Crown of Iron (Book 1 of the Crown Trilogy)

Nineteen

"Stupid. Fucking. Wall." I punctuate each word, kicking the bane of my existence.

With a huff, I pull my hair back into a tie and slip on the leather gloves I found in the stable. The highest I've made it up the hurdle is to the halfway point, and that feat took me several attempts and well into the night. It's an impressive achievement for me, but it's not good enough, so I've dedicated every second of my free time to overcoming my fear.

I grab the rope and tug.

The rope has never let me down, never wavered, never made me trust it to then avoided me, never ridden off, or hidden in his office. No, the fucking rope is reliable... forgiving.

I lift myself off the ground.

Hand. Foot. Hand. Foot.

My unpredictable body is susceptible to dizzy spells and spasming limbs. One failed function and I can plummet to my death, yet I let it carry me higher. I ignore how my body has turned into gooey mush merely from a wandering eye or becomes overly excited when a certain person is near. It's unable to control its mouth and reacts to the dark warm power of a practical man, someone I should have never let affect me the way he did. My very own body conspires against me.

Hand. Foot. Hand. Foot.

In my peripheral vision, a black blur dashes across the training field. I grip the rope and squeeze my eyes closed.

"Don't look; you don't need to look," I tell myself, but one eyelid inches open and my head turns.

You damn traitor!

Kyron hunches over Samson's back, gripping the reins and speeding out of camp. It strikes me as strange how he keeps leaving by himself. I understood his bi-weekly trips to help Shianne, and I get it if he is helping other families. What has me baffled is the frequency of these trips. He the leader of the Lucent army—a valuable player in the war—shouldn't he have someone with him to watch his back? Even if he is off to do another good deed, he should be so reckless.

"Don't give up; you're almost to the top."

I jerk and my gaze shoots down.

Terro smiles, gesturing for me to keep going.

My head spins and the corners of my vision blur. "Shit," I hiss and do the action I've unintentionally practiced more than any other since training—fall. Just as the ground rushes upon me, I remember to grip the rope sliding through my hands. It slows the drop and although the landing is jarring, I'm still on my feet.

"At least you know what to do when you make it to the top and need to go down the other side."

"Shut up." I duck my head to hide my grin and grab the rope.

Terro pries it out of my hand, and says, "Oh no, you're done for tonight, nanny goat."

I roll my eyes at the nickname Ulric gave me after comparing my climbing obsession with goats in his home region. Terro found the story overly entertaining, especially when his friend went into explicit details about the breeding habits of the animal. I'm a bit traumatized from the incident and will never look at goats the same.

"But I've got to—"

Terro grabs my hand and pulls me along. "The wall will be here tomorrow. The life of a soldier is rigorous, and part of being a good one is knowing your limits. You have to take care of yourself, and I have the perfect way for you to unwind and have some fun."

I'm taken back by his words, letting him guide me away from the obstacle standing in my way of becoming a true soldier. I've been granted small kindnesses here and there. And like many other new recruits, the higher-ranking soldiers have taken an interest in my progress. This is different though, more intimate, more in the realm of the friendship.