Torrid Throne

by Julie Johnson

  Our King’s Guard is world-renowned for their grueling training protocols and exhaustive vetting process. After passing a series of mental and physical qualification tests, it takes five full years to go from initiate soldier to ranking member of the guard; another two before you ever share the same room as anyone of remote importance while on active duty.

  The few who reach the elite level — those who live and work on the palace grounds, guarding the royal family directly — dedicate their existence to one aim alone: to shield and surveil the Lancasters. Twenty-four hours a day, three-hundred-sixty-five days a year. Sacrificing any chance at a normal life, with a house and a spouse and a set of toddlers running around the front yard. Because being part of the King’s Guard is more than a career choice.

  It’s a calling.

  All of this is to say… I can’t even sneeze without it being documented somewhere via satellite. So there’s absolutely zero chance in Hell of sneaking up on The Gatehouse — the sparse, utilitarian barracks and training facilities on the edge of the castle grounds where our highest ranking soldiers spend their off-duty hours. They probably knew I was coming before I’d taken a single step outside into the brisk evening air, teeth chattering from both cold and anxiety.

  By the time I walk through the front doors, every guard in the large, gym-like arena is standing at attention, their gazes fixed forward, their spines ramrod straight. I nearly balk at the sight of seventy-five of the most lethal, highly-trained men in the country, arranged in five neat rows, waiting with militant precision for me to address them.

  Because that’s not intimidating, or anything…

  I drag in a shallow gulp of air that smells like perspiration and antiseptic spray, letting it burn in my lungs. My eyes drift from the padded sparring mats to the hanging punching bags to the extensive collection of free-weights and workout machines. There’s no artwork, no decor. It’s a far cry from the rest of the castle, which is stuffed to the brim with centuries-old antique furniture and ornate wall hangings. I feel as though I’ve stepped into another world altogether.

  In a way, I suppose I have.

  Set ever-so-slightly-apart from Waterford Palace by both architectural design and day-to-day operations, the Gatehouse functions largely independently from the rest of the monarchy — as do the guards who live and practice here. Like any other Germanian citizens, they are ultimately answerable to the King’s authority… and yet, by their occupation alone, they are also uniquely exempt from it.

  No law cannot be broken when it comes to protecting the crown.

  I’ve only been here once before and, at the time, I was in such a state of numb disbelief, I barely remember the visit. It was three days after the disastrous coronation. Three days after I held my father in my arms and watched the life fade from his eyes.

  Linus was in the hospital. The country was in a state of panic. My world was still a blur of shock and fear and speculation. And I was determined to find answers.

  Who had access to that champagne glass? What deadly poison was dropped into it before Linus took a sip? Were there any leads about who could’ve done such a thing? Was this attack connected to the fire that killed King Leopold and Queen Abigail?

  I blew through these same doors, seeking an audience with the man in charge. Seeking answers. Seeking anything that might ease the threads of anxiety tangled up inside my chest cavity.

  Instead, I hit the brick wall that is Commanding Officer Ramsey Bane — a thin-lipped man with an even thinner supply of patience. Widely known as Octavia’s personal puppet — and occasional lover, if castle gossip is to be believed — he’s so far in her pocket, he might as well be lint.

  He stood there, arms crossed over his broad chest, staring me down without an ounce of sympathy as I begged for him to tell me who’d tried to murder my father. Despite my desperate pleas, he refused to give me any answers at all.

  I do not report to you, Princess, he told me, voice dripping with clear disdain. Now, if you will take your leave… we have training to resume.

  Let’s just say, I’m not exactly thrilled by the prospect of another encounter with the man.

  Perhaps this time, things will be different, I tell myself unconvincingly. Perhaps he’ll hear me out with fairness and newfound respect…

  Somehow, as I make my way across the practice arena, my footfalls jarringly loud in the silent atmosphere, I have a feeling they won’t be.

  When I come to a stop in front of the soldiers, I lock my knees to keep them from quivering and take a deep breath, praying I look braver than I feel.

  Considering I’m about to vomit, the bar is set rather low.

  “Your Royal Highness,” a gruff male voice barks, snapping my attention to the burly man in fatigues standing several feet to my left. He’s in his mid-fifties, with short-buzzed hair and steely grey eyes. They hold not an ounce of welcome.

  Bane.

  What a perfect name for a man like this.

  “We’ve been expecting you.”

  My lips twist. “I can see that.”

  I think I hear a chuckle from one of the guards, but the sound is snuffed out quicker than a candle when Bane’s cold gaze cuts through the ranks. Insubordination is not tolerated here — you’d think one unauthorized laugh might topple the whole regime.

  The urge to roll my eyes has never been quite so strong.

  Bane glances back at me, his assessment unflinching. “What an unexpected pleasure to have you here, Princess.” It’s clear from his tone he sees nothing remotely pleasurable about my presence in his domain.

  “I apologize for interrupting your training session. I promise this won’t take long.”

  “I’ve already been briefed on your desire for a personal guard detail.” His expression, if possible, grows even more stony. “With all due respect…”

  My eyebrows lift. In my experience, people who put the phrase with all do respect at the beginning of a sentence are the ones who respect you the least.

  “It’s a ridiculous measure, Your Highness.”

  “Oh?” I ask. A spark of something — it might be rage — flickers to life inside me.

  “I assure you, this unit functions seamlessly,” Bane says in a voice that has cowed far greater men than me. “Creating a so-called Princess Guard is not in your best interest. It will only serve to divide and weaken the very system we have put in place to protect you. And frankly, I refuse to allocate any of my already-strained budget to fund additional salaries for this farce.”

  “Except it won’t take any of your budget, seeing as the soldiers are already on payroll,” I point out, speaking through clenched teeth. “Their salaries will remain the same; all that will change is, instead of rotating duties every day, I’d like a small contingent of guards to remain exclusively by my side in a more permanent assignment. A designated unit that reports only to me, knows my schedule intimately, and can foresee any threats before they materialize.”

  “As I said before, that’s ridiculous. You are fully protected with things as they stand now.”

  Crossing my arms slowly over my chest, I tilt my head to one side. “Really? I’m fully protected?”

  He nods stiffly.

  “How can you say that, after the events which have transpired these past two months — right under your nose, no less!” I shake my head, incredulous. He’s either willfully ignorant or plain delusional. “How can you pretend I’m safe when everyone in this room knows someone out there is damned determined to wipe the Lancasters off the face of the planet?! And, as far as I can see, so far they’re doing a pretty thorough job of it!”

  His teeth grind together so hard, I think they might snap. “Princess, I assure you were are taking every measure to keep you safe—”

  “Evidently, our definitions of safe are vastly different, Bane. King Leopold and Queen Abigail died in that fire, along with five members of the palace staff. Prince Henry is lying in a hospital bed, possibly never to wake. My father — your king — was po
isoned at his own coronation.” I lean forward, eyes never shifting from his. “So despite what you may tell me, despite what you may tell your men, despite what you may tell yourself… I think we all know that something needs to change. Because I’m not ready to add my name to that ever-growing list of Lancaster casualties. I will protect myself. Even if I have to step on your toes to do it.”

  He’s damn near vibrating with leashed violence. I’m certain, if I weren’t the princess, he’d have decked me by now for misconduct. I’ve never been so grateful for my royal title.

  “Listen here, little girl,” Bane hisses hotly. “I have held this position for over twelve years. I have been in service to the crown for longer than you have been on this earth. I have seen rulers come and rulers go, trained more soldiers than you can conceive. My grip on this castle is iron-clad. Nothing happens with my men without my consent. And I am telling you plainly: I do not support this measure of yours. I will never support it.”

  I hold my breath for five endless seconds, knowing I need the time to make my voice steady. “You seem to be under the mistaken belief that I am asking for your permission.”

  He bristles visibly, his hands curling into fists. “Your audacity is astounding! I’d heard you were insolent, but this is unbelievable…”

  “Let me guess — our beloved Queen Consort has been singing my praises again?”

  His glower darkens, but he doesn’t take the Octavia-flavored bait. “Don’t you realize how insulting it is to stroll in here, suggesting that we — the most elite guard in this country — are unequipped to protect their princess? Are you really so crass as to trample on years of protocol?”

  “Are you really so blind as to continue to follow said protocol when it is no longer effective?” I shake my head. “This issue is about far more than your wounded pride. The fact is, your version of protection and mine don’t seem to align. At all. You think keeping me in the dark, taking away my access to vital information, will somehow save me. But I am not some child who can close her eyes and pretend the monsters in the night don’t exist. I am not a baby to be swaddled away from harsh realities or locked up in a tower until I’m old enough to be of use.” My voice quivers with intent, and I swallow hard to compose myself. “There’s a difference between shielding someone and suffocating them. I need guards who tell me the truth, even when it’s terrifying. Especially when it’s terrifying. I need a unit that values transparency as well as safety. And the only thing transparent about you, Bane, is your disdain at being questioned by this so-called little girl.”

  His eyes flash, and I know I’ve struck a nerve. “You do not possess the authority to simply stroll in here and upend a hundred years of protocol—”

  “Oh, but I do.” I smile and point at my head, as if an invisible tiara rests there. “Princess, remember?”

  “This— this is—” He’s practically spluttering. “This is not how things are done! I will not stand for it!”

  I smile sweetly. “You’re free to sit, if you’d like.”

  One of the guards in the front row snorts out a laugh, then quickly covers it with a coughing fit. When Bane hears the sound, his anger turns apoplectic. He whips around to face the battalion, practically frothing at the mouth.

  “Make no mistake — any soldier who joins this charade of a Princess Guard forfeits his place in this unit, effective immediately. Your career will be over. Your pension will be stripped, along with any military merits. You will be walking away from everything you’ve spent your life training for.”

  His warning hangs heavily in the air for a long moment. While I doubt Bane actually possesses the authority to enforce such a punishment, it’s clear the words hold significant weight with his soldiers. After all, he is their leader. And he is not one for idle threats or baseless ultimatums. Choosing my side over their commanding officer’s is tantamount to treason in his eyes.

  Any lingering amusement in the arena air dissipates. When I turn to look at the soldiers, their faces are a long parade of smooth brows and set jaws, like mannequins lined up for battle. Some I recognize from their previous posts — shadowing my morning walk to the stables, hovering in the hallways outside my suite, monitoring the perimeter of the castle grounds. Most I’ve never seen before. None look remotely open to what I’m about to say.

  I feel a bit of my resolve waver.

  Who am I to ask this of them?

  Who am I to ask anything of them?

  I clear my throat and force out the words I practiced earlier in my bathroom mirror. “I won’t pretend to know much about how the King’s Guard functions, or how one goes about protecting a royal family. If I did, I wouldn’t be here bothering you. The simple fact is, you’re all far more informed about castle security than I am. You know how this monarchy runs better than anyone. Which is why I trust that, despite the dutiful party line being spouted around here…”

  Bane scoffs.

  I ignore him. “You know the truth. Things are not in control — they haven’t been for a while now. We are not safe — not even within the walls of this palace. And, whether it ruffles certain feathers or not… changes must be made. Otherwise, people will keep dying.” I swallow hard. “So, I’m asking for your help. I’m asking if any of you are willing to work directly for me. To keep me informed of what’s really going on in this castle and in this country.” My eyes flit from face to face. I hope they can read the sincerity burning in my gaze. “This is not a royal decree. You can say no. You can choose to remain in your current position here without any ramifications. The only soldiers I want in my private guard are those who join of their own free will. Because… I’d rather have no one at all watching my back than someone forced into doing it. Loyalty that must be commanded is not loyalty at all.”

  I finally trail off.

  The silence is so thick, it seems to press in from all sides. No one says a word. No one moves a muscle. No one even seems to breathe. The weight of seventy-five sets of hyper-intelligent eyes rests heavily on my shoulders, making me feel smaller with each passing second. I force my spine straight, not wanting to show weakness under their collective assessment.

  Can they see the way my knees are shaking?

  Their expressions reveal nothing. Truthfully, I’m not sure how they perceive me. Perhaps, like their commander, to them I am nothing but a little girl with pitiful concerns, readily dismissed. An insolent, petulant child sticking her nose in matters she has no business interfering with.

  “Well. If Her Royal Highness is quite finished…” Bane’s voice claps out, full of egotistical smugness. Evidently, my speech did not sway him in the slightest. He turns to his men. “Thank you for your attention. You are dismissed.”

  I brace myself for the blow of watching them leave but, to my everlasting surprise…

  No one moves.

  I suck in a sharp breath. On my left, I hear Bane do the same.

  “What are you standing around for?” he snaps. “I said you’re all dismissed!”

  Still, they remain.

  Bane takes three strides forward, his face mottling red with rage. His roar is loud enough to rattle the windows. “MOVE OUT! That is a direct order from your commander!”

  I hold my breath, waiting. His anger echoes into silence. And for a moment, in the utter stillness that follows, I think maybe, just maybe, I’ve actually managed it. That I’ve somehow convinced these hardcore men of battle to disregard their orders, to stand by my side, to safeguard me from the dangers that seem to be pressing closer with each passing day…

  The delusion slips away as I watch them turn in orderly, single-file lines and start heading for the doors. Some shoot me what appear to be apologetic glances as they go, but most of them simply stare straight ahead, either uncaring they’ve abandoned me or unwilling to risk Bane’s wrath. A dagger of undeniable pain pierces my heart as they vacate the vast arena, one after another, until I’m alone with their commander. My bottom lip starts to quiver, so I sink my teeth into it. Hard.r />
  Save your pitiful tears for when you’re alone, Emilia.

  There’s a beat of silence after the door swings shut behind the last soldier. I brace myself, but can’t quite hide my flinch when Bane steps closer to me, chuckling under his breath at my utter failure.

  “I tried to warn you — nothing happens with my men without my consent. Did you really think you’d convince them to abandon posts they’ve held for years? If you did, you’re truly a fool. Did you really—”

  “Your Highness.”

  Bane’s vitriol is drowned out by a new voice. I glance up sharply and feel my eyes widen when I see the arena has not emptied — not completely. A sole figure remains where seventy-five once stood. The only soldier brave enough — or perhaps stupid enough — to stay behind, disregarding a direct order. My eyes go even wider when I see it’s not a man at all.

  It’s a woman.

  Hidden away in the back row, I didn’t notice her earlier. I should’ve — women in the King’s Guard are a rarity. Such a rarity, in fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s the only one in the entire unit.

  For years, women weren’t even allowed to attempt the physical qualification tests. They were thought to be too fragile to ever serve at such an elite level. Too emotional to assess security threats with the cool-headed composure required for such a job.

  And yet…

  She is direct evidence to the contrary.

  Her brownish-blonde hair is swept back into a tight bun by the base of her neck. She’s standing at attention — her hands clasped behind her, her shoulders square, her chin raised. Our eyes meet across the empty room and I see they’re the lightest shade of blue.

  “Galizia,” Bane barks. “What are you still doing here?”

  The female soldier doesn’t look at him when she responds, her voice clear and strong. “Waiting for orders.”