Page 6 of Crown of Iron (The Crown Trilogy #1)

I look down at my black tunic and the low cut of the neckline.

Although pretty, it will do little to protect me while I ride tonight.

I slide my arms inside the sleeves of the offered coat, and Salone pulls it over my shoulders.

She could easily be resentful that Micah chose me to be the queen.

Instead, she volunteered to stay by my side and assist me.

Custom dresses, makeup, and hair have always sparked her creativity.

She lights up like the afternoon sun when choosing my clothes or applying my blush.

She’s found her calling, and I gained a confidant.

Salone finishes buttoning me in and says, “Please bring him home, Elle.”

Knowing my voice will fail me, I gather her in my arms and cling to her.

Salone has spent hours on end quietly listening to the things worrying me.

She has a way of saying what I need to hear at the exact moment I'm ready to hear it, and she knows how to calm me.

Her gift as a Pianti differs from our mother's power.

She isn't able to control plants and bend them to her will.

The Statera gifted her with a subtle power.

She calls upon the scent of lavender to envelop us and says against my neck, “You're doing the right thing.”

I pull away with a nod and turn back to my brother. With one word, he could stop my mission before it even begins.

“I’ll tell them you went to the Sibyl Temple if anyone asks me,” he finally says.

I throw my arms around his neck and hug him tightly. “Thank you.”

He gives me two awkward pats on the back before giving in and returning my embrace .

“Bring him home, Elle.”

“I will.”

I creep into the stables on the far side of the property and saddle my father's black stallion. The massive beast snorts as I mount him but gives little protest when I urge him toward Lucent's gates.

Oil burning lamps and storefronts line the main cobblestone street.

During the day, shoppers crowd the sidewalks, and at night, the more adventurous set out for the pubs and street festivals.

But at this hour, there is nothing but the chirping of crickets.

I pull the reins and steer the horse into the alley between two buildings.

With my eyes closed, I will the unsettled nerves stewing inside me to calm.

“Easy, Nortus,” I whisper, brushing the horse's mane.

I've only been beyond the wall a handful of times and always with my father.

He was careful to keep me within sight, and we never traveled after dark.

I pride myself on facing this situation on my own, but I still need a little help.

I've never been to the military camp which is my father's home away from home, and I need an unexpecting guide to lead the way. I know the perfect person.

Leif always leaves for Basecamp just before dawn.

He says there’s something about the quiet moments before the world comes to life for the day.

It’s a way for him to recenter himself and prepare for the seriousness of his job after spending time with his friends and family.

It makes sense. His decisions can mean life or death for our soldiers.

The clapping of hooves echoes through the street, and I sit straight.

The closer the galloping gets, the faster my heart races.

I adjust the hood of my cloak and grip the reins.

Nortus stomps backward, swinging his head from side to side.

I chant for him to steady and focus straight ahead.

The rider flashes past in a blur of black and brown.

I take a deep breath, count to ten, and spur the stallion forward.

Looking up from under the brim of my hood, I catch the guard at the gate wishing Captain Stone safe travels. She forgoes the pleasantries with me as I speed past, keeping my head down. She most likely thinks I'm just another deserter abandoning our kingdom for Stigian.

Leif doesn't let up; he rides hard and fast. I grit my teeth against the burning in my thighs and aching ass.

Mile by mile, my horse slows, and I struggle to keep sight of my best friend in the gentle light of the early morning.

The last thing I want to do is push Nortus too hard.

He hasn't taken this journey in a long time, and I need him to withstand the rest of the journey to Basecamp.

We round a curve in the road and the branches of tall trees arch to block out the royal blue sky.

A shiver runs down my spine as the leaves rustle despite the absence of wind.

Aggressive animals are known for roaming these woods, as are people who don't want to live under the rule of the king or queen.

The heels of my boots meet the horse's side, pressing him on, and I lower my body to his back.

He pushes forward, and just as quickly, his front legs lift from the ground.

I grip the saddle horn, but he bucks again, and I sail through the air.

My back slams to the rocky dirt, leaving me gasping for breath.

Scurrying to my hands and knees, I stare at the ground to regain my bearings.

“Nortus.” My throat burns from the absence of air, and I struggle to project my voice. “Nortus!”

My ears strain, hoping to hear horseshoes against rocks, but there’s nothing but the early morning birdsong… and shuffling feet.

I slowly lift my chin to find three very sharp swords pointed at me. My body works on pure reflex, scurrying to my feet.

“Look what we have here, lads. She is but a wee thing; too bad her man didn't keep a better eye on her.” The dirty face of the man across from me breaks into a smile, displaying the few teeth remaining in his mouth.

An unnerving roll starts at the pit of my stomach and spreads throughout my body.

There are people who live in our kingdom who don't follow the rules of the land.

The outlanders are known for stealing and performing disgusting acts on unexpecting travelers.

Micah has worked tirelessly to push them away from communities, but it's difficult when they drift and have nothing to lose.

I set my jaw and inch my hand toward the hilt of my sword.

“I wouldn't do that if I were you. It would be easier for all involved if you didn't put up a fight,” says a robust man with a long, tangled beard adorned with beads.

“Look at her fancy clothes.” A younger man sweeps his hand in front of him, and a gust of air catches my cloak and pulls it behind me. I recoil at the misuse of his gift, but my disgust does little to deter him.

He rakes his gaze over my tight riding clothes. “I bet we could trade those leather trousers for a round of pints. ”

“My trousers will remain on my body,” I say, my words leaving my mouth on a growl.

“Is that a challenge, girl?” the first man asks.

“I sure hope it is.” The younger man licks his chapped lips while his fingers trail down his bare chest and over the front of his weathered trousers.

He grips himself in a lewd gesture, saying, “I enjoy fighting women out of their clothes. So, what will it be: are you gonna fight or be a good girl?”

I hold his stare, and he provokes me with a cocked eyebrow. Anger boils within me; my face burns, and my muscles coil until they quiver, and I can't contain it anymore. I draw my sword and lunge forward. “Fight,” I hiss.

The young man pulls his sword and metal clinks against metal.

I keep my moves swift and precise, waiting for him to topple me over with a blast of hurricane strength wind.

It quickly becomes apparent that I've seen the extent of his powers when he does nothing more than block each of my blows with sloppy swings of his blade.

I jump back as he swipes at my abdomen, catching a button on my coat.

“I'll undress ya piece by piece,” he says through his laughter.

“Perhaps I'll carve?you?to pieces instead.” I plunge forward, slicing through the ragged sleeve of his open shirt, leaving a wet, red line.

“Bitch,” he spits, cutting his blade through the air.

“You're not having fun?” I ask.

He's not as formidable as I thought he would be. Perhaps it's the stale whiskey wafting from him or the constant twitching of his limbs. Either way, I'm glad all his faculties aren't at their best.

The sharp edge of my sword runs over the back of his hand, and his weapon tumbles to the ground. I cut through his thigh, sending him to his knees. Feeling empowered, I toss my sword from hand to hand and smile.

“Who's next?” I ask over the wails of my first challenger.

The standing men exchange glances and charge at me. One opponent I can handle, but two? I'm completely out of my skill level. My smugness vanishes and I sprint through the woods.

“Come on, little girl.”

“We won't bite unless you beg us to.”

My chest tightens like a heavy ball expanding within me, and I swat away the sweat trickling down my face.

My legs quicken as the men's calls bounce through the trees from every direction.

The rocks and vines blanketing the forest floor command my focus, and the leaves from the thick canopy block the sun.

I'm trapped within a dark, unending labyrinth.

Whipping my head side to side, I examine the thick brush surrounding me.

If I continue into the dense forest, I risk becoming tangled in the vines.

Their sharp thorns will dig into my skin and snag my clothes.

I tilt my head back and stare up at the sturdy branches crossing over each other, and my stomach somersaults.

“No, no, no,” I chant, searching for another escape route, but I’m falling short.

My options are limited, continuing further through the thorns or heights.

I actually consider letting the brush rip at my skin for a moment because my best bet for survival…

I glance up at the branches above me. One slip of the hand and I’ll be sent plunging to my death.

“Fuck!” I whisper to myself.

I dig my fingers into the bark, clinging to my sword, and the soles of my shoes find enough purchase in the jagged trunk to push me up.

My muscles tremble under the strain, and my palms grow slick.

It's a fight to keep my gaze from wandering as I move higher, looking no further than the next branch within my reach.

I stretch toward the first limb, my fingertips grazing the underside.

“Oh no, you don't, lass.” A pull at my ankle breaks my hold, and I scream.

My sword slips from my hand, and my fingers scrape against the bark before my arms and legs flail.

I plummet toward the ground, where a plump body breaks my fall.

I swing my fists, hitting any part of him I can as we thrash around in the thorny vines.

When I'm free, my knuckles plow into the man's hairy jaw.

“Feisty little twat,” the man with missing teeth says, jumping behind me and restraining my arms.

I kick and land the heel of my boot against the temple of the man below me.

His pupils grow wide, and he mutters a string of incoherent words before his head lolls to the side.

My captor presses his front to my spine and buries his face against my neck, taking a deep breath.

I arch my back, trying to put some space between us, but it's not enough to stop the pungent scent of his body odor from making my stomach turn.

I twist and fight against the urge to vomit and scream, “Let me go! I demand you let me go.”

His torso shakes with laughter, and he lifts one of my hands to his lips. “So soft,” he says and shoves my finger into his toothless mouth, swirling his tongue around it. I wiggle and kick backward, but it's useless.

“I suggest you let her go.”

Both my attacker and I pause. I yank my finger from between his lips, and his grip on me intensifies. His fingernails dig into my skin, and I bite my lip to keep from crying out.

“Get the hell out of here. She's none of your concern, boy.”

“I beg to differ; she is very much my concern,” Leif says, drawing his sword and flashing a wide smile.

I roll my eyes. This isn't a position my best friend has ever seen me in. I've held the upper hand over him many times while training. Even though I know he is aware of how serious this is, a small part of him is thrilled to see me in a bind I couldn’t fight my way out of.

The man pushes me to the side, and I stumble to the ground next to his unconscious accomplice.

The clink of clashing swords resounds through the trees, accompanied by the rapid shuffling of their feet.

If I didn't know better, I would think Leif was dancing with the man rather than defending himself.

Every swing of his sword is effortless, and his brawny frame moves with such grace.

He skips forward two steps and jabs, and the man reacts with a sloppy slash through the air.

Leif swiftly takes advantage of the opening and embeds the end of his weapon between his opponent's ribs.

The man screams and falls to his knees, clenching his side as blood seeps through his fingers.

I scramble to my feet and kick the outlander in the back. He falls face first into the dirt with a thud.

“All right, you got the last hit. Now let's get out of here,” Leif says, pulling on my upper arm.

We don't run far before my runaway horse tied up next to Leif's comes into view. Embarrassment churns inside me. Leif must think I’m completely incompetent. I lost my horse, my sword, and I let my attacker corner me. The humiliation sits heavy in my chest, but I push it down. We don’t have time for me to wallow in my shame.

I work fast to release Nortus and climb into his saddle but fall short when piercing pain shoots up my thigh. Countless thorns protrude from my pants, running from my knee to hip.

“Shit, Elle. Can you ride?”

My ears prickle at the steady crunching of leaves from behind us. Leif meets my gaze with wide eyes, and I pull myself onto Nortus with a sharp intake of air. “I don't have a choice.”

Leif mounts his brown horse and flashes a mischievous smile. “Try to stay in the saddle this time.”

I release a breath, sending the hair plastered to my forehead billowing around my face. “Stop gloating and lead the way out of here, so I can pluck these damn things from my leg.”

“And then I'm taking you home.”

I open my mouth to disagree, but promptly snap it shut and steer my horse behind his.

There’s no use in starting a fight until we're somewhere safe.

We tend to bump heads with matters such as this and have argued our points well into the night.

Leif may think he is taking me home, but I'll kick his ass before I turn my back on what I set out to do.