by T. A. Grey
“Just tell me where he’ll be. I plan to give him flowers and offer to shake hands with the man who’s fighting for the woman I want. It’s nothing more than some masculine posturing, Lysse. I also plan to propose to Penelope Farris. I want her for myself.”
She looked skeptical. “You think one lousy proposal from you will sweep her off her delicate little feet? Do you really think you stand a chance against the general? He’s built like a mountain, while you…” she looked up and down, “resemble a poor farm boy.”
His lingering fear fed his confidence. He was so close to getting the answers he needed. She was close to caving, he could see it as the resistance left her posture.
“I suppose it won’t hurt to tell you,” Lysse said after a minute. “He’s supposed to arrive before noon. He’ll be taken to the men’s waiting room on the west side of the building. A secluded compartment separate from the main arena.”
Her words rang with truth, though he wished he could press further.
“Lysse—” he didn’t know what he was going to say, but she stopped him before he could anyway.
“Quiet!” she ordered and spun around. He flicked his blade away, narrowly missing nicking her neck. “I hear people in the hall. I hope they’re not looking for me.”
The excitement in her voice made him think otherwise.
“This is all your fault.”
She shoved the pistol back into her satchel.
What was this? What was she up to now?
Not that he could complain at her being in a weakened position. While she listened at the door he poured another drink, filling the entire glass this time. He downed it in two swallows. Damn, but he needed that. Maybe even a whole bottle after this encounter.
Voices were rising outside, a commotion in the hallway.
Lysse peered outside the door, only opening it a smidgen. “There’s a crowd forming in the hall,” she whispered back to him. “It looks like they’re about to break down one of the doors.”
“Why’s that?” he asked.
She didn’t look concerned, more like she wanted in on the gossip. Always a secret seeker, Lysse didn’t wait to hear about gossip, she preferred to learn of it firsthand, then use that information as leverage. Just as he’d done with her secret today.
“It appears that someone’s using the butler’s study for a bit of fun and now a crowd is gathering to see what will happen.”
“Well, I’m leaving before someone shows up here and starts pounding on our door.”
“Me first.”
Of course. A small victory for her, or so she would think. She slipped out with only the soft rustle of her swaying dress following her.
He let her go. He had plans to implement.
Chapter 8
Penelope rose from bed late in the night, unable to sleep. It had been hours since she’d last seen Ryon at the celebration. After what they’d done… It was only inevitable that sleep eluded her. So she pulled on a simple frock and tiptoed downstairs.
The middle Farris sister, Priscilla, had insisted, or demanded rather, that she stay the night with Pen, since it was the day before her Claiming. Tomorrow would be a busy day. Someone would be styling her hair, another bathing her and covering her in sweet scents, another dressing her in the ceremonial outfit. The female and male are supposed to abstain from luxuries the morning before the ritual so that hunger was pronounced. It made the males ravenous in battle and therefore more violent. Or so the story goes.
She supposed she was going to find out one way or another. There was no getting out of this. The king had chosen her name out of all other choices. She wanted to do her duty and bear a child, not just for the kingdom and her people, but because she wanted one. A baby of her own to love and befriend and protect. She could do it and she would even do a good job at it.
Penelope slipped past her sister’s guest room door, exhaling a breath of relief when she made it outside. The temperature had cooled and the wind felt good blowing against her hot skin.
Already her nerves began to relax. This week, ever since she’d received that scroll with her name as the first Claimed chosen for this year, she had been operating in deflecting mode. Maybe a part of her had thought she could ignore the truth of what was happening. But this wasn’t all fun and games. She was really going up there tomorrow before king and country. She would watch as male participants—those who wanted to fight for a chance to have her—would step forward. They would fight. For her.
Some have died in Claiming Battles, though the battle was not supposed to be a fight to the death. Accidents happen, they say.
What if Ryon got hurt? What if someone cheated, or took him by surprise and he didn’t win? She harshly bit the corner of her nail and tore it with worry. And then, he was supposed to—no, he was allowed to steal her away and claim her. The idea had terrified her at first. Not in a physical sense, but because she didn’t want to be trapped in a marriage Ryon. Did she?
There was no doubt in her mind that she wanted Ryon in every way. She had for years. Fighting the pull between them had been hard, but now he was taking the fight out of her hands, literally, and putting it in another’s. Tomorrow he would fight for her. Any male challengers, those like the Duke of Gaines, would go up against him. If he won, as he believed he would, then she would be his wife. It would be his child growing within her in the coming months.
Although it was the night before and about to to come to fruition, it wasn’t fear she felt, just great trepidation. She was about to take a giant leap forward with zero assurance that her foot would land on solid ground.
Warmth rushed through her making her lips tilt up into a smile. That’s how she was found when she heard the rustle of leaves. And spotted him coming near.
“Ryon!”
He strolled toward her. He still wore his uniform from the celebration earlier that night. It looked incredible on him—powerful and masculine.
Her knees wobbled weakly.
“Now you say my name.”
A hint of smile sat at the corner of his mouth. She’d rarely seen his smile, but when he did, it was worth it.
“Still feeling good after that release tonight, General?” She tried to keep things light so he wouldn’t see the tension in her.
Instead of responding, he did something else. He had a look in his eyes and it didn’t take long to figure out what he was thinking.
When he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her in tight and arching her back up toward him, she was already waiting for his kiss. His mouth slid over hers, the pressure deliciously firm. Heat suffused where they touched each point connected. They kissed like regular lovers, tongues slowing winding into the mix making things wet. In his arms butterflies flew in her stomach and at his kiss her heart thawed. The kiss ended slowly but neither of them moved to break away. They held each other, kissing a cheek or ear or neck every few moments. Her hand had moved up to tangle in his hair. The short length was sturdy and thick in her hand pleasing her.
She could no longer deny that maybe her assumptions about him hadn’t been entirely warranted. And perhaps, just maybe, she’d been more scared of him for her own reasons than because of him.
“You looked worried before you saw me. Is it about tomorrow?” he asked.
Penelope nodded. Even her laugh sounded nervous. “Who knew, me, being nervous? It’s not a feeling I’m accustomed to.” Her voice caught.
Ryon pulled back, cupping her cheek in his hand. He made her feel safe, like there was a bubble around them protecting them from the harsh outside world. Her heart was beating at a chaotic rhythm. Fear and excitement was rushing through her blood, but she didn’t cower from it, because she knew Ryon was experiencing the same feelings. They were connected. She wasn’t alone.
She held onto his strong shoulders and let him hold her. Really, she felt greedy because she wanted to hold him. A purely selfish move that made her feel whole and happy. It was as if she felt herself giving him some of the weight of he
r emotions, and he shouldered that weight with ease. For her. Because he cared. Sniffling a bit, Penelope squeezed him close simply to enjoy the heated pressure of his body against hers. Such a simple touch, but it was reassuring.
She broke away after regaining her composure. Somewhere along the way he’d grabbed her hand and still held it.
“So what brought you out here?” she asked, feeling nervous. Like a girl around her first boyfriend. “I wasn’t expecting you.”
He was watching her carefully, still worried. “We didn’t part ways as I would have liked. Plus, I wanted to see you.”
She exhaled a breath she’d been holding. “Oh, well I’m happy you came.” She wanted to smile at him but nerves kept her from doing it. She ended up looking like she had a twitch of the mouth. These feelings were new and exciting but tentative. They could easily be broken at this raw stage.
“Maybe you should come stay with me. You look upset.”
“That sounds lovely, but I can’t.”
He squeezed her hand. “Why not?”
She shrugged. “My sister, Priscilla, is staying the night. She’ll be here to help me get ready in the morning. Tomorrow is the ceremony.” It was strange talking to Ryon about these things when he’d be the one stepping forward tomorrow to claim her. A wave of butterflies hit her stomach so hard she pressed a hand over it to quell it.
“I could bring you back in the morning,” he offered.
Her eyes lit up, then deflated. “I can’t leave. Even if that sounds like a great idea. I need to be here to think and plan and worry.” She laughed at herself.
Ryon leaned in close and cupped her cheek. “Try not to worry yourself. Everything will be fine and no matter who steps forward tomorrow night, I’ll be the man who wins. You don’t have to doubt that.”
Well, she didn’t feel so certain about her future. She simply nodded though and kept her fears to herself, not wanting to worry him further.
A whistle blew nearby startling them. Ryon scowled at the perpetrator. A young soldier wearing the royal emblem on his chest jacket came forward. He held a small scroll in his hand the size of a cigarette.
“General Ward, a message from the king.” The young man was sweating as if he’d run all the way here to find Ryon.
The sudden spike of chills down her spine bode ominous.
Something had happened.
This worrying thought led to another much darker one—would Ryon be in danger? The frigid numbness she felt thinking that thought told her just how much she cared for him.
Maybe she even…loved him some? A crazy notion, but not an impossible one. Looking around, she was happy neither man had noticed her wild-eyed revelation.
Ryon took the message and stepped aside to read it. His expression remained passive. Only the quick response he made showed how dire the situation was.
“Pen, I have to go. Go back into the house, lock up, and stay inside,” he said.
“Wait, what happened? What’s going on?”
What could cause him to react like this? Had something happened to the king?
“I can’t talk about it. Go inside now!” He ignored all her protests, gave her a swift kiss, and pushed her toward her house.
She watched over her shoulder as the messenger related whispered information.
Ryon left running.
Never a good sign.
Chapter 9
Ryon arrived at the location written on the missive by Lyle using encoding. The site was close to the eastern border, near where Karl Christenson had gone missing from his cabin.
The twenty-five foot tall stone wall that surrounded the kingdom had taken four years to complete. Forty-four men and women had suffered injuries or died during the building process. It was grueling, but the final product was impressive. The sight never failed to fill him with pride. To those who’d died in the making, their names were carved into the wall by loved ones. Fresh flowers and gifts were placed there weekly, though some teenagers had taken to stealing said gifts in a disgusting show of disrespect. Now the watch guards patrolled the perimeter.
He stood at the location the note had ordered him to go to. The message impressed that a brutal attack had occurred at this precise location tonight. But, as Ryon looked around, something didn’t set right.
The messenger who’d delivered the note, a young man who called himself Bernard, hung nearby kicking at the grass. He looked bored, toeing at the dirt by his foot.
Ryon read the missive again, verifying the location. This was the place. All that was here was empty space and one old, dilapidated cabin. Pulling out his silver knife, a foot-long blade curved to slice and cut an enemy, the blade felt at home in his palm.
No signs of an attack. No sounds from the wall or the cabin. Yet, his senses were on high alert. The hairs on the tops of his arms pointed to the sky like grass.
He entered the cabin.
The roof sunk in at the center and a damp, musty odor, like mildew and earth saturated the air. Some plant roots had grown up from the floorboards, splintering the wood. There was some old furniture, mostly broken chairs with three legs and a table collapsed against the wall, which remained. A dusty couch bore scratches from rodents burrowing inside it; old dishes caked with months of layers of dust still sat on the kitchen counter.
The cabin had never been demolished because of who used to live here. Karl Christensen. The man had been a hero to Ryon, to a lot of people. Good-looking, kind-hearted, he had all the leadership qualities to be the next general of the Armed Forces. Then, one day, he’d disappeared from his cabin. No one heard a sound, no one saw anything suspicious. And how could they when his nearest neighbor lived more than a mile away. No one wanted to live this close to the wall. Closer to the Avagarians.
The mystery of what happened to Karl has lived for the years he’s been missing. Was it two or three years now? Hell, he couldn’t be sure. And didn’t that stick him with a load of guilt. Was he dead? Or had he decided to leave the kingdom never to return?
Ryon didn’t feel so optimistic about whatever outcome came to the war hero Karl.
Ryon had his own theory and it had nothing to do with either of those ideas. He suspected the Avagarians had played a part. Maybe they killed him, but he doubted it. When the Ava’s attacked, they didn’t hesitate to murder people in their beds—even children—or burn down their houses. They were animals and they acted like it. If they had killed Karl—why not do it in his home? And they hadn’t looted anything from his cabin. Nothing had been missing. That left him with the idea that they hadn’t killed him at all—they’d either taken him or someone else wanted him dead and gone.
A few fresh footprints had disrupted a layer of dirt on the floor. Someone had been here recently, though that didn’t surprise him. It wasn’t unheard of for teenagers to come up here use Karl’s home as a hangout. Some people said they saw his ghost in the windows at night. Pure hogwash, but it kept an aura of mystery around his disappearance.
A floorboard depressed as the messenger stepped inside.
Ryon didn’t turn to ask the question on his mind. “Did the king say anything else?”
“Nay, he just gave me the missive, milord.” The messenger spoke with a commoner’s accent.
Scuffling noises sounded behind him and Ryon spun around, tense. But it was too late. The messenger bared his teeth in a nasty sneer, the pistol in his hand glinted in refracted moonlight coming from the sunken roof.
What the—
He didn’t get to finish the thought. Instinct and adrenaline took over. With an explosion of power. Life or death. Do or die.
And he wasn’t about to die. Not here. Not like this.
The messenger fired without warning. Ryon lunged to the side. For a second he thought he’d evaded the bullet.
But, then he felt it. The searing, tearing of flesh from his gut. It burned like a hot steel poker sitting in fire for an hour—that had been stabbed through him like a spear. He wanted to scream.
&nbs
p; More bullets fired in his direction. At least the messenger couldn’t see well in here either.
The ringing explosion of shots echoed, blasting his eardrums until he couldn’t hear much of anything, save for the pounding of his blood in his ears.
A chaotic, rapid thud, thud, thud! that wouldn’t stop.
Dust kicked up from the uproar, a cloud of thick, sulfuric smoke billowing from discharged bullets. Using the dust bowl to his advantage, Ryon moved into the thick of it, squatting low next to the dilapidated, smelly couch. It offered meager protection. The messenger’s lean shadow filled the doorway, lighting him enough for Ryon to see his outline.
That was all he needed. Ryon held the knife by the tip of the blade, hours of training having prepared him. He was ready. He threw his elbow back, cocked.
The messenger ducked low out of sight!
No!
He struggled to think how many shots had been fired. The pistol must be nearly empty. Ryon weighed his choices. He had very few, trapped in this cabin with someone trying to kill him at the door.
A soft sound reached his ears like a particle of dust floating through the air. It may have been a whisper of noise, but he heard it as loud and clear as an explosion.
Ryon threw the blade. The knife spun end over end, flying with speed and power. He held his breath and waited for it, hoped like hell for it…
KRACK!
The final bullet discharged. The barrel pointed somewhere in his direction. But the messenger, never too young to die, grunted. A wet sound. Blood. Took the knife to the chest. The blade embedded deeply, red ooze beginning to trickle from the wound.
The messenger stumbled and gasped, coming clear into the moonlight rays.
A stunned expression affixed his ghost-white face. He wouldn’t know it but he looked how most did when they were struck with the realization they were about to die. They had only moments to regret. To wish they could take it all back.
But it was over. Done.
He wasn’t coming back from this.
