Page 1 of Crown of Roses
Chapter One
The clang of swords echoing in the early morning air sent a rush of crackling energy down Maeve Carrick’s spine. The skin on her arms pebbled despite the warmth of the sun piercing through the layer of lazy clouds coming in from off the coast of the Gaelsong Sea. All of Kells was asleep, save for those who had no fear in the face of death.
She looked into the dark eyes of her opponent. The space between them was nothing more than some sandy patches of ground and dead grass, a distance easily covered in less time than it took to breathe. Her heart thrummed inside the tight walls of her corset-bound chest as she tossed her sword from hand to hand, silently daring him to make the first move.
Casimir Vawda stood opposite of her, a fierce warrior with a face she long ago committed to memory. Like the dimple that appeared in his left cheek on the rare occasion he flashed one of those smiles, a grin illuminated by the remnants of stolen youth. He stood across from her, outfitted in the colors of Kells. Deep navy leathers, and pants the color of smoke. His hood was pushed back and a faint sheen of sweat beaded across his brow.
He shoved his disheveled crop of chestnut brown hair from his face and Maeve smiled.
“You’re moving slowly this morning, Cas,” she called out to him over the shouts of others on the training field around them. She gave her sword a little twirl and the blade glinted in the sunlight. “Were you up too late last night?”
He was on her in an instant.
When their swords met, it was a thunderous song, and she knew the melody by heart. She had trained alongside him since the day she was strong enough to wield a weapon. His movements and attacks were nearly an extension of her own. She matched his strength and duplicated his caliber. This wasn’t just any soldier. This was Casimir. She knew him.
Arms crossed overhead, he pressed the weight of his weapon and his body against her. “What I do in my free time is none of your concern.”
Maeve laughed. They both knew they had no free time.
She shoved back against him and dropped low, ready to twist away, and pop up behind him. But Casimir expected that, because even though she knew all of his tells, he knew hers as well. He kicked her sword from her hand and it clattered to the ground, just out of reach. Grit and grass slid beneath her, and the solid earth smacked her backside. Her head snapped once, and stars of twinkling black and silver danced in front of her eyes. Pain speared from her lower spine up to the base of her neck. She tried to roll out of the way, but Casimir was on top of her, the coolness of his blade pressed neatly against her neck.
She was pinned.
Casimir stared down her, his body pressed firmly on top of her, the weight of him making it difficult to breathe.
“What were you saying again?” he taunted, but the corner of his mouth lifted.
Maeve seized her opportunity. Distraction was often key. “I was saying that whatever you were doing last night, must have looked incredibly similar to the position you’re in now.”
His mouth dropped open and he lifted off of her. It could’ve been the heat from battle, but she swore the warrior’s face flushed to a deep shade of pink.
It was all the time she needed.
She dragged her knees up and kicked him squarely in the chest. She didn’t miss the fog of admiration in his eyes before he ricocheted backward, and she scrambled over to grab her fallen sword. Armed once again, she barely had time to turn around before Casimir recovered. She sucked in a breath and charged him, leaping upon his back, and this time her blade threatened the flesh of his neck. With her free hand, she gripped his hair and tugged his head back.
“Such a brat,” he muttered.
“Shut up,” she snapped, refusing to be distracted by the tease in his voice. “Drop your weapon.”
“You’re not stronger than me, Maeve.” He smirked. “You’re a warrior. A fighter. But you have a weakness.”
“No, I don’t,” she muttered.
“Oh, but you do.” He knew exactly which button to push. “Fight harder, Maeve. Push yourself. Because if you don’t, if your mother sees how quickly I can defeat you, she’ll send you back to the cage.”
Ice flooded Maeve’s veins. She froze, paralyzed by the memories constantly haunting her dreams.
“Think about it, Maeve.”
She loosened her hold and stumbled back, away from him. But he snared her by the elbow, pulling her closer.
“All that time you spent in a cage…” His gaze darkened and the phony humor vanished. “All alone, while you wondered if you’d fall to your death off a seaside cliff.”
She shook her head and a stolen breath shuddered from her chest. A curtain of dull strawberry blonde tumbled forward to hide the panic. Her throat closed and her knees quaked until her bones turned to mush, and only Casimir was left to hold her up. Images slammed into her. Blinded her. Left her dizzy and sick. Memories from her childhood. Every one of them filled with crippling anxiety.
A frozen metal cage, with a small child curled up inside, dangled precariously on a tree limb over a treacherous cliff. Sea spray from an angry ocean thrashed her, chilled her to the bone. A sinking sun, a starless and moonless night. Empty and all-encompassing darkness, with nothing but the roar of the sea to keep her company.
She’d been five years old the first time.
