Page 31 of Royal Rebel

Reeve stiffened to attention, and Grayson straightened his spine. Not in respect, but in an effort to look stronger than he knew he currently appeared.

Commander Zaden was older than Henri by at least a decade. Despite his mounting age, he had no sign of a gut. He looked fit, capable, and assured. His silver hair was trimmed short and his blue eyes were cold as they took in Grayson. The man had scars on his weathered face, and everything about him seemed hard.

He let the moment draw out for an uncomfortable moment before he bowed his head. “Prince Grayson.”

“Commander.”

Zaden kicked the door closed and crossed the room with heavy strides, claiming the lone seat on the other side of the desk. That left Grayson and Reeve to settle in the chairs across from him.

“Your reputation is strong, Your Highness,” Zaden said, no real deference in his tone. “So strong, in fact, I almost forgot how young you are.” He tipped his head toward Reeve. “Obviously, I have no trouble utilizing talent wherever I find it—young, old, it doesn’t matter to me. I just want to know you’re good at your job, and that you’ll do it. That being said, your father has told me several things that concern me.”

Reeve shifted in his chair, obviously uncomfortable.

Grayson couldn’t care less about that. He reclined in his chair, allowing his Black Hand persona to fully take over. “What exactly did he say?”

“He said you sometimes lack focus. However, he didn’t think that would be a problem in this case.”

Because he was dangling Mia in front of him—and Tyrell.

Grayson wanted to clench his teeth. Instead, he let his head tip to the side, ignoring the flare of pain as his raw skin stretched with the movement. He regarded the commander coolly, and he kept his voice cold as well. “What seems to be your problem with me, then?”

“I don’t trust a man without first knowing his passion. The men I like best have a passion for war. A passion for winning. Somehow, I don’t think that’s you. So, what is your passion, Black Hand?”

Grayson smiled thinly. “Serving my father.”

He didn’t know if the man believed him, but he finally nodded once. “See that your passion doesn’t fade.” He straightened in his chair. “Commander Weller and I have discussed at length our strategies to bring Mortise to its knees. He and Prince Tyrell will do this by land, while we attack by sea. The fight will be bloody, but we will succeed. There is no other option.”

“When do we attack?” Grayson asked. He should gather every bit of information he could to report back to Desfan. Fates knew the Mortisians would need every advantage.

The commander lifted one shoulder. “When the king commands. Commander Weller and Prince Tyrell will act first, taking down each city along the coast and neutralizing their ports. They will burn their ships before they can launch while we will make our way to Duvan. Once we have taken the city, we will march on the strongholds and larger cities in Mortise, moving east toward the Devendran border—which Prince Carter and Commander Groves will have fortified. Are those objectives clear?”

“Yes,” Reeve said at once.

Grayson merely nodded.

“Good.” Zaden leaned forward, his forearms braced on the desk. “While the king hasn’t given an exact date for this attack, I believe we can expect our orders before the year’s end.”

Grayson silently cursed. Desfan was not ready for this—not with his father so recently dead, and certainly not against the numbers Henri had raised.

“The attacks on Mortise will be launched first,” Zaden continued. “Desfan Cassian will call for Newlan Demoi’s aid, which the king of Devendra may or may not give. If Demoi does uphold the newly signed treaty and send soldiers to Mortise, it won’t matter. Before they have a chance to arrive, Mortise will be ours. And by the time those troops turn around, they will find Devendra has already fallen to Ryden as well. They will have no choice but to surrender.” Commander Zaden shrugged. “Tactically, the invasion plan is flawless.”

Grayson had to admit, it did seem that way. The bolt of terror he felt was definitely unwanted, but he couldn’t help it. By taking Mia to Mortise, he was taking her to a future battlefield. Not that he had any other options, but . . .Fates. What if he managed to escape with Mia, only for her to fall under Henri’s power again? If he conquered Eyrinthia, that’s exactly what would happen.

Henri couldn’t win. Grayson wouldn’t let him.

He just didn’t know how to stop him.

“Until our orders come, we will continue to train our soldiers,” the commander said, ignorant of the way Grayson’s pulse had spiked. “Prince Grayson, I’ve been assured you will join us weekly. I think the boys in particular would benefit from seeing you around the camp. I have struck the fear of the fates in them, but you will inspire even greater fear.” He smirked a little. “I’ve been encouraging my men to spread tales of your exploits. The boys are terrified of you—as are the men. They train harder for me, because they fear your retribution. I want you to further that whenever you come to visit.” The man stood. “They’re anxious to meet you, I’m sure. Let’s not disappoint them.”

Grayson spent the next two hours inspecting the army his father had assigned him. Too many were children, and all shied away from him, their faces pale and their fearful eyes darting.

Grayson said nothing. Not when the commander barked at them and made them jump. Not when one boy failed to lift his sword, and the commander kicked him in the ribs. The boy had wet himself before the blow even landed.

Zaden had saved the disciplining of several new recruits to be done very publicly with Grayson present, and he had no choice but to stand there and watch as six young boys were whipped.

Rage pulsed inside him, and he wanted nothing more than to intervene. Every muscle was coiled with a painful level of tension. But as each lash cracked against skin, Grayson knew that opening his mouth would do nothing. Their punishment would be increased, or Mia would be punished as soon as they returned to Lenzen, or his father would throw him back into prison. He couldn’t risk any of that. He wasn’t just protecting Mia, or himself. Mortise and Devendra needed a decent warning before this war started. That was larger, more important, than anything else.

It did not take away the guilt he felt when those boys screamed.

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