Rebel's Honor: Book One in Crown of Blood Series

by Gwynn White

  Drawn to their tussle, he sensed the priestess watching them from the other side of the room.

  It was time to end this.

  Axel flicked another hundred onto the table. Grinning at the unintended pun, he said, “I see you.”

  Lynx fisted the dice, brought them to her mouth, and blew on them for luck. Her pouted lips sent another blast of want through him. He rubbed the stubble on his jaw, unable to recall when last a woman had affected him like this. Teased, he corrected, since Lukan would be the only one who would ever get to sleep with her.

  Face taut, Lynx threw the dice onto the table. Axel leaned forward to see how they’d fallen at exactly the same moment Lynx did. They bumped heads. He pulled back, laughing, but she scowled at him.

  Crazy as it was, her reaction stung.

  He quickly followed with a wicked smile and pointed to the dice. A three, a two, and a five gleamed up at him. “Looks like I’ve won, Princess.” He pocketed his bet. “Two to one on the scoreboard.”

  “Don’t let it go to your head, General. I have many more tricks up my sleeve.”

  He snorted a laugh, relishing her fire. “I bet you do, Princess. Any time you want to play, just bring it on.”

  Bear cleared his throat noisily.

  Lynx’s face flushed bright red, and her feet thudded to the floor. She yanked her skirt down, avoiding everyone’s eyes.

  Axel glanced around. Stefan looked at him with a slightly raised eyebrow—a riot of expression from him. Kestrel’s mouth hung open.

  Had his standoff with Lynx been that interesting?

  “Perhaps this would be a good time to confirm the arrangements for when we reach Cian.” After another round of throat clearing, Bear said, “I have the emperor’s assurance that the princesses will stay with me until the wedding.”

  Axel faced him, refusing to appear flustered. “Then you hardly need worry about my compliance.”

  “Forgive me, my lord, but I would be pleased to hear it from your own lips.” Bear looked anything but mollified.

  Axel grunted. The emissary must have learned through bitter experience that it was never wise to take a Chenayan assurance at face value—especially not one issued by Emperor Mott.

  From the way Lynx leaned forward, he guessed she shared her uncle’s concerns.

  It was on the tip of his tongue to joke with her, but the two of them had already caused a stir. “You can rest assured, Lord Emissary. The emperor has given me my orders.” Axel gestured to Stefan. “Now, if you’ll forgive us, the colonel and I have matters of business to discuss.” He stood, trusting Stefan’s inscrutable face not to betray his surprise at the summons.

  Stefan didn’t fail him.

  The skin on Axel’s back tingled as he sensed Lynx watching him leave the compartment.

  She belonged to Lukan, he told himself firmly. Unless—

  Time, he told himself. He needed time to work out exactly what he and Princess Lynx of Norin could do for each other.

  Chapter Eleven

  Under the guise of exercise, Lynx sauntered the length of guard car, her destination on her twice-daily march down the train. Conscious of a dozen guardsmen watching her, she stopped at the open window in the locked steel door at the end of the car. Her tongue worked in her mouth, building up a juicy blob of saliva.

  A shiver of satisfaction trilled through her at the thought of lobbing it at the railway tracks. It would be a small protest—but one that clearly showed her disapproval of the Chenayan Heartland through which the train now traveled.

  But she didn’t.

  She needed something these troops had, and offending them wasn’t going to help her cause, even though, not so long ago, she was shooting arrows into the backs of men just like them.

  A voice spoke. “It’s wonderful to see you again, Highness. Make our day, your visits do.”

  Lynx gritted her teeth and then turned to face the speaker.

  He was a young sergeant with a pleasant face, marred by the pea-sized chunk of jasper next to his right eye.

  She smiled like she was delighted to see him, too. “You have a way with words, Sergeant Pasha.” She had made a conscious effort to remember as many names and ranks as possible, going as far as to start a cryptic dossier on Axel Avanov and Stefan Zarot. Every bit of information she gleaned could prove valuable to her father. “No one has welcomed me to Chenaya quite like you and your men.”

  Before arriving on this train, it had never occurred to Lynx to use her “assets” to get what she wanted in life, but she’d seen and learned from Axel and Stefan’s reactions to her legs. If showing a bit of skin bamboozled these doltish Chenayans enough to get her what she needed to protect herself, her family, and her people, then so be it. Painfully aware of her blush of embarrassment, she leaned back against the door and extended her leg, making sure each soldier got a good look at its curves.

  Some of them blushed, too; others looked down at their feet. All sneaked longing peeks at her flesh.

  It helped that she wore one of her uncle’s “training dresses.”

  The back was designed to accommodate the stupid bustle, with the fine black cotton and lace fabric skirting her ankles. Up top, she wore a black corset, which showed off more of her breasts than she would ever have dreamed of revealing at home. The lacy black skirt in front of the dress stopped just above the knee—a sight rarely, if ever, seen in Chenaya. Once at her uncle’s home in Cian, the training dresses would be destroyed, and her hemline would plummet to her ankles.

  With the soldiers’ focus blown, it was time to get to the real purpose of this visit.

  Lynx quickly scanned the room for a stray weapon she could filch before leaving. As usual, no axe or sword lay neglected on a table, waiting to be scooped up into her cloak. She sighed. How was she supposed to re-arm herself if they insisted on being so meticulous?

  “Like I’ve said every day since you first arrived, ma’am, it builds the men’s morale to have our future crown princess visit us,” a ragged-toothed lieutenant added. “Maybe you’ll even remember us when you are empress. Dragon’s blessing on our great emperor, Mott the Magnificent.”

  “Dragon’s blessing,” all the other men murmured, giving full salutes at the mention of Mott’s name.

  Lynx resisted the urge to make a vomiting sound. As soon as the rumble died down, she said, “Visiting with you helps us pass the time, Lieutenant Olec. You have to admit the last five days have been mind-bendingly dull.” She pointed to the jasper next to Olec’s eye. “Your stone is so . . . striking. What does it signify? You all wear them, so it can’t just mean rank, the way General Avanov’s ruby does.”

  Lieutenant Olec rubbed the jasper. “No, indeed, Your Highness. Our stones give—”

  A guardsman poked his head around the door. “Ah! Here you are, Your Highness.” He stepped into the room and bowed. “Lunch has been served. I will accompany you to the dining car.”

  Lynx sighed, barely hiding her frustration. “Thank you, Corporal Telev. Yet another meal. It’s all we seem to do.”

  “Better than starving, ma’am,” Lieutenant Olec grinned, showing his terrible teeth.

  “I can always rely on you to see the bright side, Lieutenant.” Lynx nodded at the men. “Until later, then.”

  * * *

  Lynx slid open the door to the dining car. Only Kestrel, her uncle, and the priestess had gathered for the meal. She wondered if Avanov and Zarot would deign to join them.

  Unlikely.

  They seemed to find other things to do during the day, only appearing at dinner. Avanov hadn’t renewed his invitation to play dice with her.

  Her uncle beamed when he saw her. “Lynx! Come, join us, please do.” He patted the chair next to him.

  What were the she-witch and Kestrel talking about that he was so eager for her company? She sat next to him to listen and pulled a serving bowl of food over to her plate.

  “—amazed when you see the palace,” the priestess said to Kestrel. “It has over
a thousand rooms! Each magnificently decorated with the finest furnishings and silk—”

  “You mean more red, gold, and black,” Lynx interrupted. She waved a serving spoon covered in mashed potatoes at the walls to make her point.

  Mother Saskia took a moment to glare at Lynx and turned back to Kestrel. “Through the ages, great artists like Gustave, Taim, and Naxor have all had a hand in beautifying your new home. I can assure you, their tastes include more than red, black, and gold.”

  Lynx smiled at Kestrel’s blank expression as she helped herself to a dollop of stewed venison with vegetables. The names, obviously hallowed in Chenayan art circles, meant nothing to her sister, despite her claims to be an artist.

  The priestess clicked her tongue. “Oh, there is so much for you to learn, Princess.” She tucked a strand of Kestrel’s hair behind her ear.

  Despite the she-witch torching her book, Kestrel didn’t seem to mind. In fact, she leaned forward, eyes gleaming. “I—I might not know the names of all your artists, but I can paint. I do, all the time. Animals and birds, mainly. It’s one of the reasons I’m so excited to get to the palace.”

  “A talent! How wonderful. I’ll inform the relevant people as soon as we arrive. I promise it won’t take long until you’re given all the materials you need to create your masterpieces.”

  Lynx glanced at her uncle and wondered what else would be revealed about her and Kestrel at that debriefing. He raised his eyebrows and nodded. Perhaps he understood her silent communication.

  “Oh, Mother, that would be perfect.” Kestrel’s face flushed, and her voice trilled with anticipation. “And a master painter to teach me? Would that be possible? Nothing would make me happier.”

  Lynx leaned forward. “Those thousand rooms . . . who lives in them? I didn’t stay at the palace long enough to find out.”

  It took Mother Saskia a minute to grasp the gist of her question. “The high-born, of course. All the elite and their children are privileged to live at the palace. Emperor Mott, Dragon’s blessing upon him, insists they live with him, so he can lavish them with luxury and comfort.”

  A gilded cage. Mott kept them there to stop them from plotting against him. Lynx studied the she-witch through hooded lids. Do you believe your own propaganda?

  The priestess’s face betrayed none of her thoughts.

  “A thousand rooms stuffed with Chenayans,” Lynx said, the offense intentional. “That sounds cloying and unpleasant.”

  The priestess’s throat bobbed, and her fingers gripping the table whitened. “Hardly, my dear princess. As I’m sure you are aware, there are only fifteen families that matter in the empire. Apart from the Avanovs, of course. They are the high-born, the men who serve on the High Council, assisting the emperor with the running of the empire. We call them the Fifteen, and it is they and their families who occupy those apartments.”

  “That seems like a lot of rooms to go around,” Kestrel squealed, seemingly oblivious to the fact that Mother Saskia had excluded her own family from the families that mattered. “And Prince Tao, does he have a large—”

  “Do you belong to one of the Fifteen, Mother Saskia?” Lynx drowned out Kestrel’s question.

  Now Kestrel glared at her. Lynx ignored it, sickened at how quickly her sister adjusted to the promise of Chenayan luxury.

  The priestess repositioned her perfectly positioned veil before replying. “Of course not, Princess Lynx. No priestess can claim to come from a high-born family.”

  “Then how do you become a priestess? You’ve mentioned, repeatedly, that you hold an elevated position in Chenaya.”

  A flicker of pride darted across Mother Saskia’s face. “I was blessed by birth to be a priestess. Just like my eldest brother was privileged to serve in the military. My current position is the result of my devotion to the Dragon.” She swallowed hard. “My brother recently lost his life, leading a platoon of troops in Treven. We were close.”

  Lynx was aware Mott had invaded Treven. Due to the usual dearth of news from Cian, she had no idea how the conflict was going. She supposed she should offer the woman some condolences, but nothing in their interaction inclined her to sprout platitudes. “Was he a foot soldier?”

  “Of course not, Princess! He wasn’t a common grunt. That’s the lot of third- and fourth-born sons. My eldest brother wore an imperial guardsman’s jasper, just as I was given the priestess’s moonstone at birth.”

  “Yes. I was wondering about your stone. I saw it pulse when you shocked me. Was that just my imagination?”

  The priestess’s pursed lips resembled a prune. “Our stones are a blessing bestowed by our beloved emperor. It is very bad form to question people about them.”

  “So I didn’t imagine it. How did it shock me?”

  Uncle Bear’s hand drifted to her knee and squeezed it. She flashed him a smile and looked expectantly at the she-witch.

  Someone cleared his throat, making Lynx look up.

  Colonel Stefan Zarot stood next to Mother Saskia’s chair.

  Lynx hadn’t seen or heard him approach. She cursed inwardly at yet another interruption just as she was getting somewhere with her investigation.

  “Colonel,” Mother Saskia tittered, her relief evident. “You require me?”

  “I do.” He pulled back the she-witch’s chair.

  Mother Saskia almost danced after him.

  “Oh, that’s sad,” Kestrel said. “I was enjoying talking to her.” She dropped her knife and fork on her plate. “Everything on this train is so boring.”

  Lynx suddenly saw the bright side to the priestess’s desertion. “I think it’s just livened up.” She gestured around the dining car, deserted except for the three of them. “We can finally have a private discussion with Uncle Bear. I am sure you must have questions for him.”

  “I hardly think Uncle Bear will be able to satisfy my concerns.” Kestrel giggled, covering her mouth with her hand. “Sorry, but I don’t suppose you’re interested in dresses and palace gossip.”

  Uncle Bear gave her a thin smile. “My dear, I am an emissary. I live and breathe palace gossip.”

  “Ooh. Then tell me about Tao. Is he handsome? I love dark hair. Please, please, please tell me he takes after the Chenayan side of his family and has dark hair.”

  A flicker of worry darted across Uncle Bear’s face. “Prince Tao is a very respectable young man. He is known for his kindness and generosity to the low-born. I’m sure you will find him most pleasing.” He turned to Lynx. “You have questions.”

  “A million, so I hardly know where to start.”

  “Let me help you, then.” Uncle Bear waved his hand at Kestrel and Lynx, drawing them in. When the three of them were huddled close, he whispered in Norin, “I must tell you about the Dreaded. They’re—”

  The door slid open.

  Chapter Twelve

  It was Avanov. He fixed his honey-brown eyes on Lynx, and a sardonic smile quickly followed.

  Lynx didn’t smile back.

  “You’re needing something, my lord?” Uncle Bear asked, reverting to Chenayan.

  Although his voice was mild, Lynx felt his leg next to hers stiffen. He was no more pleased to see Axel Avanov than she was.

  “Some space. That’s all.”

  It didn’t seem to worry Avanov that the three of them were huddled together, obviously whispering. He disengaged his eyes from Lynx’s and sauntered to the far end of the dining table.

  With one hand, he unbuckled his weapons belt and dumped it on the table. A sword and a short-handled hand axe clattered onto the glossy surface. In his other hand, he carried a whetstone and a bottle of sharpening oil that he also tossed down.

  Nimble fingers unclipped his steel vambraces, letting them fall next to his weapons. Then, he rolled his black sleeves above his elbows. That done, he unhooked the hand axe from the belt and ran a scarred finger down one of the blades. The edge looked wickedly sharp—but obviously not sharp enough to satisfy the general. He squeezed a drop of oil
onto the whetstone and honed the blade.

  The rasp of metal on stone destroyed the silence.

  Why he needed to do this job in here, when the guardsmen had a whole car, complete with a sharpening bench, was a mystery.

  Unless he was here to take over vigil from Mother Saskia. Lynx scowled. “So, General, your priestess was telling us about her moonstone. Maybe you want to tell us about your ruby?”

  “I hardly think you’d be interested in anything I have to say, Princess.” He gave her a cocky smile. “At least not on such a dull subject. But I’m sure you and your uncle have a great deal to talk about.”

  Sure, while you eavesdrop.

  Kestrel pushed back her chair and stood. “Talk, talk, talk. That’s all we do on this train.” She glared at Uncle Bear. “But when I bring up a subject important to me, no one wants to answer. So, if you excuse me, I’m going to find Mother Saskia. Maybe she’ll answer my questions about Prince Tao.”

  “My dear—” Uncle Bear called as Kestrel flounced out. He sighed.

  Avanov shook his head and bent to his sharpening. Lynx slouched back in her chair. Pretty much an expert at knife honing, she could at least compare skills. Axel’s privileged upbringing had not precluded such basic chores as weapon maintenance. The muscles of his forearms bulged beneath his sun-bronzed skin as he coaxed an even keener edge onto the blade. Even the sinews in his hands stood out in stark relief.

  Watching him work was positively erotic.

  Lynx swallowed hard, reaching for her lock of hair. Not finding it, her fingers hung limp next to her head.

  The girls she’d grown up with had always swooned over abs or butts. She had been unique in seeking out forearms and hands to drool over. As handsome as Heron was, she had always lamented his blunt fingers.

  Now, here, on this Chenayan, she’d found the most beautiful hands she’d ever seen. The irony wasn’t lost on her. She leaned closer for a better look just as Uncle Bear cleared his throat.

  The sound bumped her back to reality. A wave of self-disgust flooded through her. What would Heron think if he knew she ogled Chenayans just days after parting from him? What would her father think, for that matter?