercising the power that comes with his position, intimidating me in a way that very few do.
I spend my morning brushing a half a dozen horses until their coats are perfectly smooth. The redundancy of the work does little to halt mythoughts. I think about my siblings helping me to deceive my mother, Micah and Borin discovering I didn’t show up for my first day of official duties as heir, rescuing my father, and I spare far too many thoughts for Kyron.
I've spent mere minutes with the man and can tell something isn't right. And not just because he's a Stigian; something about his power is dark, luring, invasive. And even if he didn't rattle me when he was near, he's too young. He can’t be older than mid-twenties. How is someone who has served the army for seven years, at best, qualified to lead all its soldiers? Nothing about Kyron LeFur taking my father's place adds up.
There is no way my father left him in charge. Papa is a trusting man, but he’s also cautious. Overseeing Lucent's army is his pride and joy, and one of the most important positions under the king. He wouldn't risk it. The only way a Stigian became general is if he took the rank. But that doesn't explain why all these soldiers follow him. I can't recall anything baffling me the way this situation does.
Ten minutes into eating my first meal of the day, Ulric returns with his friend in tow—the one with a friendly smile. From my place on a bale of hay, I look up at them and pop a slice of apple into my mouth.
“Elle, Terro. Terro, Elle,” Ulric says.
I nod, chew my food, and hold out my hand to the young man. He curls his lip and offers his fist instead. With furrowed brows, I glance at my filthy palm. It's a smart move on his part; I wouldn't want to touch it either. We bump fists, and I wipe my hand on my shirt before continuing my sparse meal.
“Ready for your next task?” Terro asks.
“Am I going to actually train? You know, do something that shows that I can be trusted as a soldier?” I shove the rest of my bread into my mouth and the half-eaten apple into my pocket.
“What do you mean? We all had to work our way up. You're learning to follow orders. If you can follow a command, especially when it requires doing something you find distasteful, you can be trusted on the battlefield.”
Ulric vehemently nods.
I curl my lips between my teeth and stand. If only they knew just how trained I am in taking orders, then they would understand this is the last thing I need to be doing. Or maybe they would push me harder if they knew the truth. But for now, I’ll keep quiet and appease them. The sooner I earn their respect the quicker I can accomplish what I came to do.
“So now what? Do I have to braid the horses' manes?” I ask.
