CHAPTER TWO

The bubbling chatter of the royal court rose above the clatter and tinkle of dishes and silverware as Orion sauntered through Mess Hall. He breathed in the mouth-watering aroma of roast. Three long tables swept across the length of the hall, draped in pristine white tablecloths and decorated with blue-flamed candles set amid bouquets of floribunda roses and blushing bellflowers. Even on an ordinary evening like tonight, plump candy goldfish with sugar-spun tailfins swam through the air in a kaleidoscope of colors over gravy tureens or darted between gigantic marzipan mushrooms.

Orion tore off a chunk of mushroom and popped it into his mouth on his way to his customary spot beside the Princess of Axaria. They always sat at the end of the farthest table, closest to the exit and secluded from the rest of the court—an overpopulation of fake smiles, acute ears, and loose mouths. The empty chairs surrounding them were reserved for Captain Eadric Covington and Asterin’s Elite Royal Guard, but their absence probably meant they were running drills.

Princess Asterin herself was bent over her plate, cutting into a pork chop, her ebony hair veiling her face. Orion reached for a hunk of soft cheese as he sat down and took a bite. Then he swiveled to face her, an elbow propped on the table, and waited.

Without even looking up, Asterin asked, “What time are we training tomorrow?”

Orion raised an eyebrow. “I have to go to the residential district to visit my father, so it’ll have to be before dawn.”

“All right.” She stayed focused on her pork chop, apparently unaware that she was sawing away at the bone.

He resisted the urge to pull her hair to get her attention like he used to when they were younger. “Not even a complaint? What’s wrong?”

A hesitation. “I’m fine.” She gave up on the chop entirely and shifted her attention to stirring peas in a puddle of gravy instead.

“Don’t lie. You aren’t still mad at me for clobbering your face, are you?” he asked, peering at her, still unable to see past the impenetrable curtain of black. “I can apologize, if it’ll make you feel better.”

She looked up sharply at that. Finally. He shot her a grin.

Rolling her eyes, she said, “I’ll tell you later,” and promptly shoved three forkfuls of mashed potato into her mouth to prevent further conversation.

“Whatever you say, Princess.” Orion drummed his fingers on the table, eyes darting around the hall. His gaze inevitably landed back on her. “No, but seriously. What happened? Did someone else punch you?”

She huffed in exasperation and pushed her plate away. “No one punched me, but I almost killed my mother’s pet. Accidentally, of course.”

His face split into a grin. He and Garringsford shared a mutual dislike. “Nice.”

“No, Orion, not nice.”

He took a sip of wine from her glass. “Sure, whatever. How?”

“I don’t really know. I held a firestone, and then the rest started floating, and then … they all just exploded.”

He clasped his hands to his chest. “That’s fantastic! I’m so proud of you!”

She swatted him. “Orion.”

“Right, that’s terrible.” He reached for the bread basket. “Why did they explode?”

Asterin shrugged. “Beats me. All I know is that she seriously pissed me off.”

His lips twitched into a smile. “Then it sounds like she probably had it coming.”

A thoughtful nod. “She kind of did.”

He frowned. “But why was she there in the first place? You never practice in front of other people.” As Asterin explained the entire debacle, Orion found Garringsford at the head table in her usual spot flanking the queen among the other important guests of the night. The healers had done their job well; looking at her, no one would ever guess that she had nearly been impaled just a few hours prior.

Technically, he and Asterin should have been up there, too, except Asterin hated the prying inquisitions and badgering that Queen Priscilla never seemed to mind from the guests—so Orion had developed the dreadful habit of “accidentally” pouring hot tea on the lap of whomever happened to be fortunate enough to be sitting next to him when Priscilla insisted on their presence.

The general caught him staring, and he quickly looked elsewhere, unnerved by the intensity of her cool gray eyes.

“How close were you to actually killing her?” he asked out of the corner of his mouth.

At that, Asterin smirked. “Pretty damn close.”

Sweat poured down his neck as Orion sparred with Asterin the next morning, her bedchamber dusted in the pink light of dawn and his ears ringing with the dissonant clash of steel on steel.

His shirt was completely soaked through. The fabric clung to his body, and he caught Asterin stealing glances at his muscles. No distractions, he thought, and attacked with twice the brutality to remind her of it. She retaliated with vehemence, nearly skewering him with her longsword, Amoux. Distantly, he marveled at her improvement over the last few years. Though Queen Priscilla had shown nothing but disapproval of Orion training her daughter from the very start, she’d allowed it, and Asterin had defied all of their expectations. Discipline, talent, and hard work fueled by the burning desire to impress her mother had honed her into a terrifying force to behold.

But even so, he was her mentor. Her Guardian. He had taught her how to throw a punch, how to hold a sword. When she fell, he was the one to lift her back on her feet and push her onward. Faster, harder, stronger. He knew her strengths better than the back of his hand and her weaknesses better still.

And he never hesitated to use them against her.

Asterin released a sharp cry as Orion lashed out with his leg, tripping her and sending her toppling. She caught herself on the cedar chest at the foot of her bed, scraping her arm, but her stumble gave him the perfect opportunity to lunge. Orondite, his own blade, shrieked through the air and met Amoux with an ear-shattering clang. The impact vibrated up to his shoulders. Asterin’s teeth gritted, back still braced against the chest. She lunged beneath his arms and rolled across the floor, Amoux nicking a chip off the bedpost. Too slow—he was already upon her. She barely managed to throw Amoux up again in time to deflect Orondite’s vicious arc. Orion’s biceps strained, keeping her down, but she managed to drag herself up onto one knee, and then the other, and then finally to her feet. She shoved him off and they circled one another, weighing, assessing, two predators sniffing out the other’s weakness.

Asterin dropped her guard slightly, leaving her right side wide open. He seized the opportunity, feinting left and swinging right.

That was his first mistake.

Triumph flashed across her features as he fell into her trap. He cut upward, expecting her to hook and withdraw, but instead she hooked and struck him thrice in succession, delivering each blow with blinding speed and merciless precision. His grip slackened in surprise, and she threw herself at him, a half-wild snarl erupting from her throat. Her sword sang toward him, and with the force of a dozen men, she swung.

His feet left the ground, his entire body flying backward, Orondite wrenched right out of his grip.

His head smacked into the vanity as he landed on his backside, and Orondite smashed into the wall, leaving a sizable hole in the plaster and taking down an oil painting along with it.

Asterin stepped forward, the ruby eyes of her double-headed wolf pommel glinting in the light of her victory. Wordlessly, she rested her blade beneath his chin, expression colder than the iciest of winters.

Orion shot her a feral smile, blinking the plaster from his eyes. “I yield.”

She withdrew and sheathed Amoux at her side, one hand outstretched. He grabbed it, letting her pull him to his feet.

Warmth spread through her emerald eyes as he placed a hand upon his heart and bowed. His entire head throbbed, he was covered in plaster, and he had never been prouder in his life.

Her face split into a mile-wide grin. A bubble of laughter escaped her lips. “Finally!” she said, punching her fist into the air. The rising sun cast her joy in a silhouette of gold. “I finally bested you.”

Orion shrugged. “About time. And only once, after nearly a decade.” But he laughed along nonetheless when she broke into a victory dance.

Then, as one, they turned toward the hole in the wall.

“Luna’s probably going to kill you,” he said sympathetically.

Asterin cringed. “Probably.”