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

by Gwynn White

  “He’s never going to find out, is he, Father?” Axel tucked the shirttail into his trousers. “You’ll never risk either Mott or Lukan discovering that I canoodled with Lynx. It’s what makes my scheme so—workable.”

  Forcing a patience he didn’t feel, Felix said, “Don’t be so sure of yourself. You may find this arrogance to be your undoing.”

  “Unlikely.” Axel dug into his closet for a pair of boots. He pulled out a pair, worn at the heels, and sank down onto a chair to pull them on. “You all play so perfectly into my hand. You’re obsessed with hiding things from Mott. He’s convinced everyone will do what he wants, when he wants, because he’s emperor, and Lukan is an idiot.” Dressed, he jumped to his feet.

  Felix shook his head in dismay. When his son was off-duty, he dressed like a low-born. It was only the ruby that set him apart as an heir to the throne.

  “The only one I need to watch out for is Lynx.” Axel raked his fingers through his dark hair as if they were a comb. “She’s the one I care most about, and I would not thank you if you forced me into destroying my relationship with her.” Axel’s smile now reminded Felix of an executioner’s axe, ugly and lethal. “But before I allow that to happen, I will inform Lukan and Mott about the voices. I’m sure Lukan will be thrilled to learn you planted Maksim’s journal in the archive to con him into believing Thurban’s voice in his head is real.”

  Axel pushed past Felix and headed for the bathroom, calling over his shoulder, “Unless you want to watch me brush my teeth, this meeting is over.”

  Anger flared through Felix, but he controlled it. He had tried reasoning with Axel, but that hadn’t worked. Now it was time to ramp up his game. He straightened his back. “Wrong again, Axel. Nothing is ever over until I say it is.”

  With more questions than answers buzzing in his head, Felix made his way back to his lair. Scowling, he unlocked the door and stepped inside his office—and shivered.

  The room was cold.

  It shouldn’t have been; hidden ducts spewed in hot air both day and night. Someone must have been in here to turn off his heating. That was troubling.

  Felix fumbled for the heater’s on-button, concealed behind an oil painting of him and Mott while he scanned the room. His informa wasn’t where he’d left it, and his chair angled toward the wall. He was always meticulous about tucking it away under his desk before leaving the room. Cursing, he moved over to investigate, then stopped as the chair spun to face him.

  His breath caught.

  Not possible! I locked the door.

  Anger replaced his surprise. “You have programmed your thumb onto my office door! How dare you?”

  “I am emperor, and there is no door on the planet I cannot enter if I so choose.” Mott, dressed in a full military uniform, waved a dagger in the air, gesturing to the air vents. “I turned that damn thing off, too, because it’s like an oven in here.”

  “I like it like that,” Felix snapped, eyeing Mott, waiting for him to reveal the purpose of this unscheduled—and most unwanted—visit.

  Mott leaned back in the chair and clunked his boots onto Felix’s treasured antique rosewood desk, making him wince. Then Mott drawled, “So Lynx is not only beautiful, but she’s quite the kisser, too, it would seem.”

  Chapter Thirty

  Desk forgotten, Felix clutched his heart at the emperor’s pronouncement. What good was all his surveillance equipment if Mott could sneak up on him like this?

  “Hmm,” Mott said. “And just when did you intend to tell me about Axel’s indiscretion?”

  Felix sank into the chair opposite his brother, cursing Morass, the only person who could have reported this terrible news to Mott. “We both know you aren’t an early riser. I would have told you when you decided to grace us with your presence. That’s usually around lunchtime, isn’t it?”

  “Careful, little brother.” Mott pointed the dagger straight at Felix’s heart.

  Felix pulled in a calming breath. “I understand the problem, Mott. Trust me, I do. And I’m handling Axel. But it’s the Norin bitch who’s the real danger—”

  “Chenna?” Mott interrupted. “Where do you keep it?”

  Felix raised his pale eyebrows. “Chenna? Now? It’s not even nine o’clock.”

  Mott slammed the dagger deep into Felix’s desk, shooting a crack through the wood. Felix scrambled to his feet before his brother inflicted any more damage and staggered to a wall cabinet. He pulled out a crystal decanter and a glass.

  “Two more glasses,” Mott commanded. “Count Raklus is joining us.”

  “If you’re offering chenna, I’ll take a glass.” The door closed behind Raklus, and he collapsed into a chair next to Felix. His usually florid face was pale and pasty, as if sleep had been scarce.

  Shocked anyone wanted chenna before breakfast, Felix didn’t even comment that Mott had keyed his friend’s thumb to open his door. His brother was punishing him for Axel’s infraction with Lynx.

  Anxious to preserve the remains of his priceless desk, Felix spread four coasters on the glossy surface before placing the decanter and glasses on each one. Lips pursed, he poured the chenna and watched as both Mott and Raklus snatched for their drinks. They tossed the fiery alcohol back and thumped their glasses down in front of him expectantly, as if he were nothing more than a palace butler.

  Felix ignored the gesture and sat down next to Raklus. “Okay, what the hell is going on?”

  Mott yanked the dagger from the desk and waved it at Raklus. “Come now, Raklus, my Lord of the Conquest, tell Felix what happened last night while we celebrated Lukan’s betrothal.”

  Eyelids fluttering over deep-set eyes, Raklus turned to Felix. “Troops from Lapis have joined Chad in Treven.”

  Felix looked at him blankly.

  “Don’t be so gormless!” Mott shouted. “It’s not as if you don’t know what Lapis is.”

  “I know very well what Lapis is,” Felix said icily. The existence of the Free Nations had always irked Felix. Lapis, with its small printing presses and markets selling those books, annoyed him most of all. “What I cannot surmise is why King Jerawin would risk joining forces with our enemies. Does the man have a death wish?”

  “My brother has asked you a question,” Mott said, spewing his ire at Raklus. “Answer him.”

  Raklus helped himself to another glass of chenna before mumbling, “He believes Treven stands a chance of beating us in the war.”

  “Yes!” Mott’s arm sent Raklus’s chenna glass flying. “And why would he think that, Raklus? Is it because you’re the most useless Lord of the Conquest in the history of the empire?”

  Raklus’s face tuned puce. “That isn’t my fault, sire,” he stuttered. “I’ve done my very best to wage that war, but the noxious vapors, they—”

  “Count Raklus,” Mott interrupted. “I pay you handsomely to counter things like noxious gas. Or aliens falling from the sky. Or monsters rising from the sea.” His brother punctuated each word by pounding his dagger onto Felix’s desk. “It’s your job to anticipate the impossible and then to defeat it.”

  Raklus thumped his hands down onto the desk. “Sire, the wrong general is leading our troops in Treven. Azan may carry the title of Warlord, but he doesn’t know the first thing about waging war.”

  Felix grimaced as Raklus shot him an apologetic look. Raklus was aware that Felix had prevented Axel from spearheading the invasion. Under the circumstances, Felix didn’t resent the betrayal. Knowing Mott, Raklus was fighting for his life here.

  “Then kill Azan,” Mott yelled. “Why do I have to tell you this? And then send in the right general.” Mott sneered at Felix. “Ah, but that’s not possible, is it? Because the general we need is being hidden behind his father’s cloak here at the palace.” His brother’s dagger gouged a chunk of wood out of the desk.

  “I take it you are referring to my son?” Felix said, trying to ignore the conflicted poundings of his panicked heart. He certainly didn’t want Axel going to Treven, but if h
is son replaced Azan, he would be the youngest Warlord in the history of the empire.

  “Who else but Axel?” Mott’s hand drifted to the informa lying on the ravaged desk.

  Without a doubt, his brother was blackmailing him.

  It confused him. If Mott were planning to promote Axel, why show those damning images of his idiot son kissing that Norin bitch? Even though Raklus was his oldest friend, Felix could not bear to have Axel’s reputation sullied.

  He spoke quickly. “Mott, I told you, I’m handling Axel. I’ve decided to put him on the Treven command team here at the palace. He will have access to the threat-boards and will be able to advise the commanders on the ground on a moment-by-moment basis on how best to manage the campaign. It will keep him so busy he won’t have time to think about other . . . distractions.”

  “Not good enough.” Mott callously stroked his thumb against the informa.

  The image of Axel kissing Lynx burst open before them.

  Raklus gasped.

  Blackmailed. Again. Felix couldn’t stop a vein from pulsing in his temple. There was now only one way out of this crisis Axel had plunged him into. Voice filled with resignation, Felix said, “Axel has earned his place back on the battlefield. I will instruct him to leave today.”

  Raklus threw up his hands in obvious relief. “The Dragon has finally heard my prayer. I’m sorry, my friend,” he said to Felix, “but the needs of the empire must surely take precedence over individuals.” Raklus leaped up, bowed to Mott, and started for the door. “I’ll go and issue the orders for Azan’s arrest and execution. Then, I’ll promote Axel to Warlord.”

  Mott grabbed Raklus’s cloak, pinning it to Felix’s desk with the dagger. “Sit. Stay. I said nothing about promoting Axel to Warlord.” His brother gave Felix a withering glare. “Yet.”

  Knotted in his cloak, Raklus sat, his face a mixture of puzzlement and fear. Mott snatched the crystal decanter and slopped more chenna onto the desk than into his glass. Felix resisted the urge to mop it up with his handkerchief.

  With infinite slowness, Mott sipped his drink while Felix—and Raklus—waited. To hide his fear and anticipation, Felix pulled out his handkerchief and made a show of blowing his nose.

  Finally, his brother slapped his lips together and announced, “There must be no doubt in anyone’s mind that siding with our enemies leads to annihilation. To that end, Axel will remain here until after the wedding festival. Then, using his current rank, he will head a campaign to Lapis. Should he meet my battle objectives, I will promote him to far greater things than just Warlord.”

  There was only one military rank higher than Warlord, and that was Lord of the Conquest—Raklus’s job.

  Sweat broke out on Raklus’s forehead, and Felix wasn’t sure if he should commiserate with his friend or rejoice for Axel. This was certainly a strange prize for messing with the crown prince’s betrothed. Felix opened his mouth to speak just as the office door slid open again.

  So much for all his security.

  Once this meeting was over, he’d change those access codes, and no one—no one—he didn’t authorize would ever enter his lair again.

  Framed in the doorway, Lukan stood, disheveled, still wearing his clothes from the ball.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Every muscle quivering with tension from maintaining his nonchalant façade, Axel brushed his teeth as his father sailed out of his apartment. It was only after the door crashed closed that he relaxed. Marginally.

  His toothbrush dropped into the porcelain washbasin, and he thumped his forehead against the mirror.

  He’d been an idiot not to anticipate the additional monitoring, especially considering his father knew Axel was wooing Lynx as blackmail leverage to force his deployment to Treven.

  He grunted with grudging admiration as he spat tooth cleaning powder into the basin. His father knew him better than he liked. It would serve him well to remember that in future. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve and ran the conversation with his father back through his head.

  Even on closer inspection, Axel knew his reasoning had rung true. His father’s knowledge of his and Lynx’s tryst was of little consequence because information was only useful when one was prepared to act on it. His father wouldn’t do anything that threatened Axel’s standing with Mott.

  That didn’t stop worry biting him. Thoughtful, he rubbed the stubble on his chin, barely conscious that he needed a shave. Although Axel had tied his father’s hands, Felix was unlikely to do nothing about Lynx’s knowledge of the Dmitri Curse. The risk would be too great for Chenaya, the Dragon, and the crown. His father would never tolerate an attack on any of them. Remembering that was rule number one when dealing with Felix Avanov. To him, anyone who threatened the establishment, royalty or not, was expendable.

  That meant Lynx was in danger.

  And it was his fault. That called for an urgent strategy to protect her.

  Axel frowned at the mirror, barely conscious of his reflection.

  How would telling help her?

  It wouldn’t, he decided, so rushing to her apartment was not his priority. Securing her powerful allies was. Allies who would put themselves at risk to protect her if his father moved against her.

  He knew just the men for the job.

  Small in number, their ranks filled both the high-born and the guardsmen. With his total lack of regard for the “vermin” who served Chenaya, his father—and many of the Chenayan generals—didn’t know that a small percentage of guardsmen didn’t respond to the chips. Axel had never planned on passing that information on. Now, he had even less incentive.

  Happily, Axel knew exactly to whom these clear-thinking guardsmen gravitated: the one high-born who effectively balanced loyalty to an Avanov and sympathy with the masses.

  Axel reached into his pocket and pulled out his informa. Finger scrolling the air, he pulled up the screen showing the location of every high-born in the palace. A smile played on his lips; he’d been a child when he’d first memorized the serial number of this person’s ice crystal.

  Stefan Zarot was in the great hall.

  Axel dropped the informa back into his pocket and went to find his closest friend.

  Stefan sat at his usual table, eating breakfast, but he was not alone. Malika perched opposite him, regaling him with some story, if her knife and fork waving in the air were anything to go by. If someone cut Mali’s hands off, she would be incapable of speaking. Stefan’s dark eyes were riveted on her as if she were the only other person in the world.

  Axel smiled, genuinely pleased. He had done the right thing letting Stefan court Malika. In fact, he should have given his permission the day she started puberty. Although now nineteen, his sister had only had one serious boyfriend—the beau Axel despised. Axel was certain she had dated the creep to annoy him and his father into easing up on some of their protection. Axel had the good grace to admit that he was as bad as his father where his little sister was concerned.

  Too bad he was about to break up their party.

  Axel sauntered over to join them, sinking onto the bench next to Stefan. “Morning. Hope you both slept well.” He smiled at Mali and gave Stefan a mock hard look.

  “Always.” As usual, Stefan’s face was expressionless. His voice dropped. “Need I ask about you?” The word Lynx hung heavy and unspoken in the air.

  “Just what do you take me for?” Axel demanded, going for a lighthearted answer.

  “Pff!” Malika snorted. “We watched you dancing with her. I swear, I felt the sparks flying off you both from across the room. Even the fire-eaters looked jealous.”

  For once in his life, Axel was speechless.

  It was time to move this conversation into gear. He leaned in close and whispered to Stefan, knowing that Malika would hear. It didn’t matter; he trusted Mali explicitly. “My father knows I went to her room last night.”

  Stefan’s throat actually bobbed, as if he was having trouble swallowing his fried potato.

 
“Nothing like that happened,” Axel said grumpily. “But I did tell you that I was going to warn her about . . . stuff.”

  Malika’s eyes threatened to explode straight out of her head. “You didn’t! Father will kill you!” She bit her lip and then sighed with relief. “No, he won’t. Like everything, you’ll get away with it. But Ax! How could you take such a risk?”

  “He’s in love with her,” Stefan said dryly, as if that explained everything.

  Axel brushed the comment away. “Fact is, he heard more than just a chat about stuff.” Axel flashed a self-deprecating smile. “I might have mentioned the reason behind the stuff.”

  Now both Malika and Stefan looked at him as if he had . . . had turned into a Norin.

  He understood their concern. Still, it irritated him. He knew exactly what they both felt about the monitoring and the ice crystals. Because of their friendship, Stefan was one of very few high-born who knew what his “emerald” was. He and Stefan had spent years trying to figure ways of getting Stefan’s ice crystal off the grid so he could live a more private life. A nonfatal solution had never presented itself.

  Axel’s and Malika’s biggest arguments had not been about the high-borns’ ice crystals but rather about his commitment to a military that used mind-manipulated soldiers to control the rest of the population.

  He suppressed his irritation. “Whatever my motives, it’s done.” He fixed Stefan with a penetrating stare. “I wouldn’t ask, but she needs protection. The kind only you can rustle up.”

  Stefan held his gaze and then nodded. “Axel Avanov, you will be the death of me.”

  “I’ll make a speech at your funeral.” Axel grinned, largely to cover up that he didn’t feel good about embroiling Stefan and his men in this disaster of his making.

  Stefan grunted. “Leave it to me.” He glanced up at Malika and said to Axel, “You’ve earned this one.”

  Axel squeezed his shoulder, letting Stefan know how much he appreciated the offer. And then he strolled out of the hall, keeping calm for the cameras as he made his way to Lynx’s room to warn her.