Page 143 of Burn of the Everflame

Everything was shit.

I never imagined a time would come when I longed for the days before Fortos, but the mood around the palace since our return made the awkward tension of those weeks seem almost delightful in comparison.

Without Ophiucae present, we’d managed to fend off his mortal army, though we’d taken heavy losses. Vance and his men had walked into town undetected and attacked while our guard was down. The knowledge that they could do so again was a constant weight on everyone’s minds.

In the three weeks since, Diem had gone from a dagger—sharp and short, ready to stab if you came too near—to a poisoned arrow, launching herself at any threat she could find. She was running our soldiers ragged all over Emarion in attempts to thwart Vance’s attacks, jumping at even the vaguest intelligence from her mother’s sources.

We hadn’t spoken since our fight. We’d barely had a chance, since she was rarely home and she insisted I stay behind in Lumnos to oversee the Royal Guard. She was once again locked on an island, this time of her own design. So I did now what I had done then: I kept close to her family, I kept them safe, and I continued building her army.

With Diem away in Faunos, today that meant training the Royal Guard’s recruits, including one of its newest—Teller Bellator.

Conditions were less than ideal. Since the Guardians had taken over the training field, we were relegated to a patch of land just inside the magic barrier that surrounded it. Runa and Enness had set up their group’s camp between the rebels and the Ignios refugees, leaving us with an unfriendly audience on every side.

“Look, it’s baby Bellator trying to play soldier,” one of the Guardians called out, joined by snickering from his friends.

Teller didn’t flinch, holding at attention as I’d ordered. I could see his father’s influence. While Diem had inherited Andrei Bellator’s compelling leadership, Teller had taken his discipline.

His cohorts were not so restrained.

“Can’t we train somewhere else?” one recruit whined, a mortal named Owenran with unruly gold hair and a half-crooked nose. Several others grumbled in agreement.

“You’ll get worse heckling than that when you’re on duty,” I warned. “If you’re Descended, they’ll call you assholes and brutes. If you’re mortal, they’ll call you traitors and sheep. If you can’t handle an insult, you won’t last a week.”

“I could shut them up,” another recruit muttered, a young Descended from House Althiena.

I turned to her. “How do you plan to do that?”

She shrugged, oblivious to the fuse her words had just lit. “A little whip of light magic, I guess.” She shared a smirk with a House Byrnum recruit.

My gaze cut to her friend. “Do you agree?”

She, at least, had the wisdom to wipe away her smile. “Uh, yes, I—” She swallowed at my narrowing eyes. “No, Prince—I mean, um, Your Highn—Mister Corbois . . . sir.”

I almost matched her grimace as she fumbled with how to address me. Technically, I was no longer a Prince, nor was I an officer in the Guard. Even the Corbois name now felt like a lie.

“Which is it, Miss Byrnum? Yes or no?”

She shot her friend an apologetic look. “No, sir. I don’t agree.”

“Very well.” I turned to the first recruit. “You’re dismissed from the Guard.”

Her mouth dropped open. “You can’t do that. I’m from House Althiena.”

“I don’t care if you were birthed from Blessed Mother Lumnos herself. You’re unworthy of the Guard. Turn in your uniform and weapons, and go home.”

She let out a sound that was half shriek, half huff. “You’ll hear from my parents about this.”

I sent a pulse of my aura thumping outward, knocking the recruits to their backs. In the nearby camps, people shivered and craned their necks. I stood over the Althiena recruit, shadows twining at my palms. “I look forward to it.”

Blood drained from her face. She clambered to her feet and ran toward the palace.

“Anyone else?” I growled, eyeing the others as they stood and returned to attention. “The role of the Royal Guard is to defend the realm and protect its people. That includes the ones you dislike. Our Queen has set the example. She defends her people equally, even those who oppose her.” I glared at the recruits from the Twenty Houses. “Even those whose families Challenged her and tried to take her life. She strikes only when she must, and when she does, she takes no joy in it. She is . . .” My chest tightened. “She is mercy, and she is strength. As Her Majesty leads, so shall we follow. Am I understood?”

“Yes, sir,” they murmured.

Only Teller met my eyes. There was a deeper kind of respect in his solemn nod.

“Pair off and start sparring,” I ordered. “Descended, practice using magic to subdue without causing injury. Keep it in the barrier—if stray magic makes it into any camp, I’ll tie you to a post and let them take their revenge. Mortals, use your wits. The Descended you’ll face on duty won’t hold themselves back.”