**Warning - There are major spoilers in this preview of book 3. If you haven't read DEFY and IGNITE yet, be warned! :-) **
Preface
Damian
My father taught me that the only way to ensure your subjects' loyalty is to make them fear you. He used cruelty and terror as tools to ensure his power. My mother, on the other hand, taught my brother and me something entirely different: A king — a good king — must be who his people need him to be.
I live by her words.
For the grieving woman, I am compassionate, I am kind. To the generals who lead my armies, I am firm and absolute. To the daughters of the royal court, I am courteous but, of necessity, aloof.
I've spent a lifetime practicing, becoming who I must be to survive. Hiding in plain sight, always acting, always playing a part. There are times when I fear that I'll lose me, my true self, in the haze of the facade. But that fear doesn't matter to anyone besides myself. It doesn't build homes for the orphans and women left broken by my father's reign of terror. It doesn't put Antion back together, or stop us from getting dragged into another unwanted war. The only thing that counts is that I carry on and do what I must.
So that is what I do.
Until night falls and I lie in my bed, with the weight of a kingdom bearing down on me, trying to breathe under the pressure of all that I hope to do, all that I want to accomplish — all that I fear. And that is when the smell of gardenia mixed with the coppery tang of blood comes to haunt me. The memory of my mother is both happiness and terror intertwining into a tangle of comfort and horror. I try to erase the bad with the good. Her arm draped around my shoulder at night, a comfortable weight. The remnants of her gardenia perfume in my nose, with Victor on her other side. Her voice flowing over us along with the blanket of darkness as night fell. She started all of her stories with "Once, a long time ago . . ." Her Blevonese accent made her words different, almost magical. She painted pictures for me and Victor, holding us in the protective wings of her arms, curled up together on her massive bed. Her stories always ended well, sending us off into dreams, warm in the comfort of happily ever after. But her gentle life ended in a tapestry of blood, at the hands of my father. Nightmares drenched in dark, dripping crimson have been my constant companion ever since.
My story, if someone were to tell it, would begin with her voice.
Once, a prince was born. He was a second son, who worshipped his older brother as all younger sons do — even if it was in secret most of the time. His mother adored both of her children. She told them stories; she showed them sorcery. She was magic, to this young prince. And when he found that he, too, could do strange and wonderful things, she taught him to hide his secret from everyone — even his brother. The same brother who teased him mercilessly, but was the first to stand up to anyone else who dared look sideways at the young prince. She taught him that magic was a death sentence in the world his father had created. It became a marvelous game to him — one that he was determined to win, even if he wasn't quite sure what the prize was. She promised that when he got older, she would tell him all the secrets of her people and the magic they both wielded.
When they were together, they were happy.
And then his father, the king, took her away. One moment his mother was looking at him, all her secret pleadings and advice swimming in the tears that glistened in her eyes, and the next she was gone. Murdered. No one could stand up to the king, not even his own sons. The older brother held the young prince in his arms that night. In the dark silence where once had been their mother's voice and touch, they sobbed as though they were still children, even though they were halfway grown into men.
War started. The prince's life was never the same.
And then his brother was taken from him, too.
One by one, the prince lost every person he had ever loved, until he was completely alone, save for a healer who hid deep in the palace with his half brother — to bring him the bloodroot that suppressed his abilities, concealing his secret to save his life.
The prince had no choice except to change. He buried who he truly was and pretended to be someone else. He grew; he became an adult. He continued to pretend, but inside he dreamed — and he plotted.
Until the day a young woman joined his personal guard — a girl pretending to be a boy. He knew her secret, as all sorcerers had the ability to sense a person's true identity — male, female, sorcerer or not. He feared for her, thinking that Iker, the black sorcerer working for the king, would know and punish her. But nothing happened — at least at first. She proved her ability time and again, and the black sorcerer left her alone. For months and months, the prince watched her and found himself dreaming of things that could never be. She had suffered; she had endured loss; she wore sadness like a second skin. But she still had her brother — her twin, Marcel.
For the first time in years, the prince yearned to be his true self instead of the persona he'd been forced to adopt to protect himself from his father's machinations. He fought the urge to let his defenses down with her. He didn't dare. Too much rested on his shoulders.
And then her brother died and Iker made his move, choosing her to guard his door day and night. The prince realized his father suspected him — and Iker was using the girl as a way to manipulate and threaten him.
Unbeknownst to anyone except a very select few, the prince had put a plan into action — a dangerous plan to try and overthrow his father and stop the atrocities against the people of Antion and the war that never should have started. And that prince . . . he decided to risk everything when he came out in the dead of night to speak with his guard. When slowly, carefully, he let her see him for who he truly was.
And together, they remade the world into something brighter. Together, they brought back hope to the people of Antion. Together, they gave his kingdom freedom.
That is how my mother would have told my story. I wonder if she knows the ending — if she still watches me. If she's proud of the man I've tried to become, or the king I am.
We succeeded, Alexa and I. Despite my fear, I let myself love her. And together we beat Iker and my father. The young prince who never should have inherited the throne was suddenly the king of Antion.
But once again threats amass all around us, attempting to tear us apart — to rip my kingdom to pieces. I refuse to let them succeed. I will raise Antion from the depths of depravation my father drove us into. And I will not lose her, no matter the cost.
I am Damian, the king of Antion, and no one will ever take someone I love from me again and live.
ONE
Alexa
Damian paced in front of the large window overlooking the courtyard, his crown nestled in his dark hair, the afternoon sunshine gilding everything in the library. General Tinso's missive lay open on the desk, his threat of war hanging in the air, heavy and unfathomable. The same foreboding I'd felt before, that much more was happening around us than we realized, pressed down on me, along with the guilt of what I still had to tell him.
"I can't let you go after him," Damian said at last, his voice tight with frustration. "I know you're his best chance, but I need you, too. Especially if I can't stop another war from beginning."
"I know." I stood by his desk, watching him, trying to decide when — and how — to tell him. I had to go after Rylan. Not just to save my friend, but also to find some way to kill Rafe and free myself from his control.
Finally, he stopped and turned to me, bruise-like circles underneath his brilliant blue eyes, the exhaustion and worry of the last few days etched onto his face. The shadow of stubble darkened his jaw, a sure sign of his distraction. I'd never seen him anything other than clean-shaven, except on our trek through Antion to Blevon, when he was pretending to be a hostage. "I'm the king; I'm supposed to know what to do to save my people from more death. I've already done so much. I spent years figuring out how to stop Iker and my father." His expression was so bleak. He closed his eyes briefly and shook his head. "Was it all for nothing?"
"No, not for nothing." I hesitantly stepped toward him. He'd been so full of hope this morning when I'd returned to the palace, when we'd gone to visit Jax and seen for ourselves that Lisbet had healed him from the wounds and illness he'd suffered in the jungle. But then General Ferraun had shown up, demanding an audience with him immediately — alone. Damian had reluctantly left me, with a promise that he would send for me the moment he was done.
Once I'd reassured myself that Jax was truly well, Lisbet had sent me back to my room, forcing me to rest. She'd come with me, removing the stitches Tanoori had given me to heal my back. I'd been shocked to fall asleep as soon as she left, but horrible nightmares had plagued me, until I'd bolted up in bed, yanked from sleep by a knock on my door. Damian was in his library and wished to see me.
When I'd entered the room, it was to find a different man from the one who'd run to meet me outside the palace walls in the pale light of dawn. He'd turned to me, and the expression on his face had sent a shiver down my spine. Gone was the hope I'd seen this morning, replaced by something darker, wilder.
They attacked again, he'd told me. General Ferraun just received word. Another village completely destroyed — everyone killed except for one woman, half-crazed with grief, sent to bring word of the massacre. If I don't start fighting back, they are going to kill us all and leave me the king of a graveyard. They are leaving me no choice. And thanks to my father, we have no sorcerers to defend ourselves, except for me and Eljin — if he'll even fight against his own people. No matter what I do, my people will die.
And then he'd begun to pace, while I stood near his desk, watching. Aching to help him, to comfort him, to prevent this war from happening, and not knowing how. As I slowly neared Damian, he watched me, silent. Finally, I stopped in front of him, tipping my head back to look up at him. I reached up to cup his jaw, and he closed his eyes, turning to press a kiss into the palm of my hand. "It wasn't for nothing," I repeated. "And we can't give up now. Bring your people here. Send out notices for the villages and towns to evacuate, to bring all the food and supplies they have and come to Tubatse, to the palace. Gather every weapon left in Antion and make your enemies come to you, rather than roaming freely through the jungle, murdering your people in their homes."
"And give them one big target to destroy?" Damian's eyes were bleak. "General Ferraun and I have discussed every option we can think of. People are already panicking and flocking to Tubatse. There isn't enough space to house them all, or food to feed them. Families are living on the streets, too terrified to go back to their homes, fearing that their villages will be next."
"I understand what you're saying, but our army is depleted," I argued. "We don't have enough men to send patrols through the jungle. If we bring as many people here as we can, at least we can set up a perimeter. We will have a chance to fight."
"And we will all die." Damian turned to look away, out the window. Probably trying to hide the hopelessness from me, but I saw it. I saw the defeat in his eyes.
"Stop it. Right now." I grabbed his hand and squeezed it tightly. "You can't give up. If you do, you're right, we will all die."
He continued to stare out the window.
"Damian." My voice was sharp, and he finally looked back at me. "We've beaten insurmountable odds before. Do you remember what you told me this morning? Together, we can do anything, right?"
He nodded, a muscle tightening in his jaw.
"We won't let Antion die. I promise."
Damian's eyes roamed over my face with such a desperate need lurking in their depths that it sent a responding surge of emotion through my belly and down into my legs. This was the one thing I could do — I could love him. I could hold him and tell him everything was going to be fine, even if we both knew it was a lie. He had just bent toward me, his lips inches from mine, when there was a knock at the door. He was motionless for a long moment, and then finally straightened and called out, "Enter."
I stepped back and turned to the door.
Deron entered the library and smiled at Damian. "Sire, I bring good news. Eljin is awake and asking for you."
TWO
Eljin was propped up in bed, shirtless, with a huge bandage wrapped tightly around his ribs. Tanoori sat on the other side of his bed, holding an open book in her lap. She smiled when we entered. I couldn't stop staring at Eljin. Seeing him alive and awake made my legs weak with relief. Though Lisbet had assured us he would live, I hadn't quite believed her. Not after the amount of blood he'd lost. Because of me.
Though he was sitting up, he was still obviously unwell — not completely healed yet. But to even see him like this was a miracle, after what had happened last night. He was pale, and his mask was missing, exposing the scars on his face. I'd never thought about covering my own scars the way he did, until that very moment, when it struck me how similar we were after my battle with Iker. Subconsciously, I reached up to touch my own striated skin, but quickly dropped my hand when I noticed him watching me.
"I can't tell you how good it is to see you awake," Damian said as he strode across the room to clasp Eljin's hand.
"And I, you," he responded, a small smile quirking his thin lips. I'd only seen him with his mask off once before, when I'd ripped it from his face with my sword while sparring at his father's castle in Blevon. It struck me that I'd never seen him smile before. For some reason, that realization made my heart feel strangely heavy.
"My life was never in danger. She needed a living king to make her a queen," Damian said, disgust in his voice.
"She got to us all in the end." Eljin looked up at Damian with understanding in his eyes. "There is nothing to be ashamed of."
"Except for Alexa," Tanoori pointed out.
Guilt twisted in my gut as I realized I still hadn't told Damian — or anyone else — that although Vera hadn't succeeded in putting me under her control or killing me, the same was not true of her brother. I'd bargained with Rafe, offered to let him give me one order in exchange for Jax's life. A huge risk that had ended with me being forced to protect him from any and all threats, a command that still burned through my mind, making me unable to harm him in any way. At least Vera was gone — killed by Damian, who had somehow managed to fight through her command to murder me — and her control had perished with her. But Rafe still lived. And so did his power over me. "Damian, you broke through her control. I didn't think that was even possible." I forced away the thoughts of Rafe and the secret I still harbored.
He glanced back and gave me a small half smile. "The whole time I was under her control, I kept getting horrible headaches. When she commanded me to kill you, somehow, deep down I knew I shouldn't do it, but my head felt like it was going to split in two when I tried to resist."
"Maybe it was your mind trying to fight back." Tanoori mused.
We were all silent, until I said, "Well, regardless of how you did it, I'm just glad you did."
"So am I." Damian's eyes met mine across the room, and I had to suppress a shiver of fear. If he hadn't found the strength or the power or whatever it was that broke Vera's control over his mind, I wouldn't be standing here right now.
There was a knock at the door, and then a messenger poked his head in.
"Your Majesty, the general asked me to find out if you're ready to assemble the meeting yet?"
The hint of a smile on Damian's face slid away. "Yes, of course. Tell him to meet us in the throne room in ten minutes."
The messenger boy nodded, bowed, and exited. Damian reached over and squeezed Eljin's shoulder. Something passed between them, a look I couldn't decipher, and then the man I loved stood up, replaced by the king I served. A curtain had fallen over his face, the expression he wore when he was trying to conceal his emotions. He turned to me, and when he spoke, his voice was carefully controlled. "Come, Alexa, it's time to decide what must be done." He looked over at Tanoori. "You may come, too, if you wish. This concerns all of us."
She looked down at Eljin, and he nodded. "Go. I'll be here when you get back."
Tanoori stood up, her gaze still lingering on him, but he'd already turned his head to the side and closed his eyes.
Without another word, we followed Damian out of the room to face whatever meeting he and the general had planned.
THREE
Damian paused to look out over those who had gathered — only the select few who knew the truth of what had happened, or most of it anyway — and then resumed pacing. Tanoori's hands were clutched in the folds of her skirt as she gazed up at the king, as did Lenora, the girl who had given me her nightgown and helped me so that I could get to Damian when Vera had taken control of the palace, even though I had been forced to take her to the breeding house before Damian dispatched his father. I wasn't sure why she was here, but Tanoori had insisted that she bring her.
Maybe she was hoping Lenora could help calm the people's fears if she knew how much the king cared about them. Word of General Tinso's letter declaring war again had circulated the palace in record time, and the unrest of Damian's subjects had even reached the guards' ears, from what Deron told me as we waited for everyone to gather for the meeting. He said whispers of where the king's true loyalty lay — of what he would do if he must fight his mother's people — were building strength. And yet others wanted answers to what had happened to Vera. They wanted to know what power she had wielded, and what she had done to all of them.
My hand rested on the hilt of my sword. Though all those gathered were close allies, and friends, I still felt on edge. Nervous that a new threat could attack at any moment — and I refused to be caught off guard. Rafe had ensured that I couldn't hurt him, but at least he hadn't made it so I couldn't protect Damian, as long as Rafe wasn't the one threatening his life.
Despite my own turmoil, I was careful to keep my face blank, to hide the pain and guilt that festered deep inside, squirming through my muscle and bone, surging through my blood like a parasite. I had to tell Damian the truth of what had happened, and soon. We also needed to talk to Eljin as soon as possible. Alone. I wanted answers about Blevon — about Sì Miào Chán Wù, the temple in Blevon, and Rén Zhuˇsas, the three powerful sorcerers who lived there, whom Eljin had mentioned petitioning for help if things went badly with Vera and Damian. Rafe's words in the jungle rose back up, taunting me. He'd claimed that Dansii knew the secrets Blevon had worked so hard to keep to themselves — he'd hinted that Dansii had power beyond even what the Blevonese were capable of or knew to be possible.
The time for secrets had passed. Eljin had to see that. I'd make him see it.
And there was also the problem of the man in the dungeons. I hadn't told anyone what he'd said and done to me yet. The one who called himself Manu de Reich os Deos.
And of course, Rylan. I had to get him back. I had to go after him, whether Damian wanted me to or not — it was my fault he was injured and captured by Dansii.
I felt as though we were being pulled in too many directions without knowing where the true threat — or purpose of the attacks — lay. We needed to make a plan and do something.
When I glanced up, Damian was watching me. Our eyes met, and for a brief moment, the mask he wore slipped, and I could see the fear lurking beneath his collected exterior. But in the blink of an eye it was gone, and he looked away.
It didn't seem real that just this morning I'd come stumbling out of the jungle to find him standing on the wall, watching for me in desperation, fearing the worst after Jax had shown up at the palace in the middle of the night, sick and alone, save for one of Rafe's men. It almost seemed a dream that Jax truly was back and that Lisbet had healed him of the jungle fever he'd caught.
The door closest to Damian opened, and Lisbet came in, holding Jax's hand. She'd healed his body, but her power didn't extend to reversing the emotional damage his abduction had caused. Jax clung to Lisbet as they walked over to where Tanoori and Lenora stood. He hadn't left her side since waking up in his room, healed from his ordeal the night before. As I watched Damian's half brother cower against Lisbet, pressing as close to her as he could physically get, I couldn't help the sadness that washed over me. Yet another child's innocence shattered by the ravages of war. Thankfully, he hadn't been forced to face death — but he'd come close. Lisbet had an arm wrapped around him, but her face was also turned up to Damian, waiting with everyone else. The empty space next to her was all too evident, since Eljin was still in bed healing.
"I suppose we'd better get started." Damian finally spoke.
I felt, more than saw, Deron stiffen next to me, preparing himself for whatever was to come. I, too, found myself looking to Damian, wondering what he was planning on saying. He hadn't told me about a meeting. General Ferraun stood near Lisbet and Jax, his shoulders stiff beneath his uniform's golden epaulettes, which denoted his rank. The rest of the guard flanked the king, in our usual positions, even though this wasn't a formal proceeding. Tanoori and Lenora were to my right, huddled together.
"You are all people I trust — or people who are trusted by those whom I trust." He glanced at Lenora, standing next to Tanoori. "We are under siege, and I want nothing more than to protect my kingdom — my people — from further harm. I might be the king of Antion, but I admit that I'm struggling to decide what is best. That's why you're here. To help me and General Ferraun make a decision. We need help. We need your help."
I'd spent so much of my life training to protect Damian, but after falling in love with him, that desire extended to more than just his physical safety. And now, as I watched him, that urge to shield him from hurt swelled within me so strongly, I had to force myself to remain still, rather than stepping toward him and taking his hand in mine. He stood tall, his expression as calm and confident as ever, despite his words to the contrary. Even as he admitted to needing help, he still managed to exude the power and surety that would comfort his subjects. But I knew him well enough to see the truth lurking in his eyes.
"Sire, if I may speak." Tanoori lifted up her hand, and Damian nodded, gesturing for her to continue. "You've assigned me to take care of the other women and babies from . . . from . . ."
"Yes," Damian interjected when Tanoori couldn't seem to come up with a word or name to describe the breeding house his father had sentenced them to, just for the crime of being orphans. "And you've done a remarkable job."
"Thank you." Tanoori inclined her head. "But some of the women — including myself — wish to do more with our lives."
"As is to be expected, but I don't see the relevance to the current situation," Damian said.
"We wish to fight, Your Majesty," Lenora burst out, stepping up next to Tanoori, her shoulders thrown back and chin raised. "We wish to learn to defend ourselves and help you defeat the enemies that are threatening Antion."
Damian's eyebrows lifted, and I heard a few of the guards around us murmuring in disbelief.
"Impossible," General Ferraun responded before Damian could speak again. "I don't have time to assign my men to teach women how to wield a sword. They'd be better off mending uniforms, preparing bandages, doing all that needs to be done to support the men who will be fighting this war."
"Are you implying that women can't learn how to fight?" Lenora turned on the general, clearly affronted by the condescending tone in his voice. "What about Alexa? Isn't she an example of just how capable a woman can be?"
"There are plenty of women who wish to stay here and do the very things you suggest," Tanoori added, her tone more placating. "But some of us wish to do more. We don't ever want to feel helpless or incapable of protecting ourselves again."
"Even if I could be convinced that you girls were capable of learning how to fight, I already told you I don't have enough men, or time, to do it!" The general's face was turning red in his irritation. "This is no game — we have a war to deal with!"
"You think we don't know that?" Lenora practically shouted back.
"Enough." Damian's voice rose over them all, and everyone immediately fell silent, turning to look at the king. He took a deep breath through his nose, his lips tightening into a thin line as he deliberated. "How many women feel this way, Tanoori?" he finally asked.
When the general began to protest, Damian held up a hand, and General Ferraun's mouth snapped shut again.
"As I said," Tanoori began, "most of the women still wish to stay here, and to help in other ways. Especially those with babies or who are pregnant. But there are probably six or seven of us who wish to learn to fight."
Damian was silent for a long moment again, and then he nodded once, a brief jerk of his head. "We are short on men, but we can spare one or two to teach you at least basic sparring and defensive skills, and then you can continue to practice amongst yourselves until you are up to par with the other soldiers. If you wish to fight, I will not stop you. We need all the help we can get, and I know from personal experience that a woman is just as capable as a man, with the right training." He gave me a grim smile of acknowledgment, and I bowed my head slightly in return.
"Thank you, Sire." Tanoori also bowed her head, as did Lenora. "We are fast learners; it won't take much time away from your men at all. I promise." This was addressed to the general, whose lips were pursed together in displeasure. But he, too, nodded curtly.
"As the king wishes," was all he said.
"Now that we have that settled, if we could please return to the topic at hand."
From where I stood, directly next to Damian, I could see the vein along his temple standing out, a sure sign that he had a headache. But he hid it well as he surveyed those before him.
"We have more than one major problem that we need to address, and I'm hoping that you might offer input or insight to help us find some solutions." He turned to General Ferraun. "Were you able to get any information from the Dansiian prisoners?"
"I interrogated the man you asked me to. Not only did he refuse to concede any information, he made threats against you. . . ."
When he trailed off, Damian stiffened next to me. "And?" he prompted.
"And others who are close to you," General Ferraun admitted, his eyes flitting to me and then back to the king.
Damian's hand clenched into a fist, a wave of hot rage emanating from him, but my body ran cold as I thought of Manu, the terrifying man in the dungeons who had come to the palace with Vera. I'd gone to interrogate him myself, against Damian's wishes, and he had somehow forced a horrible vision into my mind — a vision of Damian being killed. He'd made me hear things, see things, even feel things, that weren't really happening. He'd threatened Damian; he'd claimed that the "true king," his king — King Armando — would destroy us all. That Armando would use me, and when he was done with me, he'd kill me. I'd meant to tell Damian about it, but with everything else that had happened . . .
"I have sentenced him to death by beheading tonight to set an example for the other Dansiians," the general continued quickly. "We will not be getting anything useful out of him, and I have a bad feeling about that man. I learned long ago to trust my instincts. I know that you wish to avoid bloodshed if possible, but I strongly urge you to agree to my sentencing."
"Done. The sooner he's dead, the better," Damian growled. General Ferraun's eyebrows lifted in surprise at the king's vehemence. "The rest of the Dansiians must be interrogated as soon as possible. They were close to Vera, perhaps they could —"
"Damian, I have to tell you something," I interrupted. "The man in the dungeons, he —"
I was cut off by a shriek from the hallway, followed by the thud of a body.
"What was that?" Jerrod said in alarm from the other side of Damian.
And then the door closest to us flew open. "Your Majesty! He's com —"
Whatever the soldier standing guard had been about to say was cut off when a sword impaled him from behind, thrusting out through his belly, then disappearing again. With an agonized scream that faded to a gurgle, the man slumped to the ground, dead.
And standing behind him, holding the bloody sword, was the man in the black-and-white robes who called himself Manu de Reich os Deos.