The Promised Prince: A YA Dystopian Romance

by Kortney Keisel

  Renna found an open seat next to her mother and sat down. Luckily, Trev and Seran were several seats away. It would be easier to act like she didn’t care about him if she could ignore him. But then she heard Trev and Seran talking.

  “Why are there so many men signing up?” Seran asked. “What kind of prize do they get if they win?”

  “Well, the tradition in Albion is for the winner to receive a kiss from a woman of his choice; I’m sure most men would choose you.”

  Seran let out a light laugh.

  “Are you comfortable with that?” Trev asked.

  “I suppose there’s only one man I would want to kiss, but I’ll consider it an honor to perform the duty if called upon.”

  Renna leaned forward to see Trev’s response to Seran’s words. He looked flustered; or maybe he was thrilled. It was tough to tell. Renna slammed her back into her seat, hiding them from her view.

  “Prince Ezra,” her mother called. “Join me for a moment.”

  What? Why?

  Renna’s heart stumbled as Trev stood up and came their way.

  “Your Majesty. Miss Degray. You both look lovely this morning.” His comment was meant for her mother too, but his eyes lingered on Renna a little too long.

  “Prince Ezra.” Queen Mariele nodded back at him. “How kind of you to arrange such an exciting competition during our stay. Will we have the pleasure of seeing you compete in any of the games this week?”

  “I’m afraid it’s not customary for royalty to participate.”

  “Of course not. You wouldn’t want to be injured,” her mother replied.

  “Actually, it wouldn’t be fair to the other competitors. I’d most likely win every event.”

  Her mother laughed and Trev grinned, but Renna raised her eyebrows at his cockiness.

  “Miss Degray, do you doubt it?” His smug smile challenged her.

  She had hoped she wouldn’t have to speak, especially not in front of her mother. But how could she ignore a direct question? She breathed in. “I doubt anyone who brags about their own talents.”

  Her mother’s mouth dropped open.

  “Even when they have the right to brag?” Trev didn’t seem angry. Just amused.

  She smiled coyly. “Unfortunately, we’ll never know if you have that right.”

  “I guess you’ll just have to take my word for it.”

  “And we will,” Queen Mariele desperately added.

  Trev nodded to the queen before turning his smug smile back on her. “Miss Degray, I hope you won’t mind, but I took the liberty of inviting my dear friend, Mr. Tybolt, to sit with you today.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Thank you, Your Highness, but that’s not necessary.” The last thing she wanted was to be stuck with Mr. Tybolt all day.

  “Ah! Here he comes now. Tybolt!” Trev gestured to the large man. “I was just telling Miss Degray what a dear friend you are to our family and how I would like you two to be better acquainted.”

  Renna could not believe what was happening. The sweaty man actually sat down and, in doing so, took up half of her seat. She looked to Trev to save her, but he seemed all too pleased with himself and the situation.

  “The games are about to begin.” Trev backed up a few steps. “I trust you two will get along great.”

  “Indeed!” Mr. Tybolt yelled, deafening Renna’s left ear in the process. This was going to be a long morning.

  With an impish grin, Trev retreated to his seat, leaving Renna to glare at his back as he walked away. Clearly, she had underestimated how far he would go to carry out a joke.

  She tried to focus on the tournament, doing her best to ignore the enormous, sweating man beside her. Archery was the first event. There were fifteen contestants in total. As each man was announced, Tybolt found something critical to say about him. They were either too poor, their clothes too gray, or they were somehow beneath him—even if they came from a respectable family. He insisted he was a far better bowman than any of the participants. Renna couldn’t even imagine Tybolt having enough muscles under all his layers to hold a bow, let alone standing still long enough to hit a target.

  Renna was careful not to do or say anything that encouraged more conversation, but Tybolt hardly needed encouragement. He continued to lean in closer and closer until her neck began to hurt from straining away. At one point, Tybolt became so animated that saliva flew from his sweaty mouth and landed all over her neck. She silently cursed Trev as she wiped the liquid with the sleeve of her dress.

  Her eyes continued to scan the arena until they found Joniss. He stood casually against a wooden post, feet crossed, and arms folded across his broad chest. He raised his eyes toward the large man next to her, and Renna subtly shook her head, eyes wide in feigned panic. Joniss mouthed the words, “I’m sorry.”

  “Did you also know I am skilled in other types of weapons?” Mr. Tybolt was still talking. Would he ever stop?

  Not waiting for her answer, he continued to tell her specifically what weapons he liked to use and who he had challenged. With each word, his stale breath burned her nostrils. Turning her head away, she dared to look down the row in Trev’s direction. He was smiling as Seran talked. Unbelievable! He had stuck Mr. Tybolt on her while he was enjoying Seran and the archery competition.

  He was officially the worst.

  Then the worst’s beautiful blue eyes glanced at her. She gave Trev her most irritated glare as payback for the unpleasant situation he had placed her in. Trev held his fingers up to his chin, opening and closing them like pretend scissors to a beard.

  19

  Trev

  “I have something planned for us after the competition,” Trev said to Seran over the cheers of the crowd. “Somewhere I wanted to take you.”

  “That’s thoughtful of you, but I’m meeting with the dressmaker to discuss plans for my wedding dress.” Seran said, excitement edging her voice.

  Trev forced a smile. “That sounds important.” The wedding still didn’t seem real to him, but this was a clear reminder that things between him and Seran were definitely real.

  “Perhaps we can spend some time together later?” Seran reached out, squeezing his arm.

  “Of course.”

  Trev tried to turn his focus back to the end of the competition, but every once in a while, his eyes drifted to Renna a few seats down. He’d hoped Tybolt’s placement would come across as a joke, though after watching Renna shrink away from the man all morning, he began to wonder if it had been a little too much for him to put Renna through. The one upside was that no other man could get anywhere near her while Tybolt was there—his immense body acting as a barricade between her and any other suitor.

  But that wasn’t fair of him, and he knew it.

  “So I’ll see you later?” Seran asked when the competition was over, pulling his attention back to her.

  “Sure.” Trev stood.

  “What are you going to do?”

  Renna stood, trying to escape Tybolt. Maybe Trev should rescue her. He smiled back at Seran. “Oh, I’m sure I have some policies on my desk that need to be reviewed.”

  He waited until Seran had walked away and then he made his move, arriving on the scene just as Tybolt stood and asked Renna and her mother to accompany him to the lunch buffet.

  “I think—” Renna began to say until Trev interrupted her.

  “I think Miss Degray already has plans for lunch.”

  Tybolt shrunk a little in Trev’s presence. Sweat trickled from his forehead down into his beard. “I see.”

  “My mother, however, would be thrilled to accompany you.” Renna smiled warmly at the queen, who didn’t know quite how to respond.

  Recovering quickly, Queen Mariele said with a polite smile, “Certainly.”

  Tybolt shuffled his massive body around several chairs, trying to exit. The queen took his offered arm. “Well then, thank you for a most agreeable morning,” he sputtered to Renna.

  “Agreeable doesn’t even begin to describe
it.” Renna smiled sweetly, and Trev laughed under his breath at her seemingly innocent remark.

  Tybolt paused, looking confused, and then escorted the queen away.

  “Do you want to get out of here?” Trev asked.

  “Where’s Seran?” Renna said, glancing over his shoulder for the princess. “Don’t you need to spend time with her?”

  Yes, he should be with Seran, but she was busy. “I asked her if she wanted to come with me, and she turned me down. She has a meeting with the dressmaker.” He shrugged. “Instead of canceling my plans, I thought I could take you.”

  “Don’t you have more important things to do?” she asked.

  “I wouldn’t have asked if I had more important things to do. Do you want to come or not?”

  She looked around them, likely checking to see who was watching or noticing them together.

  “I guess it would be all right,” she finally answered.

  “Trev! There you are.” The pair turned to see Drake coming their way. “Should we all walk to lunch together?” he asked, desperation infusing his tone. Undoubtedly, he thought it was a bad idea for Trev to be alone with Renna.

  Probably because it was a bad idea.

  But there was no harm in being around Renna, not out in public. Besides, Seran had said no. She’d probably be happy he’d taken Renna instead.

  “Renna and I have other plans,” Trev replied.

  “Other plans besides lunch?” Drake asked, not even trying to hide his irritation.

  “Yes.” Before Drake could respond, Trev pulled Renna away. They walked side by side, though Trev kept his hands clasped behind his back in case he had a spontaneous urge to touch her. That seemed to keep happening.

  “I hope you don’t feel like you have to plan something to keep me entertained. I know you were just trying to be nice by saving me from Tybolt, even if you were the one who stuck me with him in the first place. If you want, we can turn back to lunch.”

  “Who says I was just being nice? I meant what I said. I have other plans for you.” He pointed to the training field lined with men. “Have you been over here yet?”

  Renna shook her head.

  “This is where all the soldiers train. It’s one of my favorite places on the palace grounds. Men working hard to learn and improve their skills for the good of their king and country.”

  They walked past rows of young men lined up to receive instruction from their captains.

  “Couldn’t these boys have come to the tournament today?”

  “No, these boys didn’t have the afternoon off. Besides, a soldier never lets the appearance of peace dictate his work ethic.”

  “The appearance of peace?” Renna raised her eyebrows. “You don’t think this is a peaceful time?”

  “Things are never as peaceful as they seem.”

  “Your country is not at war, and nobody is rioting against the crown. The king has aligned himself with New Hope. What more could you want?”

  “I just don’t want to miss anything or trust the wrong person.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “There are rumors of Tolsten spies infiltrating Albion.” He probably shouldn’t tell Renna all this, but he couldn’t shake the urge to open up to her. “I feel this weight on my shoulders that I have to find the spies and what they want before they do something that I can’t control.”

  “Maybe it’s just a rumor.” She shrugged.

  “Tolsten has recently frustrated some of our military plans. Nothing big, but small things like building a military fortress on the same border location where Albion had plans to build. Things that could be dismissed as coincidence, but also could be something more.”

  “So, how do you know who to trust?”

  “I don’t trust anybody.” It was true; he didn’t trust anyone outside his circle of friends and family—and now, Renna.

  She whirled around, smiling. “Maybe that boy is the spy.” She pointed to a young boy practicing hand-to-hand combat across the field. “Or that man, or that man, or that man!” Her finger moved from one person to the next.

  Trev pushed her arm down. “The spy could be you.”

  “Or you.” She smiled, raising a brow in the process.

  Her playful expression made his stomach flip with butterflies. “Leave the spies to me. What you need to worry about right now is your aim.”

  “My aim?”

  Trev nodded at the shooting range, separated from the rest of the field by a fence. A young soldier working the desk bowed at Trev, handing him two small handguns. He turned to Renna. “Do you know how to shoot?” He started walking toward the line that faced the targets before she could answer.

  Renna followed behind, trying to keep pace. “Of course not. It’s not like we had guns just laying around at Wellenbreck Farm. Only soldiers are allowed to have guns . . .” Her words trailed off as she watched him load bullets into the small, black weapon.

  Trev finished his preparations and turned to face her, gun outstretched, waiting for her to take it.

  She stared back at him, unsure.

  “What are you afraid of?” he asked.

  Renna shuffled her feet. “Oh, I don’t know. Hurting someone, hurting myself, failing, looking like a fool, embarrassing you, embarrassing myself, and possibly upsetting my mom.”

  “Renna, I didn’t take you for a woman who cares what other people think.”

  She shrugged her shoulders.

  “Do you want to learn how to shoot a gun or not?”

  She nodded her head up and down.

  “Then try it and stop worrying about what other people think.”

  Trev gently placed the gun in her hand and pointed to a small button on the left side above the handle. “This is the safety mechanism. Right now, the safety is on, so it won’t fire even if you pull the trigger. When you push that button, the safety will release, and the gun will be ready to fire. Leave the safety on until we’re ready to shoot.”

  “Safety first,” she teased.

  “Always,” he said.

  “Wow, it’s really light.” She lifted her hand up and down to feel the weight.

  “Yeah, it is. The Council approved gun technology upgrades to the ones they had before Desolation to be safer and more reliable. These are also quieter, so there’s no need for ear protection.”

  She nodded as if everything he said was deeply important.

  He spread his legs shoulder-width apart, putting his arms straight out in front of him, hands clasped together with the gun in between his fingers. “This is the position your body should be in when you’re ready to shoot.”

  Renna copied his stance.

  Trev’s eyes scanned slowly up and down her figure. “Your body looks good.” He gave her a wicked smile.

  Renna quickly lowered her arms. “Ezra Trevenna! Are you a gentleman or not?”

  “What?” He raised his hands in innocence. “I was talking about your form. I feel completely violated now.”

  She gave him a warning look.

  “I promise.” He smiled. “I am all about business.”

  Her incriminating expression melted into a slow smile.

  “Now, go back into your stance,” he said, making some adjustments to her hand placement before he explained about sights and how to aim at the target. When he had given all the instructions, he said, “Okay. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

  She released the safety and fitted her finger over the trigger. Her breath stilled as she pulled the lever, sending a bullet flying through the air. It pierced the bottom left corner of the target ten yards away—not close to the bullseye at all.

  “I did it!” she squealed with delight, spinning to face him, the gun pointing in all directions as she turned.

  Trev scrambled to get his hands on the weapon. “Whoa! What happened to safety first?”

  “Oh! Sorry.” Her eyes and mouth went wide like she was just as shocked as he was that she’d forgotten the rules. It was another adorable expressio
n to add to his list. “I forgot.”

  “This time, let’s see if you can hit the target.”

  “But I did hit the target.”

  Trev shook his head. “You hit the paper.”

  Renna lined up again and fired bullet after bullet. Some shots were way off, but some circled the center of the target. When there were no bullets left, she handed the gun back to him, this time with the safety on.

  “Let’s see you do it now,” she challenged.

  Trev reloaded the gun and fired one after another with every single shot piercing the center of the bullseye.

  “Wow! You’re amazing.”

  “I’m all right.” He picked up the second gun and handed it to her. “Do you want to have a friendly competition?”

  “Absolutely not! You would destroy me.”

  “What if I shot with only my left hand and moved my target ten yards farther?”

  “What does the winner get?”

  “If I win, I get to dance with you once at the tournament festival.” Dancing was a normal thing. It would look bad if Trev didn’t dance with his fiancée’s stepsister.

  She folded her arms across her chest. “You said I was a terrible dancer.”

  “Well, someone has to teach you.”

  “And if I win?” she asked, pursing her lips together.

  “What do you want?”

  Renna thought for a moment before deciding. “More chocolate.”

  Trev laughed. “I should have known it would have something to do with food. Deal.”

  They shook on it.

  Trev turned and asked the young man behind the desk to move his target ten yards farther than Renna’s. Off-duty soldiers began to notice something exciting was happening, and it didn’t take long for word to spread through the training field that Prince Ezra had challenged Renna to a target shooting match. A crowd of men started to gather around to watch.

  The bet was unfair, even if Trev did shoot with his left arm. He was one of the best gunmen in Albion, next to Drake. But that was the whole point. He counted on his skills to get him that dance with her. Never in his life had he been so grateful for all of the long days he had put in practicing.