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

by Gwynn White

  The buzz of conversation stilled as he led her to where Count Felix waited at the head of the line. His uncle creaked a small bow and then waved to the beautiful people. Understanding the imperious gesture, Lukan took Lynx’s arm and walked her past the bowing high-born while Felix called out names and titles Lukan knew she’d never remember or connect to their owners.

  Lynx greeted Lev and his friends when Felix introduced them, raising Lukan’s eyebrows that she had started making contacts already. She stopped him at her uncle, Bear. The emissary wore the tiniest possible mask over his eyes.

  Felix didn’t give her a chance to do more than exchange a brief hello before he hustled them on to the next in line.

  It was a cue Lukan decided to follow. The less she had to do with her fellow Norin, the better. Maybe distance would help tame her.

  Thankfully, Axel wasn’t in the line, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t returned to the palace. His cousin bowed to no one but the emperor.

  Only after the last introduction did Felix signal to the minstrels. A hunchback with a pointy beard chanted a haunting dirge. Other dwarfs accompanied him with zithers, lutes, and pan flutes, so beloved by Chenayan musicians.

  Before now, Lukan had never given much thought to their music. It was something that just happened when he wanted to dance. Still, it must have sounded enthralling to Lynx because she stood riveted and wide-eyed. He imagined her gaping behind her mask. Clearly, the music they listened to in Norin was very different than this. He ringed her upper arm above her glove with his hand. Her flesh was warm, the muscle firm under her skin. He liked it. A lot.

  “It’s a ball, Lynx. Not a recital.”

  Her eyes darted to him and then back to the minstrels. “I’ve never heard anything so . . . Well, nothing quite like it. How do you dance to a—?”

  “Like this.”

  Lukan slid one arm around her, trailing his fingers down her back. She tensed, then relaxed into his touch. Encouraged, he slithered his hand to her hip. With a possessive tug, he pulled her toward him until their bodies were almost, but not quite, touching. His right hand found hers, and he linked their fingers together.

  Her body was still stiffer than he liked. She also seemed unsure of what to do with her other hand, letting it dangle at her side.

  He leaned down to whisper in her ear. “Hold my hip like I’m holding yours. And keep your feet away from my boots. I’ll do the rest.”

  She hesitated, and then her fingers touched his trousers, slung low on his narrow hips.

  A cloud of butterflies looped through his stomach. He caught her scent—the clean, crisp smell of soap and water, refreshing in its plainness after the heavily perfumed atmosphere. He longed to bury his face in her neck, to drink her in. But it was way too soon for that.

  Time to dance.

  Lukan caught the music on an up beat and swept her to the middle of the floor. Tao and Kestrel followed. He danced in silence until they had done a full circuit of the ballroom, then other couples joined them on the dance floor. No longer the center of attention, he leaned into her and tried some small talk.

  “So what music do you listen to in Norin?”

  “Lively music. Not . . . death stuff, like this. We like to celebrate when we dance.”

  “Oh, so this doesn’t seem like a celebration to you?” Lukan sensed her hesitation, and he smiled, deciding to be magnanimous. “Don’t bother answering. How did you enjoy your first hunt?”

  Lynx took a moment to reply. “I loved the ride. But I’m more of a plains girl. Forests don’t set my heart on fire.”

  “That’s unfortunate. Most of our leisure time is spent in the forest. When we’re not dancing to sad music, of course.” He let his hand trail up her back, caressing her through her corset.

  Lynx squirmed, and her breasts brushed against his chest, igniting his heart. He pulled away before she felt it galloping.

  Fighting to keep his voice steady, he asked, “So you like riding?”

  “Yes, but not sidesaddle.”

  “I noticed.” The idea of Axel leering at her legs made him scowl. “You have a way of turning the established order on its head.” Instantly regretting that, he forced his face to relax; Lynx must not see anger in his eyes. He tried again with an attempt to get her talking about herself. Women liked that. “Tell me about your other passions.”

  She laughed self-consciously. “You can’t be serious?”

  “Put another way, what do you do with your time when you’re not riding horses?” As he said it, he remembered that she was a raider. Raiders existed to track and kill imperial guardsmen. That’s what gave them their wild, ferocious reputation.

  It brought her role in the Dmitri Curse back into full focus.

  Lukan mentally kicked himself for that reminder. As he cast about for a new topic of discussion, he saw Axel, unmistakable even in a mask, dancing next to them with his sister, Malika. No mask had yet been made to hide Malika’s explosion of raven-black hair. Her head rested on Axel’s shoulder, and he whispered something in her ear. Probably his plans for stealing Lynx. They both laughed . . . and Lynx stumbled.

  Startled, Lukan looked down at her. She was staring at Axel, her eyes disbelieving.

  Then, he understood.

  Even after Felix’s name game, Lynx wouldn’t know Malika was Axel’s sister. With a sapphire next to her eye, Lynx must have thought Malika was just some high-born. Now she clearly assumed Malika to be Axel’s girlfriend. And she didn’t like it. Not one bit.

  The stab of jealousy—and rage—that pierced Lukan was breathtaking.

  He stiffened, and it took all his self-control to maintain his regal bearing. Even then, his voice was sharper than usual. “Come on, Lynx,” he demanded, “it wasn’t that long ago you were in Norin. You can’t have forgotten what you liked to do.”

  Lynx tore her eyes away from Axel and his sister. “I—I love music, and I play a few instruments.”

  Lukan twirled them to the opposite side of the ballroom, away from Axel. Ostensibly avoiding a steely-eyed knife-thrower entertaining a small crowd of onlookers, he pulled her even closer to his chest. But he didn’t trust himself to speak, so they danced in silence. Lynx cleared her throat a couple of times, but whatever was on her mind, she kept it to herself.

  Finally calm enough to risk speaking, he said, “Your uncle delivered a musical instrument here for you. A stringed thing that looks like a lute gone wrong.”

  Lynx sighed, and he wondered if it was relief due to the arrival of her instrument or the thaw in the conversation. “It’s called a fiddle, and it’s nothing like a lute. We’ve played them in Norin for centuries, long before Thurban invaded.”

  Lukan’s flawless dancing faltered, and he missed a step. Why did she have to bring up Thurban? Was she familiar with the Dmitri Curse? There was no way of knowing, given that the very mention of the word Dmitri by a Chenayan subject resulted in death.

  Lynx didn’t comment about his fumble, but her hand drifted away from his hip to her hair, her fingers twirling as if she were searching for a particular lock. Her hand jolted her mask. Lukan pulled it back in place, noticing her hand did not return to holding him.

  He blamed Axel for that.

  Lynx finally spoke. “Lukan, I’ve decided I hate masked balls. What do you think Count Felix would say if we ditched these silly things?”

  With Lynx’s attraction for Axel messing with his mood, the last thing he wanted right now was to lose the protection of his mask. Keeping his voice light, he said, “As my soon-to-be crown princess, you’re supposed to set an example, not a new trend.”

  “Pity. I seem to be particularly good at starting new trends.”

  Even though he heard a smile in her voice, he changed the subject. “Is your fiddle playing any good?”

  A harlequin leading a bear by a chain moved past them, drawing away Lynx’s attention. He nudged her, pulling her back to him. It irked that he had to. The evening wasn’t going well.

  �
�I’ll leave you to judge that, Lukan. Someday I may play for you.”

  “You can play tonight during the dinner break. I instructed my valet to place the fiddle in one of the reception rooms.”

  Lynx’s mouth opened, then closed.

  Taking advantage of her uncertainty—was she surprised at how personable he could be?—he asked, “What else did you do today?”

  “I met Tao’s falcon, and he sent her to hunt. I can’t believe she came back. But she did.”

  This line of conversation had potential, so he danced her over to a quieter section of the ballroom. “Why do you suppose she does?”

  “Training, I suppose. That’s what Tao said. But, to be honest, I can’t see why she would come back to be a prisoner on some man’s arm.”

  Lukan hesitated, then took a deep breath before saying, “Maybe it’s because she loves him.”

  “Do wild creatures love like that?” she asked doubtfully.

  He wondered if she had guessed his double meaning yet. “I don’t know, Lynx. You’re the panther, you tell me. What does it take to bring in an unfettered girl who bows to no authority?”

  Lynx jerked away from him. “I thought we were talking about Tao’s falcon.”

  “The same principle applies, I think.”

  Lynx was silent for a moment. “Love and respect. Tao loves and respects Bird enough to give her freedom.”

  “But Tao still keeps her in a mews at night and only lets her fly when it suits him,” Lukan said triumphantly. “Is that your idea of love?”

  His words made Lynx’s blue eyes chill. “Hardly. Four hundred years ago, Thurban found out that it’s impossible to own a Norin, no matter how many cages you wrap around them. We will always follow our own star. The best you can do is to hope you’ve pinned your heart to the same constellation.”

  The blood rushed from Lukan’s face. “And—and what constellation are you following, Lynx?”

  “A Norin will never bow to the Dragon.”

  So much for Lynx being pliable. But then, he shouldn’t have expected anything less from a rabid Norin. The Dragon constellation had held the northern point in the sky since Thurban conquered her country; that’s why Chenaya’s first emperor had chosen the Dragon as his crest and his religion. It was a constant reminder to the Norin that they had lost and the Avanovs had won. To worship the Dragon was to acknowledge that victory.

  Lynx’s son in the vision had vanquished that Dragon.

  Lukan forced a casualness he didn’t feel into his voice. “Well, thanks for clearing that up. So, if my heart is pinned to your star, then we stand some chance in our marriage?”

  Lynx laughed self-consciously. “Winds know, Lukan, I have every motive in the world for marrying you. If the marriage works, though, is a different matter. For that, there needs to be chemistry—not just lust. We probably both need to work on that.”

  Lukan shook his head, unsure of what to make of her.

  Her body drove him crazy with lust, but her . . . Norinness caused him a different kind of craziness: outrage at her lack of respect to the Dragon, the throne, and therefore him.

  Also, the implied criticism of his desire for her annoyed him. Why shouldn’t he want her? She was a girl. He was a man. Not just any man—the crown prince. That title came with rights—and benefits. He’d never had to woo a woman to his bed like this before. They usually lined up to sleep with him.

  “Lynx, is it a crime to look at you and want you? Especially when you present yourself so differently than every other woman in this room? In Cian? In the whole of the Chenayan Heartland?”

  Lynx’s hand grew clammy, and it took her a long time to answer. “I realize I’m different. Norin usually are. But you’re different, too. I never thought I would have to embrace a Chenayan. I won’t deceive you into believing that I’m not struggling to . . . adapt to the challenge. No matter how much it is expected of me.”

  The way her eyes had charted Axel’s movements told him she would have no problem embracing that particular Chenayan. It seemed her repugnance was limited to him.

  Humiliation spiked Lukan’s voice. “Do you imagine this is easy for me? That I wanted an arranged marriage?”

  “I suppose I haven’t looked at things from your angle,” Lynx conceded.

  “Then you should try.”

  They continued dancing in silence. Anger, disappointment, and a huge dollop of despair sat heavy in Lukan’s breast. Thus far, he’d failed to turn the wild cat into a purring kitten.

  To add to his woes, Axel and Malika now loomed large in their view. They had ditched their masks and leaned against the wall together. His arm was slung about her shoulder, and she was recounting something with much hand waving.

  Lynx’s nails dug into Lukan’s arm; she’d seen them, too.

  Lukan considered mentioning Malika was Axel’s sister but rejected the idea. The longer Lynx believed Axel had a girlfriend, the better.

  Still, even through his waistcoat and shirt, her nails were about to draw blood. “My arm’s gone numb. Perhaps we should eat before it drops off altogether.”

  Gasping, Lynx pulled her hand away as if scalded. Frustrated, Lukan dumped his mask on a table in the lobby outside the ballroom. With obvious relief, Lynx followed suit.

  He turned his attention to the waiting buffet, handed Lynx a plate, and picked up one for himself. She nodded her thanks, and they walked down row upon row of trestle tables decked with dishes of food from all over the empire. Lynx dished up a ladle of chickpea and ostrich stew and grabbed a pudding spoon. He cleared his throat and pointed to the knives and forks lined up on the table. She blushed, dropped the spoon, and grabbed a fork instead.

  He suppressed a snort—a fork was better than nothing—and asked, “Is that all you’re eating?”

  Lynx shrugged. “I’m not hungry.”

  “Suit yourself.” He grabbed a handful of crusty bread and added it to his already heaped plate.

  Lynx raised an eyebrow, and he shrugged, suddenly feeling awkward.

  “I haven’t eaten since dinner last night.” Lukan could see she wanted details on where he had been, but he had no intention of sharing that information. Let her think that some other woman might have wanted to bed him. Instead, he said, “I guess that’s my own fault, isn’t it?”

  Lynx graced him with her beautiful smile, making his heart sing despite his anger. It filled him with longing for her.

  “As you say, Lukan.” She looked around. “So where do we sit?”

  “Follow me.” A deep breath later, he pushed his frustration aside. He still had a chance to put this right. Smiling, he took her to a door across from the great hall and pulled a key from his pocket. He opened it to reveal a table set for two in the center of the room.

  “In here.” He always used this room when he was charming a girl.

  As usual, his valet had set the table elegantly—with all the correct implements—for this private dinner with Lynx. The centerpiece, however, was unusual, even by Lukan’s standards, but it was as he’d requested. Instead of flowers, a battered wooden tabor, its stick, and a metal flute lay on the crisp white tablecloth.

  “That’s mine,” Lynx cried, her voice accusatory. “I’ve played it since I was a child. Look, there’s the mark on the side of the drum where Kestrel spilled her chai.”

  Lukan smiled at her. “And there’s your fiddle, too.” He pointed to an instrument case propped up against the wall. “I didn’t tell you about the tabor and pipe because I wanted it to be a surprise. It looks battered enough to have significance.”

  Lynx gaped.

  Even though he’d done it to impress her, her reaction jarred. If only we could get to know each other before the wedding. Maybe she’d want me the way I want her.

  He pulled out her chair. “Let’s eat, and then you can play.”

  Lynx took a couple of mouthfuls of her stew and then fiddled with the leather hand strap dangling from her drum.

  “The stew is not to your liking
?”

  “Nothing beats my mother’s cooking.”

  With no experience of a mother’s food to draw on, Lukan said, “You could play for me.”

  Lynx shot him a smile and pulled her chair away from the table. He’d never seen anyone play a tabor and flute before, so he watched with interest as she slid her hand into a loop in the drum strap, leaving the drum suspended before her. In the same hand, she held the long, slender flute, the note holes positioned at the end of the instrument, where her fingers reached.

  With the drumstick clasped in the other hand, she said, “Are you sure you’re ready for this, Lukan? Because, I promise, Norin music is designed to wake the dead—not put them to sleep, like the dirge we were dancing to tonight.”

  Chin tilted, he said, “You should know by now, the dead in Chenaya never sleep.”

  “Good. Then they won’t mind this.” With a rat-a-tat-tat, her drumstick rolled across the vellum, and her pipe burst to life.

  Riotous: that was the only way to describe Lynx’s music. Food forgotten, toe tapping along, Lukan leaned back in his chair to admire. It seemed she had a vast repertoire, with one rousing, call-to-action piece flowing into the next. The longer she played, the more absorbed she became, until she seemed oblivious of him—and the crowd, drawn by the foreign sound, who’d gathered at the door to watch and listen.

  It included Axel.

  Lukan’s skin prickled. Then, he saw Axel’s expression, and a whoosh of ice surged through his veins. He had never seen Axel look at a woman the way he was staring at Lynx. Gone was the sardonic, I-don’t-give-a-damn expression that usually marred his cousin’s face. A small, almost gentle smile played around his mouth, and his eyes were—Lukan sucked in a horrified breath—soft. There was no other word to describe them.

  Unbelievably, Axel had had the temerity to fall in love with Lynx.

  My betrothed!

  An Axel-in-love would never accept that Lynx belonged to Lukan. With his massive sense of entitlement, Axel would stalk her until she relented. Given what he’d seen of Lynx’s feelings for his cousin, it wouldn’t be long before he was cuckolded. Trouble was, Axel was too important to his future to be eliminated, a challenge Lukan would face for his entire life. Rage, so potent it was palpable, exploded through him.