by Jasmine Walt
“Why? What’s wrong?” Lynx sniffed her arm but detected nothing strange.
“You used them all, didn’t you?” Kestrel said, breathing through her mouth.
“I guess,” Lynx replied, feeling sheepish. Kestrel was always so much better at the girly stuff than she could ever hope to be.
“Everyone in a five mile radius of you is going to know we Norin are peasants—low-borns—who know nothing about how to use fine things. You will have to bathe again.”
Lynx was about to say she didn’t care what they thought, but she stopped herself, because it wasn’t true.
She did care. Very much. Her parents’ lives depended on her, and she could not fail them.
That reminded her that she hadn’t told Kestrel about Mott’s threat. She opened her mouth to speak when someone cleared her throat.
“You’re out of time,” Kestrel said. “Just keep downwind of everyone.”
Both Lynx and Kestrel turned to the open door.
A tall, stately woman with a sparkling sapphire next to her eye stood there. Lynx’s first thought was that she looked like Mott’s mistress, only older. A sister perhaps?
The woman jerked into a perfunctory curtsy, causing her spectacular bejeweled gown to shimmer in the light gleaming from the wall sconces.
“Good morning, Princesses. I am Lady Tatiana.” Her husky voice and the deep fissures in her tired skin, pasted with makeup, suggested that she’d spent too many nights in smoke-filled gambling rooms. Her nose twitched, and she sneezed. “By the Dragon, it’s fruity in here. Perhaps I should have come by earlier.” Sharp eyes darted to Lynx, and her lip curled. “Who knew I would need to teach you how to bathe?”
Lynx’s face burned, and it was on the tip of her tongue to ask Lady Tatiana, Who knew I would have to teach my lady’s maid respect? But she swallowed the words; after all, Tatiana was right. She had been an idiot with the oils. Never again would she let Chenayan luxury beguile her.
Tatiana waved a ring-encrusted hand. “Can’t be helped now. The men are waiting for breakfast.” She scooped up her skirt. “And we couldn’t possibly keep them waiting, could we? They’ll end up dyspeptic.”
Lynx bit her lip until it ached as Tatiana led her through the palace.
Once at the double doors leading into the great hall, the haughty high-born bobbed a curtsy and vanished amongst the diners.
Only Tao waited for them. His eyes widened, and he took a hasty step back as Lynx approached. She guessed only politeness stopped him from waving his hand in front of his nose. Wincing with shame, she pointed to the empty space next to him, where Lukan should have been standing.
Tao shrugged, offered Kestrel his arm, and started into the hall.
Lynx touched his shoulder. “Is Lukan coming?”
Eyes laden with concern, Tao said, “I don’t know. I stopped by his apartment, but he wasn’t there.” Tao hesitated and then added softly, “It didn’t look like he slept there, either.”
Lynx’s stomach plummeted. “So, now what?” She glanced into the hall, packed with people, dreading having to walk in there on her own.
“The show goes on. No one eats until we take our places.” Tao paused again, then added, “If you were with Lukan, you’d walk ahead of us. But now—” his voice trailed off.
Lynx understood perfectly. So did Kestrel, who preened, fluffing her hair and patting her skirt at this unexpected windfall.
“Lead on,” Lynx said, grateful that at least Tao wasn’t smirking at her.
It was a long walk, past rows of tables, where watching high-born stood at attention at an ebony table on a dais, overlooking the crowd.
Tao gestured for Lynx to take a seat on the right, two down from the head. He and Kestrel sat opposite her.
“My father won’t be joining us,” Tao said. “He never eats breakfast.”
Lynx blew out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. At least Mott wouldn’t see her alone.
“And the other people?” Kestrel asked, gesturing at Tatiana and her two female companions, the only other diners, sitting at the other end of the long table.
Tao didn’t even look at them. “The one who looks like she sucked a lemon is Lady Tatiana. Up until recently, she was my father’s mistress. Her sister, Lady Nithena, has taken her place. The pretty one is Axel’s mother. The one with the wart is Count Raklus’s wife. He’s our Lord of the Conquest.” He looked up at Lynx and smiled. “The person responsible for ravaging our neighbors and expanding our empire.”
Conscious of the need to be above reproach in her dealings with Tao lest she again be accused of flirting, Lynx didn’t return his smile. Instead, she eyed Axel’s mother surreptitiously. “You can see where Axel gets his looks.”
Tao laughed. “Don’t be fooled by Countess Katrina’s pretty face. She’s as tough as they come.”
“She’d have to be, married to Count Felix,” Lynx muttered as an army of waiters besieged her.
Clad in black and red, they bore dishes of pickled eggs and fish, cheeses in varieties she’d never before seen, breads made from every grain imaginable, and towering platters of fruit. Lynx dished up a bowl of strawberries, an almost unheard of delicacy in Norin, as someone pulled out the chair next to her.
She glanced up to see Axel.
He nodded a greeting at his mother who waved back. Instead of his oppressive black uniform, he was casually dressed in a simple white cotton shirt and a pair of black trousers tucked into knee-high boots. Without a waistcoat or surcoat, he looked nothing like the other high-born.
Lynx flushed, and a traitorous flutter swooped through her stomach. She popped a couple of strawberries into her mouth to cover her unwanted reaction to his presence.
Axel jostled Lukan’s empty chair. “Been spurned, have we?” Then he coughed and took a couple of steps back. When he finished spluttering, he laughed as he sat next to her. “Your hand slip with the oil bottle, Princess?”
“So it would seem,” Lynx replied, letting him decide which question she was answering. “And are we back to calling each other by our titles?”
“Only when you smell like something one would normally find in a brothel. I have to remind myself who you really are. Love the dress and the hair, though.”
Knowing she deserved the one comment and pleased at the other, Lynx suppressed a smile. “So what brings you here?”
“Breakfast.” He loaded a plate with pickled fish and black bread. It looked disgusting. “As you know by now, I have a healthy appetite.”
“No . . . I mean, don’t you have another table to sit at? Some friends, maybe?” Lynx rolled her eyes. “What am I saying? You with friends? Unlikely.”
“Nice try,” he said, around a mouthful of food. “But you’re sitting in my seat.”
“Your seat?” Lynx gave Tao an accusatory look, but he was involved in a stilted conversation with Kestrel and didn’t notice her.
Axel touched her hand, sending another spike of desire through her.
Lynx pulled away quickly, wishing she could control her misbehaving body. Didn’t it know how much she hated him?
He grinned at her. “Calm yourself, Princess. It was my chair, but now that you’ve agreed to marry my cousin, I’ve moved down one.”
Like she’d been given a choice. “So I have to put up with you at all my meals? Wonderful.”
“Tough luck, huh?” His grin was replaced by a fleeting frown. “But relax. Hopefully, after the wedding, I’ll be gone.”
“Gone? Oh.” Lynx looked down at her plate, unable to deny her regret—even if he was the enemy.
“Don’t say you’ll miss me?” From his tone, she knew his smile was even more sardonic than usual.
She looked up, meeting his eyes, noticing for the first time that they were flecked with gold. “In your dreams, General.”
Axel leaned into her, nudging her with his shoulder. “Don’t worry, Lynxie, I’ll miss you, too.”
Lynx shivered, both at his use of the nickname
only her family called her and from his touch. For the first time in—how long?—she was lost for words. How was it possible she could react to him this way? Usually, her mind and body were totally in agreement about things. How had this Chenayan gotten under her skin like this?
Lynx sensed someone watching her. She looked up to see Emperor Mott standing at the doors, studying her, Axel, and Lukan’s empty seat. She had no idea how long he had been there. Her appetite fled, and she pushed her plate of fruit away.
“Not eating? That means you’re either cross or upset,” Axel said.
Lynx cast a sideways glance at Axel, surprised he’d noticed that about her. “Neither. Worried better describes my mood.”
“‘Worried’? Now why would that be?” Axel paused. “Given that you’re among friends. Or rather, should I say, ‘friend’?”
Lynx scoffed and then gestured to Lukan’s empty seat.
“Ah. I see. I can’t believe you’re actually missing our illustrious crown prince.”
“No. Not really.” Lynx bit her lip, then added, “But you know those troops stationed in Tanamre?”
Axel’s face cleared of all expression, as if he had turned into a complete stranger.
Lynx hesitated, not sure whether she should confide in him. But as he probably knew more about Mott’s plans than she did, it wouldn’t hurt to tap him for information.
“The emperor has threatened to send those troops to my father’s tent . . . if—if Lukan and I don’t provide him with a grandson. He’s given me three months from the date of our marriage to comply.” She gestured to the empty chair again. “Not looking good, is it?”
Axel coughed and then brushed it off with a strained smile. “He expects a grandson in three months? I know you Norin are rebellious, but not even you lot would get away with defying Mother Nature like that.”
“Very funny.” Lynx pulled her plate back and forced herself to eat another strawberry. It tasted like ash. “So why do you think he said that? Are his, Lukan’s, Tao’s, and your deaths so imminent that he so desperately needs another heir?”
She spotted a guardsman plying through the tables toward her.
Axel must have seen him, too, because he leaned in, almost brushing her cheek with his lips. “Interesting question, but it seems like one of us is about to be summoned.”
Lynx’s fingers whitened around the handle of her fork. It had to be Mott. Who else would want to speak to her?
Axel stroked her knuckles with a beautiful callused finger. “You really need to breathe, Princess, or you’ll asphyxiate before the day’s out.” A dangerous smile. “Unless that’s your plan, of course. It would certainly make marriage and babies moot, wouldn’t it?”
Lynx stabbed his hand with her fork. Apart from anything else, the bugger hadn’t answered her question.
Axel jerked back, laughing. “Really, Lynxie, you are totally wasted on my cousin.” He stood, swept her a bow, and strode off toward the guardsmen. He was halfway across the hall when he shouted, “Oh, and by the way, a couple of drops of oil usually does the trick.”
By every Wind that blew, Lynx longed to bury her face in her hands as every head turned to look at her.
Instead, she ignored her fiery blush, straightened her back, and watched Axel intercept the guardsman. The soldier pointed to the doorway, where Count Felix stood, a furious expression on his waxy face.
She wondered what Axel had done to incur his wrath.
20
Operation Treven was poised to shunt into full steam.
Axel offered no resistance when Count Felix Avanov, his father, gripped his arm. Meek as a lamb, he let his father lead him to a private chamber, buried in the bowels of the palace. Called the lair by the few who knew of its existence, it comprised his father’s office, a dungeon, and a series of security monitoring rooms. It was here that he created the Dreaded.
His father pressed his thumb on a metal plate next to the doorjamb. The steel door slid open and then closed behind them. He surged ahead along a stark white passage and opened yet another steel door with a thumb stroke. He gestured Axel into a small office.
Axel pulled his shirt away from his body. Thin as the cotton was, sweat prickled on his back and chest. A heater pumped hot air into the windowless space night and day, regardless of the season.
Incandescent lights flickered on, casting a broad sweep of yellow light over an antique rosewood desk, a matching drinks cabinet, and three leather armchairs. An electric kettle—as far as Axel knew, the only one on the planet—and a couple of bone china cups sat on a silver tray on a small table next to the desk. His father loved hot chocolate and kept a private stash in his office. He had commissioned his bevy of scientists and engineers to make him the kettle to support his addiction.
He didn’t offer Axel any hot chocolate today.
In fact, Axel’s backside had barely hit the overstuffed chair when his father hissed, “What are you playing at? Flirting with Lukan’s betrothed. I saw you almost kiss her cheek, there at the table. Have you lost your mind?” He sank into a chair on the opposite side of the table and scowled at him.
Axel suppressed a smile that his flirting had hit a nerve.
A credible start to Operation Treven.
Axel plonked his boots on his father’s desk, just one more act designed to infuriate. His father was almost as protective of the furniture as of his children—and that was saying something. That stifling love, coupled with his brutal disregard for all other life on the planet, made for a complex relationship. Most often, it was fraught with conflict only people with diametrically opposing views could appreciate.
“Off!” A mucus-flecked handkerchief flicked Axel’s leg. “Now.”
Axel dropped his feet onto the worn leather squab on the chair next to him. “No, Father, I haven’t lost my mind. I assure you, my flirting with Lynx was all very calculated.”
His father leaned over, pushing his waxy face right up to Axel’s. “Do you know why I kill so many people?”
“Because it helps you cope with your stress?”
His father’s glower deepened. “I kill people so you can sleep peacefully, knowing you’ll have an empire to rule after my death. Still, I could wipe out thousands, but it would do no good if you choose to undermine us in public.”
“My, you are in a mood this morning.”
His father coughed into his handkerchief. A smear of fresh green phlegm, streaked with blood, gleamed on it when he pulled it away from his mouth. “Axel, do you, with all your talents, really want to spend the rest of your life living like me?”
“With chronic sinusitis? Not really.”
Bloodless lips quivering, his father snarled, “Never forget, you are not Mott’s son, only his nephew. Lukan and Tao are weak and spineless, but you will always rank lower than them.”
Axel’s hand drifted to his ruby. “I think I’m aware of that.”
“Are you? Then why did you argue with Mott about his order to attack the Norin?”
“They were the wrong orders. He disagreed. I obeyed. I still wear my head on my shoulders, so he must have accepted my objections.”
His father gave him a tired sigh. “You know Mott as well as I do, so why you insist on dancing with death, I will never know.”
“What’s life for, if not to enjoy the challenge?”
Given the puckering of his father’s face, it was the wrong answer. “Stop messing around and take life more seriously!”
Axel snorted. “I do take life seriously, far more than you could ever imagine.”
“Then why did I have to endure Mott bellowing at me moments ago about my son flirting with Lukan’s Norin bitch? He saw the two of you in the great hall, tittering together like lovers! Not even your smooth-talking tongue will protect you if you antagonize him like this.”
Axel folded his arms behind his head. “Shocking! You mean to say the emperor saw us first? What is your surveillance system coming to?”
His father’s eyes bulged.
“Listen, my arrogant son. Your mad uncle has an agenda with Lynx that does not include you messing with her. Although with Lukan playing fast and loose this morning, who knows how that will work out for Mott.”
Axel hadn’t come here to talk about Lukan. It was time to move Operation Treven into the spotlight. He rose, his tall frame almost filling the room. “Father, has it come to your attention that we’re losing the war in Treven?”
His father’s eyes flashed, and Axel knew he’d hit another nerve. His father stumbled to his feet. “What does that humiliation have to do with you and Lukan’s Norin bitch?”
“Bombs filled with noxious vapors, launched by crude hydraulic catapults. Very advanced science for the Free Nations—”
“Given enough time, even savages can advance,” his father interrupted. “That’s why we don’t permit learning in our empire.”
“I seem to recall mentioning in a pre-invasion strategy meeting that Chad had a stockpile of those. I also seem to recall making a case for sending in a small hit team to assassinate Chad rather than a regiment of foot soldiers. ‘Too risky, sending in ordinary infantrymen to take on his noxious vapors,’ were the words I used. ‘So, let’s crush the head. Assassinate Chad and all his heirs,’ I suggested. But someone shot me down.” He glared at his father, allowing his anger to bleed into his expression and into his voice. “I wonder who?”
“You know exactly why I persuaded Mott and Raklus to send in the grunts.”
“Yes,” Axel said, “because I would have led the hit team. Instead, that moron Azan got my command, even though he leads from behind his chenna flask.”
His father gestured to the chair. “Axel, sit. I told you then, and I’m telling you now: You are not going to Treven to die like some vermin grunt.”
“Vermin?” Axel tensed. “Those so-called ‘vermin’ are out there dying, so you can sleep peacefully, knowing you can kill whomever you want, whenever you want.”
“Enough with your melodrama, Axel. Those grunts are slaves, born to die for us, for you, for me, and there are plenty more where those came from. With time and patience, Treven will be ours.”