If she had to guess right now, Evelayn was fairly certain the faint sourness meant both sentries were bored, possibly even irritated. And if they could scent her, they probably knew she was upset, and full of trepidation.
She was sure to get an earful from Aunt Rylese for her behavior—first going down into the crowd, then dancing, then disappearing without a formal good night to her guests—but if it meant a few stolen moments of peace, it would be worth it. She could still feel the phantom heat on the small of her back from Lord Tanvir’s hand, where he’d led her through the dance and had nearly succeeded in getting past her defenses. She was the world’s greatest fool to have thought he was different from the rest of the nobility. All any of them wanted was the chance to become king, to father the next queen of Éadrolan. She was nothing more than a means to an end for any of them.
“Stop moping,” she whispered to herself, “and get on with it.”
It took a moment before she could follow her own advice. But finally, with a deep, fortifying breath, she stood back up and squared her shoulders. She knew how this was supposed to work in theory, but of course had never been able to practice before. Evelayn hated to do it in front of the sentries watching from the shadows of the forest behind her. But at least she knew her clothes would return when she shifted back into her Draíolon form. At least, they always had for her mother. Hopefully there wasn’t some trick to it. If so, then these sentries would get a lot more than what they bargained for when they were assigned to guard her for the night.
Supposedly, all she had to do was picture the animal she had imprinted on—in her case, a swan—and then will herself to change form, using her conduit stone to channel additional power. It sounded so simple. But as she stood on the sandy bank, picturing a swan in her mind while staring at the swans on the lake … nothing happened.
The minutes dragged past while Evelayn tried everything she could think of to make herself shift, and though a hint of power rose through her body, that was it. She began to feel more and more foolish. Perhaps she needed to call upon the power first and then focus on changing?
“Somehow I knew I’d find you here.”
The shock of hearing her mother’s voice froze Evelayn in place momentarily. And then she spun to see the queen of Éadrolan standing at the edge of the forest, her violet hair pulled back into a bun, still clad in her battle attire, dusty and visibly exhausted. But it was her.
She’d come.
And suddenly, it didn’t matter that she’d missed the ceremony and the ball and the entire day—all that mattered was that she was there. She was healthy, and whole, and she’d made it back before Evelayn’s birthday ended. She’d kept her promise.
Tears burned in Evelayn’s eyes, blurring her vision, as she picked up her skirts and bolted toward her mother.
The moment Queen Ilaria’s arms were around her, squeezing her close, a tightness Evelayn hadn’t even realized existed released from within her. She sagged into her mother’s embrace like one would sink into a feather mattress, letting her familiar scent—still there beneath the dirt and grime—wash over and through her. There was so much to say, but nothing came out except a breathless, “You’re here.”
“I told you I would be. Even if I had to move the skies above and the earth below, I wasn’t going to break my promise.” Queen Ilaria’s voice was soft and melodic, often misleading people into believing she was soft as well. But underneath her beautiful exterior and quiet voice was a ruler with steel running through her veins. She and Evelayn were the same height and had been for years, yet Evelayn still felt smaller somehow when she was with her mother. “But I am so sorry I missed everything … the ceremony and the ball. Things at the warfront—” She shook her head, letting go of Evelayn to step back and study her. “Was it wonderful?”
Evelayn shrugged. “It was … fine.” Before her mother could press her further, she continued, “But I can’t shift. I’ve been trying and it won’t happen.”
Her mother gave her a look, but let the not-so-subtle evasion go. “It’s a little bit tricky at first, but you’ll catch on quickly. I know you will. Come on, I’ll show you.”
Evelayn followed her mother down to the log near the shoreline and listened as she explained yet again how to call up the power, and how to bend it to her will—allowing her to transform. Then she demonstrated, shifting into her animal form—a sleek leopard. The predators were extremely rare, and it had only been chance that Ilaria had seen one the day of her eighth birthday. Chance, or perhaps fate. She’d told Evelayn many times about the pull she’d immediately felt to the powerful creature, and Evelayn had spent many nights dreaming of what animal she’d imprint on.
At first Evelayn had been embarrassed to admit she felt drawn to her swans—they weren’t powerful like a leopard, or fast like a hawk (which it was rumored Prince Lorcan had imprinted on for his eighth birthday). Both her parents had been alive then, and they’d reassured her that there must be a reason she’d felt drawn to the beautiful birds and to trust in herself and the forces guiding her.
Now, as Evelayn stood on the banks beside her mother’s leopard form and closed her eyes to focus, following the directions the queen had given her, she knew she had to will away her doubts. Her mother had been adamant that any hint of fear or uncertainty would keep her from being able to shift. She had to want it absolutely; she had to be completely certain and confident in her choice and her desire to change. And she did want it—so badly, her hands were fisted at her sides from the effort of concentrating.
But then one of the swans trumpeted in alarm. Evelayn opened her eyes just in time to see the entire flock open their magnificent wings and take flight, hurrying away from the lake—and the leopard sitting on the bank.
A rush of power swooshed around her, but it came from outside, not within. There was a swirl of white mist and then her mother stood before her in her battle clothes once more.
“I’m sorry,” her mother said. “I didn’t mean to scare them away.”
Evelayn shrugged, trying not to let her disappointment show. “It wasn’t working anyway.”
“Perhaps you are trying too hard. It’s not something that can be forced, or else more Draíolon would be capable of doing it. It’s an instinct, born into you along with your conduit stone. Relax and believe.”
Focus, concentrate completely, drive out all doubts, but don’t try too hard … so very simple, right? “I’m tired. Maybe I should wait and try again another time.”
Sometimes when Evelayn balked at practice or training or lectures, it was the queen of Éadrolan who responded, commanding her to continue. But tonight it was her mother who gently responded, “All right. There’s always tomorrow.”
And though they both knew that was a lie—there were no guarantees—the princess and the queen turned and walked back to the castle arm in arm, leaving the dark, empty lake behind them.
GENERAL KELWYN PACED BACK AND FORTH ACROSS the lawn while Tanvir watched and tried to quell the uncomfortable twist of nerves in his gut. He’d replayed the dance with Princess Evelayn over and over in his mind, keeping himself up for hours the night before, wondering what he’d said that had shuttered her expression and turned her fingers cold in his before she fled her own party. He hadn’t been able to parse it out. All he knew was that he had blundered somehow.
And now the princess was late to her morning training.
“She’s never late,” he heard Dela mutter. He’d only helped once, so he hadn’t been sure, but Dela’s comment confirmed what he suspected. Evelayn’s absence wasn’t normal.
“The queen was called back to the warfront this morning,” Tanvir supplied, repeating what the entire castle had been abuzz about ever since Queen Ilaria had arrived in the middle of the night but then left before dawn. “Maybe it has something to do with that?”
“Possibly. Perhaps you should—”
Whatever General Kelwyn had been about to suggest was cut off by the princess emerging from the trees
, striding toward them with her chin slightly lifted as if daring any of them to comment on her tardiness. She was outfitted in her training leathers, revealing the litheness of her body that was concealed by the dresses she usually wore. Her lavender-streaked flaxen hair was pulled back into a simple braid today, the coronet missing, and her face washed clean of the tiny jewels and makeup that had created glittering wings on either side of her stunning eyes the night before. But even without all that, she could never be mistaken for a commoner or a mere sentry arriving to train. Something about her commanded attention—demanded veneration. It wasn’t just because she was attractive, although she was blindingly beautiful. It was in her presence.
And of course, there was the conduit stone. All of Evelayn’s clothes were either cut low enough to show it, or had a hole cut out around the stone so it was always visible.
As Tanvir watched the princess draw closer, something inside him tightened. Though her expression didn’t show it, unhappiness clung to her like her shadow, darkening her now-familiar subtle sunshine and floral scent. Her violet eyes were red-rimmed but when their gazes met, something sparked in hers—a challenge.
Instead of risking saying the wrong thing again, he merely bowed. “Your Highness,” he murmured, trying not to remember the way she’d smiled up at him—laughed even—last night. Before he’d somehow managed to wipe all the happiness from her expression.
“What are we working on today?” she addressed Kelwyn, turning her back to Tanvir.
What had he done that had earned her ire so completely?
“I thought we’d begin with working on our defensive strategies—particularly if you were to find yourself powerless for any reason or outnumbered. The only hope of protection if you were under attack without your power is to use a Scíath,” Kelwyn said, glancing at Tanvir speculatively before returning his full focus to the princess.
Evelayn nodded, all business. Tanvir felt the loss of her attention acutely, even though he’d had it for only a brief moment. But it gave him the opportunity to observe her unnoticed—she was too busy avoiding looking at him.
So he watched … watched and learned. As she listened to Kelwyn. As she learned how to wield a Scíath—the coveted shield, forged in Rúnda by the few priestesses who lived there, that was capable of protecting the bearer from any attack, Light or Dark. The silvery disc, nearly as big as her entire torso, flashed in the sunlight as she ducked and blocked blast after blast from Kelwyn.
He watched as they switched places and she practiced honing her power, succeeding far more quickly than any other Draíolon he’d ever trained beside. As they moved on to hand-to-hand combat, summoning sun-swords and sun-daggers made of lightning and white-flame, created by the power she wielded. As she worked on fighting with regular knives, swords, and a bow and arrows. Kelwyn insisted she know how to battle with more than her power—just in case.
“Now, fight Lord Tanvir. He has a different style than me. After him, you’ll spar with Dela.”
Though sweat beaded along her hairline, Evelayn merely nodded, turning to face Tanvir. She was younger than he, but Tanvir knew not to underestimate her. She’d spent her whole life training, preparing to someday take her mother’s place as queen and the conduit for all the power in the Light Kingdom. Somehow, until that moment as he faced her, preparing to spar, he hadn’t ever wondered what it would be like to be the princess—the pressure, the expectations, the—
And that’s when it hit him, just as she lifted the knives she held in either hand, sinking slightly into a fighting stance. He knew what he’d said wrong last night.
“On my mark,” General Kelwyn said, lifting his hand.
Tanvir quickly pulled out his own daggers, forcing himself to focus. Later—he would right the wrong step he’d taken later. But for now, he would fight the princess.
General Kelwyn’s hand fell.
Tanvir’s burnt-gold eyes were trained on hers, his body tense, prepared, waiting for her attack. This wouldn’t be like sparring with General Kelwyn, or Ceren, or anyone else for that matter. This was a dance of a different sort from the one they’d shared the night before, but as Evelayn made the first move and he nimbly dodged her swipe and then spun around to slash his own blade at her, it was clear that this was still a dance—a give and take, two partners locked on to each other—however, this time with deadly intent.
And Evelayn intended to win.
They moved faster and faster, learning each other’s style, getting closer and closer to an actual hit. It was difficult to control her newly discovered power, to hold it at bay, to rely only on her speed and strength as she always had before her birthday. The blades were dulled so that they wouldn’t slice through the leathers they wore, but Evelayn’s body still sang with adrenaline, her blood pumping through her muscles as she twisted and lunged and ducked.
Often, her sparring partners were careful with her, holding back because they were nervous, afraid to hurt the princess. Those wins felt cheap, as if she’d been handed her victory.
But not today—not with Tanvir. He held nothing back, giving her the honor of fighting her as an equal. And he was good. So quick she could barely keep up.
She had to use all of her heightened senses to anticipate his attacks as they swung and lunged and swiped faster and faster and faster still. Though he nearly gained the upper hand, almost landing a killing slice against her ribs before she managed to roll away, sparring with him was intoxicating.
She did as she had been taught—channeling all the anger and hurt she’d had to crush when she’d woken for her morning run and found the note from her mother, and using it as a third, unseen weapon. She knew it wasn’t her mother’s fault she’d been called back to the warfront so quickly, but that didn’t lessen the frustration of her situation. Fueled by that anger, Evelayn forced herself to keep going, to move beyond the burning of her muscles that begged for a break. When Tanvir lunged forward yet again, this time going for a debilitating torso wound, Evelayn used his momentum to hook his arm, swing herself around his body, and drag her blade across his back.
“Point to Princess Evelayn!” Kel called out. But not a killing blow.
She moved to disentangle her arm, but instead, in that one moment of hesitation when she’d allowed herself a pause of triumph, Tanvir dropped one of his blades to grab her wrist, squeezing so hard it compressed a nerve that forced her hand to convulse and drop her own knife. Simultaneously, he wrenched her forward so he could spin her in front of him, his arm now firmly wrapped around both of hers, and then, so fast she didn’t even have a chance to struggle, his blade angled against her throat, ready to slit it.
A killing strike. Evelayn exhaled angrily even as her stomach sank.
“Lord Tanvir takes the match,” Kel announced unnecessarily.
But Tanvir didn’t move yet, his arm still holding her close and his blade still touching her skin, both of them breathing heavily. Her irritation at losing faded as she became aware of the heat of him pressing through her leathers, of a heady musk that suddenly colored his scent, sparking a responding warmth deep within her. A different kind than she’d ever felt before, it called for more, beckoned her to move even closer to the hard length of his body.
And then suddenly, he let go, stepping back. Evelayn stumbled forward, shocked at her own thoughts. Shocked that he’d beat her so quickly. Shocked that for a moment, she’d forgotten about her mother leaving, the war, not being able to shift, or anything beyond Lord Tanvir’s arm around her and his muscled chest and abdomen against her back.
“Can you tell me what went wrong?” Kel asked her.
Evelayn glanced at Lord Tanvir to see him watching her, his amber eyes hooded, clutching his daggers at his sides. “I lost focus for a split second when you announced I had taken a point and he capitalized on it.”
General Kelwyn nodded. “Any distraction—no matter how brief—can prove fatal on the battlefield, Your Highness. Whether you are fighting with your magic or with your hands
.” He gestured for Dela to come forward so he could demonstrate how Evelayn should have avoided Tanvir’s attack.
The rest of the training continued on as normal, but Evelayn made sure to stay as far away from Lord Tanvir as possible. Of course her body had reacted to his nearness; he was one of the most attractive Draíolon she’d ever met. And yes, he hadn’t held back, hadn’t treated her like she was too fragile to give her a fair fight. And true, she’d forgotten about her grief and pain for a brief moment …
But none of that meant anything.
Did it?
AS THEY WERE WALKING BACK TO THE CASTLE TO CLEAN up for luncheon, Lord Tanvir fell into step beside her.
“Might I have a private word with you, Your Highness?”
Evelayn barely squashed the dismay that rose at his request. There was only one reason a male ever requested to speak to her in private. “I do not think I am properly attired for that kind of conversation.”
“I don’t see anything wrong with what you’re wearing …”
Evelayn stopped and faced him, allowing Kel and Dela to outpace them so they wouldn’t be overheard. “I’d prefer not to be—”
“I wish to apologize.” Lord Tanvir cut her off, saving her from the humiliation she would have brought upon herself if she’d completed that sentence: proposed to while I’m covered in sweat.
“Apologize?” she echoed instead.
Dark Breaks the Dawn Page 4
