by Jasmine Walt
Axel leaned against a wall in the salon, where everyone was gathered and caught Stefan’s eye.
His friend nodded, knowing exactly what Axel expected of him to launch Operation Treven.
“Here we are, at last,” Mother Saskia chimed, removing her glove. She slipped her glove into her pocket and strode across the car toward Lynx and Kestrel.
Stefan’s warning to Bear seemed to have worked, because the emissary leaped to his feet, standing in front of his nieces.
It would buy Axel time.
He pushed himself away from the wall and strode across the car, intercepting Mother Saskia before her fingers could find the bare skin on Lynx’s arm. “You take care of the Emissary, Mother,” he commanded, “and I’ll look after the princesses.”
The priestess looked at him in surprise, mouth open to challenge him. These were not the orders he had originally given her.
“Or rather, Colonel Zarot will take care of Bear,” Axel said, having second thoughts about letting her loose on Lynx’s uncle.
A faint smile skirted Stefan’s face. Without fuss or flurry, he slid between Mother Saskia and Bear. He gripped Bear’s shoulder, pulling him aside so Axel had access to the two princesses.
Despite Bear’s yelp of protest and Saskia’s hiss of surprise, Axel wasted no time in grabbing both women by the arm.
Lynx tensed, probably preparing to resist him.
Hoping she’d connect his action to Stefan’s warning, he pleaded in a voice so low only she would hear it, “Don’t fight me, Princess.”
She looked at Bear, her face questioning. Thankfully, Bear nodded to her, and Lynx relaxed—slightly. Axel propelled her toward the door while Kestrel followed without a murmur.
The train stopped, and the doors slid open.
Axel leaped down onto the platform, dragging his captives with him. Once he had them safely away from the train, he shouted to Stefan, “The door. Get it.”
Easing away from Bear, Stefan hit an override switch, and the door sealed closed.
Kestrel gasped but seemed too shocked to act.
Whatever Lynx may have suspected, she took exception at being separated from her uncle. She ripped free from Axel, ran to the door, and slammed her hands against the glass, shouting Bear’s name. When the doors didn’t magically open, she spun around to face Axel, hands clenched into fists. He reckoned she could pack quite a punch if she set her mind on it.
Not in the mood for a black eye, Axel said, “Relax, Princess. This was the only way it could work.”
“Relax?” she yelled. “Give me one good reason why. That bitch is about to fry my uncle!”
Axel glanced at the car. Mother Saskia’s hand was just inches away from Bear’s face. Axel knew Stefan would never let her touch him. “He’s in no danger—if you cooperate with me.”
Lynx turned angry eyes on him. “You bastard!”
Axel’s stomach knotted; her reaction was just what he’d feared. Not a great start to the flirting part of Operation Treven. But protecting the Norin princesses from Saskia would at least alert his father that something was going on. That was a positive score.
“I told you, I had my orders. But trust me, it could have been a lot worse.”
“What about the emperor’s promise to let us stay with Uncle Bear until the wedding?” Kestrel squeaked.
Axel directed his answer at Lynx. “The emperor changed his mind.” He followed it up with the tiniest shrug and his least sardonic smile.
Emperor Mott had no intention of letting Lynx get comfortable at her uncle’s home in Cian. By separating her from Bear’s guidance, Mott could keep her isolated—and make sure she was suitably monitored.
“Now, I suggest we get moving. The emperor and his sons are expecting you.” Axel started toward a sweeping set of red-carpeted stairs at the end of the platform.
Kestrel dutifully trailed behind him. He glanced back to see Lynx still frozen to the spot, watching Stefan propel Bear away from Saskia.
Axel had just lost the upper hand.
With her uncle out of harm’s way, Lynx demanded, “You mean they would have met us while we were unconscious?” Her hands had now found her hips. But her face was most telling. She leaned forward, eyes pleading with him to deny that Saskia intended to shock her and Kestrel.
He had no choice but to dash her hopes. “They’d have waited for you to revive.”
At least she’d figured out he’d spared her the indignity of being fried.
“Now come, Princess. We’re on a schedule here.” Axel moved forward.
Lynx didn’t budge.
Axel sighed. “Now what?”
“The least you could have done was tell me you planned to abduct me. After all, where was I supposed to escape to?”
Mentally scrambling around for patience, he said, “Now why would I have done that, Princess?”
“Dragon’s bloody testicles!” Lynx stamped her foot. “Stop calling me ‘Princess.’”
Axel glanced at Kestrel to see how she was taking her sister’s tantrum. Kestrel looked bored.
He suppressed a smile. “So what am I supposed to call you, then?”
“I have a name. Use it.”
“Okay, Lynx. But you call me ‘General’ once more, and I’ll feed you to the wolves.”
“Wolves?” Kestrel asked.
“Instead of a moat, our new home comes complete with an enclosure filled with half-starved wolves,” Lynx said to her sister in a brittle voice, “or did the she-witch forget to mention that little fact during all your discussions on how wonderful life would be?”
Kestrel raised her eyebrows at Axel. “Is that true?”
“Yes. They chomp anyone who dares enter the palace precinct without an invitation. Lynx, Kestrel, let’s go.”
“You can call me ‘Princess,’” Kestrel said pertly, without moving.
Axel resisted the urge to roll his eyes. The whole situation had taken on a surreal quality. “Okay, ladies, titles and wolves aside, can we please get going?”
“No.” Lynx took a threatening step toward him, tugging at her knee-length black dress. “I still want to know why the hell you didn’t warn me, so I could change out of my training dress?”
Training dress?
Then Axel understood. His shoulders slumped. This was definitely not how Lynx was supposed to appear in front of the emperor.
If he hadn’t interfered, Saskia would have knocked Lynx unconscious and dressed her in yet another hideous monstrosity she had arranged for the princess. He looked toward the train car, where the crates of Lynx’s discarded clothing were stored. It was useless even thinking about getting them. The moment the door opened, Saskia would be on Lynx like a lightning storm. The only way he could stop her would be to fight with her. A shouting match with the Great High Priestess about protecting Lynx would be a poor start to Operation Treven.
“I said you shouldn’t have rejected all of Mother Saskia’s lovely gowns,” Kestrel observed.
Axel looked at Kestrel—sadly, she was right, but it was too late to fret about it now. He turned back to Lynx. Fury rode in her eyes.
He would have to placate her to get her moving. “What does it matter, Lynx?” he asked, far more gently than he’d intended. “What you wear will never change who you are. You’ll always be you, and that means you’ll never be one of us. The sooner Lukan and the emperor learn that, the better.”
He obviously said the right thing because, for an instant, Lynx’s whole demeanor changed. Her fists unclenched, and her face relaxed. Even her eyes took on a softer glow. It was quickly replaced by a stiffening of her back.
Her voice was icy as she said, “Don’t you ever forget it.”
He definitely liked this woman. More than was good—for both of them. He flashed her a lethal smile, designed to conquer her heart. “Fat chance of that.”
He headed for the stairs and the princesses’ first meeting with their future spouses.
15
Lukan straig
htened his black velvet waistcoat, lining up the silver trim encircling the solid silver buttons. He examined himself in his huge, ebony-framed mirror and liked what he saw: a supremely confident male of the species, born to rule. A man no woman could refuse.
Just as well, he thought wryly, because today, looks are everything.
Lynx was arriving.
Correction. Lynx was here.
His bowels rumbled as if his insides had turned to water. Axel had brought her straight to the palace from the hub. She was waiting for him in the Bronze Hall.
Lukan was late, a small act of protest against his arranged marriage.
It was all he dared risk when even this much rebellion would incense his father. He wasn’t in the mood to deal with his father’s fists today.
No one knew better than he that his tardiness made no sense. It was common knowledge that he wanted Lynx. Trouble was, want didn’t equate to marriage. It was one thing to sleep with an alluring woman—that, after all, was one of the few perks of being crown prince. It was altogether another to be forced to marry a savage whose only obvious desire was to knock his teeth out.
A sharp rap sounded on his door.
Only one person ever knocked like that. Tao. Despite everything, Lukan chuckled. So, his brother was late, too. It seemed he wasn’t the only one showing his disapproval.
Without waiting for a reply, his brother poked his head into the room. “You ready yet? Our old man will be spitting blood by now.”
“Exactly what I intended,” Lukan said, with false bravado. He caught Tao’s eye in the mirror. “You too, it would seem.”
Tao grunted, and Lukan smiled, making no move to vacate his spot.
“Relax, Tao. Spitting blood is what our congenitally insane father does best. Pity he doesn’t cough up enough to kill him.” The words were enough to sign a death warrant for any Chenayan—well, any but the emperor’s own sons.
“Like we would ever be so lucky. A knife in the lung would work, though.”
Lukan sniggered at his own image in the mirror, and the diamond next to his right eye glinted right back. “If only life were so simple.” He eyed his brother’s reflection critically. Then, because he cared more for Tao than anyone other person on the planet, he said with concern, “You look terrible.”
“Wonderful. Just what I need to hear right now.”
“You could at least have brushed that straw you call hair.”
Tao blushed scarlet. Lukan instantly regretted that remark. Tao hated everything about his looks.
“My hair is not the problem here. And neither is the old man. Not really. You are.”
The accusation in his brother’s voice jarred. It always hurt that Tao didn’t esteem him as highly. To cover up his sadness, he rubbed his angular jaw; his valet had done a good job with the shave today. Not even a hint of a shadow darkened his face.
“So you have nothing to say? Typical.” Tao kicked the air with his boot.
“I’ve told you before. I’m not taking the blame for your marriage.”
“You should, you know. If you had a shred of decency. Which you don’t.”
In his more honest moments, Lukan admitted—to himself, at least—that Tao’s nuptials were indeed his fault. If he could have changed the situation, he would have. But he had no power over his father’s decisions. He and his father had never gotten on, but in the last few months, Lukan’s frustration with his father’s brutality had reached a breaking point. He had dared to raise a number of issues, the confounded Unity with Norin being one of them. That damn thing was a curse. A literal one. And his father knew that as well as he did.
As closely guarded as the secret was, every member of the Avanov family knew that the Unity, signed between Thurban and the Norin king after the invasion, formed the backbone of the Dmitri Curse on the Avanov bloodline.
Four hundred years before, Dmitri had declared that a Norin princess would marry a crown prince and she would give birth to a son who would destroy the Avanov dynasty and the empire. If the prophecy was true, Lukan doubted any method of birth control devised by man would prevent that child’s conception.
If Lynx was the Norin princess prophesied about, she would dump a traitorous son into his lap.
Not something any prospective emperor wanted.
Six weeks ago, Lukan had taken his courage in both hands and pointed out this undisputed fact to his father. His crazy old man had taken exception. But instead of the clash of fists Lukan expected, his father had announced that Lukan was to marry Lynx—and, even more inexplicably, commanded Tao to wed Kestrel.
Tao had been quick to challenge the injustice of the punishment. He’d pointed out that he’d done nothing wrong and wasn’t part of any treaty with Norin—cursed or not. In response, his father had flung a portrait of Kestrel at Tao. That had been the end of the discussion. It was typical of his father to punish one child for the infractions of another.
Tao sighed. “Come on, Lukan, you’re pretty enough. Let’s go get this done.”
Lukan clenched his fists, and before he could stop himself, he lashed out at the thick ebony framing his mirror. A crack shot through the glass, making him curse.
“Right, break the mirror,” Tao scoffed. “That’s your answer to everything these days, isn’t it?”
“Shut up, Tao,” Lukan said, instantly regretting his flash of temper.
Tao was right; in the last few weeks the internal rage he’d kept in check his whole life had flared more and more.
“You would be angry, too, if you had to marry a woman who could bring a cursing down on your head. And there isn’t a damn thing I can do about it. As you well know.”
Tao’s mouth dropped. “Do you think Lynx is the one prophesied about?”
Lukan shrugged. “How the hell must I know? That swine Dmitri never said the Norin princess would be wearing a sign. Just that one of them would produce a son who destroys us all.”
“Our mother was a Norin,” Tao argued. “Couldn’t one of us be—”
“Of course not.” Lukan had never once considered that he might be that son—the idea was preposterous. His shrug turned into a sigh. “And to think that all I ever wanted was to tumble Lynx.”
“You still do,” Tao said. “Admit it. Curse or not. Now, can we please go?”
Lukan chose not to reply to that truth. He glanced at his wristwatch. He had only kept his father—and Lynx—waiting ten minutes. Another couple of minutes would be needed to make his point. “For someone who’s whining so much about his marriage, you’re disgustingly keen to meet Kestrel.” He yanked his ivory-handled brush through his shoulder-length dark hair with more force than was comfortable.
“I just want to get this over with.” Tao began to pace. “Do you think she’ll be . . . nice? I mean, she’s beautiful, but that’s not everything—oh, Dragon’s arse, I hope she’s easy to get along with. I’d hate to be shackled to someone who—”
Guilt nibbled at Lukan’s conscience. “I’m sure she’s fine—for a savage.”
Bound as he was to marry a Norin princess who came bearing a possible cursing as a wedding gift, the Dmitri Curse had effectively soured Lukan on all Norin.
In truth, Lukan didn’t know any Norin other than Lord Emissary Bear. His mother had vanished when he was a toddler, leaving him estranged from that side of his family. To him, Norin were wild, ferocious people with few social graces. Lynx had proved that when he’d seen her at the palace. Hell, all he’d done was smile at her—okay, with intent. But she’d looked at him with such hatred that, for at least a moment, her beautiful face had contorted into something truly ugly.
He hoped she’d gotten over her pique.
Being late probably wouldn’t help, but just this once, he could not let his father walk all over him.
A light knock sounded on the door. A thousand snakes flailed in Lukan’s stomach.
Tao’s head shot around to look at him. “That’s it. The summons.”
Lukan nodded. Hands shak
ing, he flung his hairbrush on the dresser. With no further excuses to delay him, he said, “Shoulders back and head up, Tao.”
His brother rolled his eyes.
It infuriated Lukan that Tao wouldn’t ever take his advice. Bearing mattered—critically—if one wanted to make best use of the first three seconds of an introduction. Being regal took practice. Something Tao would never understand. He strode across his apartment and flung open the door.
A guardsman bowed low. “Highness, the emperor requests the pleasure of your company.”
Lukan suppressed a bitter laugh. He’d grow wings and fly before his father requested anything. He swooped past the man into the wide passage, which linked the private wing where he, Tao, and Axel lived with the rest of the palace. Tao trailed behind him. Lukan glanced up at an ornate oil lamp above him, one of many lining the wood-paneled wall.
The sconce held a tiny camera and listening device that recorded every conversation.
Now, beyond the safety of his private apartment, everything he said would eventually reach the ears of his Uncle Felix, in charge of security.
Only the Avanov family and their most trusted officers knew of the devices. The high-born, the priestesses, the guardsmen, and the servants went about their days in blissful ignorance. The unfortunate disappearance of those who complained about Emperor Mott or the Dragon would be blamed on the Dreaded—another technological creation his ordinary subjects, illiterate and taught nothing about the world before the Burning, could not have dreamed possible.
It was a system Lukan supported as long as his conversations weren’t monitored.
All activity in the palace thoroughfares stopped as everyone bowed low to Lukan and his brother.
He scoffed at Tao, who acknowledged them with smiles and nods. Further evidence of Tao’s lack of imperial qualities. Just as well his brother was second in line for throne.
The Bronze Hall was reserved for meeting lowly vassals, but his father had decreed it a fitting place to welcome Lukan and Tao’s future wives.
Lukan’s boot barely made contact with the marble floor leading to the hall when his father bellowed, “Are you two incapable of reading a clock? You’re a disgrace to the Avanov name. A waste of skin. Both of you.” An open hand lashed out, but Lukan ducked, and it flew wide.