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

by Gwynn White

  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.

  Chapter Twenty

  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.”

  “At the cost of how many men? This is not how an intelligent leader conquers hostile nations.”

  His father waved his hand, brushing away Axel’s objections. “You say you want power. That you want to lead millions, but you worry about the lives of a few thousand vermin?”

  Axel’s face hardened. “They are my men. Your men, too. They expect us to use them wisely. If they die in battle, so be it. As you say, our empire is not short of men, so there are plenty more who will replace them. But to be squandered . . . that is untenable. To them and to me. If I cannot protect them from that kind of abuse, then what good am I as a general? As an heir to the throne?”

  His father sighed. “Axel, you have the makings of a great emperor—if you learn to control these base emotions. I can help with that.”

  Axel grimaced. “I’m sure you can, but yours is not the kind of help I seek. I am quite capable of conniving my way to whatever I want. I learned at the knees of the master. You.”

  “So, to repay me, you choose to defy me at every turn? This is ingratitude on a grand scale.”

  “No, it’s me trying to have power and live with my conscience. I still have one, Father. It speaks to me occasionally. Does yours still chatter away to you?”

  His father’s scornful expression was all the answer Axel needed.

  “The day I become like you, please kill me.”

  “You are your own worst enemy, Axel. Too often, you allow your heart to rule when your head should be in control.”

  Axel had heard enough about his weakness and failings. “Treven. I lay the blame squarely at your feet that we are nowhere near conquering the ice crystal mines. Take a bow that we are still up to our arses in mud and toxic gas while Chad laughs at us.”

  “Don’t you dare blame me for that mess,” his father hissed. “I’m not Lord of the Conquest. Treven is Raklus’s problem.” Despite the heat, his father clawed an olive-green cape tighter around his frail shoulders. “Anyway, how is this relevant to you interfering with Saskia’s duties yesterday or flirting with Lynx today?”

  “It’s been an interesting week.” Axel leaned against the wall, staring straight past his father.

  “Look at me!” A bony hand gripped Axel’s chin, but his father wasn’t strong enough to turn his head. His father dropped his fist. “If you care so deeply about the lives of our low-born, I suggest you spare a thought for Mother Saskia. Mott’s deporting her to the prison camps for letting Lynx appear at court in that outrageous dress.”

  The news knifed Axel with guilt. Few people survived internment in a prison camp. Conscious of the double standard, he suppressed it.

  Nothing could derail Operation Treven.

  He turned lazily to face his father. “Mott’s agenda with Lynx . . . I understand he’s looking for a grandson, and last night, he let Lynx get away with that sexy little dress. He didn’t seem to mind her hot red number today, either. You’ve got to wonder about it all.”

  “All emperors want grandsons to ensure depth in the succession.” His father’s eyes fixed warily on him.

  “Pff!” Axel snorted. “You are full of jokes today. We both know emperors have such a healthy fear of the Dmitri Curse, they’d avoid procreation like the curse it is if they could get away with it. Just a shame Norin princesses are always so ravishing. I swear their pretty faces are the only thing that gives that treaty any teeth.” He paused, flashing a grin. “They must be pretty amazing in bed, too, if every emperor has risked keeping them alive, however temporarily, after the wedding.”

  “Dragon’s arse, Axel!” Eyes wide, his father fumbled for his chair and then sank down into it. “The Dmitri Curse! How dare you speak of that heresy?”

  “Oh, so you don’t want me talking about Dmitri?” Axel sat and even managed to get his feet back on the desk without his father seeming to notice.

  “Axel, hold your tongue!”

  “Then I suggest you give me something else to do to take my mind off that pesky curse.” Axel’s voice hardened. “Like agreeing to my posting to Treven.”

  “So that is what this is about? No. And get your feet off my table.”

  Axel ignored the command. “In that case, you leave me no choice but to amuse myself with Lynx. Someone has to, if Lukan insists on doing a disappearing act.”

  His father stood and darted around the desk. He grabbed both of Axel’s arms and tried to shake him. When that didn’t work, his father snarled, “Are you blackmailing me?”

  “Yes. And I won’t stop until I win.”

  “So Lynx—”

  “Lynx is merely a weapon in my arsenal. I’ll do whatever it takes with her until you let me go and rescue the situation in Treven.” Not entirely true—in the short time he’d known her, Lynx had come to mean far more than that to him.

  Face pressed to Axel’s, his father said, “I will not be blackmailed into sending you to certain death. I know you. You’ll take risks, putting yourself in harm’s way for yo
ur men.” He settled back in his chair. “Axel, you want power. I can give it to you. I intend to put you on the throne before I die.”

  Axel closed his eyes and sighed. He’d heard this rant before. His father had been speaking about seizing the throne for years. Unfortunately for his father and thanks to his poor health, Mott—with the support of the Fifteen—had removed him from the line of succession and decreed that Axel would be next in line after Mott and his heirs. His father had never forgiven Mott.

  Still, it was very plain to Axel that, were he ever to be crowned emperor, his father would want to pull the strings. Given his propensity to kill first and ask questions later, that was unacceptable.

  “Father, you don’t understand. I don’t need your help to win the throne. Just send me to Treven, and I’ll take care of the rest.”

  “No, Axel. You don’t understand.” His father paused, his lips twitching, a sign Axel recognized as indecision. Finally, he leaned in so close Axel could feel his breath on his face. “Mott is restless.” He touched his head. “It’s the voices, I think. They’re troubling him.”

  Axel sucked in a quick breath. His mention of Dmitri had certainly plunged their conversation into unknown territory. Still, he knew his father had insight into Mott’s inner workings that no one else in the palace did, thanks to a microphone hidden in Mott’s bedchamber. It seemed the sleeping emperor was positively verbose, often mumbling about conversations with Thurban.

  “What’s Thurban telling him?”

  Axel didn’t expect an answer, but after a moment’s hesitation, his father said, “He’s been rambling on about claims that Lukan plans to kill him. That Lukan is the crown prince prophesied about who will destroy his father and the empire.”

  Axel’s face scrunched up with skepticism. “Lukan? Come on, Father. No one will believe that. Lukan doesn’t have the backbone. And even if he did, Mott would never let it happen.”

  “Don’t be so sure of yourself.” Cloak clutched around his shoulders, his father said, “Axel, this is one fight you do not want. Mott is not the only one with an agenda.” He walked to the door, slid it open, and gestured for Axel to leave. “Forget about Treven, and keep your hands off that Norin bitch.”