Page 10 of Crown of Iron (The Crown Trilogy #1)

Five

A cool droplet beats against my forehead, and with closed eyes, I wipe it away.

Through my sleepy haze, birds chirp in the distance and the sun seeps through my eyelids, causing them to glow red.

My aching body sinks into the patch of grass acting as my bed, and the satchel under my head shifts as I pull my cloak over my shoulders. I just need a few more minutes of rest.

Freezing water splashes over my face. I bolt upright, coughing and spitting until I catch my breath.

The woman I briefly met in the general's office stands over me in a soiled uniform and covered in scrapes. She shakes droplets from her fingertips, calling back her gift to manipulate water as an Aquatera. Crossing her gargantuan tan arms over her chest, she says, “You're late.”

“What?” I ask, flinching against my tight muscles and the ache in my thigh as I stand upright.

My boots slosh through the puddle of water as I gather my soaked cloak and ring it out.

Sleeping on the ground wasn't my first choice, but everyone I tried to speak to last night was busy preparing to leave for a village where the Stigians were expected to attack.

I had no choice but to find a place to curl up on the ground and attempt to fall asleep.

The beating of horse hooves and barked orders went on well into the night. The weight of exhaustion would grasp me, and just as it pulled me under, something with legs would crawl on me or an unknown noise would startle me awake again.

“What part of you are late do you not understand?” the Aquatera snaps.

I throw my satchel over my shoulder. “I'm sorry, ma'am.”

“Don't ma'am me; it's Greer. And get moving before Kyron has your ass.”

“Kyron?”

Greer presses her tongue to the bottom of her front teeth and exhales through her nose. “General LeFur to the likes of you.”

Images of the Stigian flood my head, just as they did all night.

Despite my less than comfortable sleeping arrangements, the mystery of General LeFur is what made it difficult to fall into a deep sleep.

I couldn't fathom what possessed my father to choose him as his second in command.

The risk of letting a Stigian into the fold of our army seems too risky.

How did he know Kyron LeFur wasn't a spy?

And more importantly, what guarantee did my father have that this man wouldn't siphon the dormant gifts of the Cyffred soldiers?

My head was swimming in unanswered questions, just as it is now.

I wrap my arms around my waist and shiver as I meander away from Greer.

“Move!” she barks.

I jerk forward and into a jog, clenching my cloak around me. My heart races. The beat matches the pounding of my feet as I race for the stables.

Soldiers line the dirt street, tending to wounds and unpacking gear.

There aren't nearly as many people as yesterday, and I pray the others are still alive in the throes of battle or have retreated to their rooms to rest. As I pass, some soldiers laugh, amused by my drenched appearance. I’d normally stand up for myself, but I can't stand the chance of making enemies of these people.

With no other choice, I brush off their snickers.

I round the last corner and stop abruptly, stumbling forward to keep my balance.

Kyron… General LeFur leans against the wooden wall next to the stable's entrance with his arms crossed. He scratches beneath his nose with his thumb and looks up at the sky. “I told you dawn; you're late,” he says in a deep, slow drawl.

My mouth moves before I can gather my thoughts, saying, “I know, but I couldn't find a place to sleep last night, and everyone was so loud. And have you ever slept outside with no cover? Of course you have, you’re a soldier. Anyway, I couldn’t shake off the feeling that something was eyeing me as its next meal. And?—”

He lifts his index finger, and I clasp my lips together, mortification spreading through me.

The general pushes off the wall and walks around me.

My stomach executes an acrobatic move that leaves me lightheaded.

I'm always aware of a Khiros' power. The pulsating rays of light from a Soltera, or the chill of a Glacio, or the sizzling energy from an Electro.

But the vibes from Kyron's gift, I can't pinpoint. It closes in on me, blurring the edges of my vision, heating my skin, and brushing against my consciousness like a friendly feline. It tugs at me the closer he gets, drawing me in. Never has someone's gift made me feel like it wants to surround me, pull me under, suffocate me. It’s dangerous. He ’s dangerous.

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 facade, 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 my thoughts.

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.

The two men exchange smirks, and Ulric says, “Hardly. You need to pick up their shit.”

I stare down the aisle of stalls. There are at least two dozen with more on the outside of the building. “All of them?”

“All of them,” Terro says.

Ulric steps to the side, blocking my only way out. “That was Kyron's orders.”

“The general has spoken, so it's time to get to work.” Terro nods to the tools hanging from the wall and opens the gate to the last stall.

Taking a shovel and a bucket from the ground, I step inside with a hefty brown and black horse. The steed rears his head with a boisterous neigh and kicks his back leg. I jump out of the way, and its hoof lands on the bucket, flinging it from my grip.

“Watch yourself, Elle,” Ulric says, stepping up next to Terro and resting his arms on the top of the fence.

“Should be entertaining to watch me get my teeth knocked out,” I grumble, righting the bucket and digging into the hay with the shovel.

“Or a chunk taken out of your ass. Samson's a biter,” Terro says with a wink.

The horse bristles as I move around him with cautious steps. I've spent my fair share of time in our family stables and had a mishap or two. One nasty horse isn't going to scare me away.

“Easy boy,” I say, holding out my hand to keep him at arm's length.

Samson nips at my fingers, barely missing them, and the men laugh.

I dig the end of the shovel into the ground, place a hand on my hip, and with a stern tone say, “Seriously, is that necessary?”

The horse snorts.

“You know you're being an old grouch for nothing.” I continue to move around Samson, cleaning his stall as he follows me with a skeptical gaze.

“I'll tell you what, you let me do what I need to do, and I'll reward you with a treat,” I say, scooping up the last of his mess and then reaching into my pocket.

The horse dives for the half-eaten apple in my hand, and I pull it back.

“Be a gentleman about it, will you?” I offer him the fruit again and this time, he gently takes it from me. “Good boy. ”

Terro and Ulric stare at me with slack jaws as I step out of the stall. I swing the shovel over my shoulder with more confidence than I feel. Without turning to look at them, I say, “Looks like I have a way with disagreeable men.”

They don't answer back, and I take that as a good sign as I enter the next stall.

As soon as the wooden gate swings shut behind me, I let out a sigh. They want me to break, to go running home, but I won’t do it. I will muck every stall and sleep on the hard ground every night, but I won’t back down. I will finish what I came here to do.