Crown of Iron (Book 1 of the Crown Trilogy)

Eight

"I've brought you a recruit," Leif says, moving to the side and leaving me framed in the doorway.

The scent of cinnamon and campfire overwhelms me, and my heart flutters. It still smells like my father in here. I take a step closer, soaking in every detail—the wood paneling covering the metal walls and the rows of dark cabinets which undoubtedly hold a vast selection of weapons. My gaze lingers on the desk, a replica of the one in my father's study at home. It's littered with maps and stacks of old war journals; he would have never left it in such disarray. The floor to ceiling bookshelves with a ladder perched in the center, the leather couch, the artwork depicting past battles—my father has left his stamp throughout the room.

Hope ignites within me, and I quickly take in the faces of the four figures seated at a round table. A slender man watches me from over his shoulder. His red beard is a stark contrast to his pale bald head, and his blue eyes are an unnerving mixture of kind and menacing. I question if the man next to him is old enough to join the army. Jaw length braids frame his russet baby face, and his smile demands I return the friendly gesture. The only woman in the group glares at me beneath thick lashes. She puckers her full lips and flexes her arms, which are easily the size of watermelons. A long chestnut ponytail sits high atop her head, with the hair on the sides buzzed to her scalp. The last person at the table slowly closes the book in front of him, trapping a piece of paper inside. He brushes a wayward strand of jet-black hair away from his deep-set angular eyes, and I suck in a breath when our gazes meet. His irises are pitch black with gold rings surrounding his pupils.

He is a Stigian.

The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end and a dark, disturbing feeling washes over me. I look away and focus on my father's desk again. A Stigian here in my father's office...in the Lucent army. It's unheard of; no one leaves Esmeray once they enter her kingdom. And even if it was possible to leave our rival kingdom, my father would never trust a Stigian Khiros with his soldiers. This man is the epitome of what our army fights against.

"You are all dismissed," says a smooth, deep voice.

My head snaps up to see who spoke, but I'm too late. Everyone is on their feet heading for the door.

The one with the baby's face moves past me first. "Good luck," he says, with another broad smile.

The woman follows behind him and isn't shy about looking me up and down. "She's gonna need it," she says, invoking a hearty chuckle from the bald man.

Leif squeezes past me, keeping his head high and whispers, "Relax, you got this."

Relax? I've known my best friend to do some wild things, but leaving me in a room with a Stigian has to be the craziest.

The Stigian watches me as he steps around my father's desk, running his slender fingers along the edges. The muscles in his jaw flex, accentuating his high cheekbones and square chin. He removes his black leather jacket and drapes it over the back of the chair. His dark tunic clings to his muscular arms and forms a deep V under his neck, displaying the smooth fawn skin of his chest.

"Sit," he says, gesturing to the chair across the desk.

A haunting feeling washes over me, uncomfortably warm. This isn't right; your father would not leave his soldiers in the care of his enemy. But Leif wouldn't leave me with someone he didn't trust, and this man is the key to finding my father before it's too late.

"Shit," I say to myself and step inside.

"Close the door behind you."

I jump at the command and quickly push the heavy door shut. If walking through the streets of Basecamp made me feel like a hunted lamb, this is my slaughter.