DEFY Excerpt

Chapter 1

one

now

Marcel lunged at me, his movement lightning fast. But my block was even faster. Our practice swords collided, sending a jolt up my arm. We’d been sparring for quite a while, but neither of us was ready to back down. I jabbed at him again, but missed a beat when I noticed Prince Damian standing behind the other members of his guard, outside the practice ring, watching us. Marcel took full advantage of my momentary distraction and landed a blow on my shoulder. I grunted, aggravated with myself, but quickly recovered, spinning away from him and Prince Damian’s unwavering gaze. The gloating expression on Marcel’s face wasn’t going to last long. I twisted around in the opposite direction and before he could parry my blow, I hit him in the rib cage.

A killing strike.

Marcel threw his weapon on the dirt, rubbing his ribs with a grimace. My wooden sword would probably give him a bruise, despite the padding we both wore.

“I never should have taught you to hit me,” Marcel grumbled as most of our audience whooped and hollered from outside the practice ring.

“I’d hit you again, except I know you aren’t serious.” I bent down and picked up his sword, daring a peek to see if the prince was still there. He’d come to watch me spar before, but he always seemed to slip away just as I finished a match. Not this time. He still stood there, the sunlight bright on his dark hair. I could have sworn there was admiration on his face — admiration and something else I couldn’t name — but when I blinked, it was gone, replaced by his usual sardonic expression.

Prince Damian clapped slowly twice, making a couple of the guards in front of him jump. They spun around quickly, and upon seeing the prince, they immediately straightened to stand at attention.

“An impressive display, Alex, but next time, keep your guard up at all times. It never pays to get distracted,” Prince Damian observed. I had to clench my jaw to keep from blushing at the condescension in his voice. Part of me longed to challenge him, to tell him to take a turn and see how long he lasted. Instead, I stiffly tipped my head to him. He looked at me for a moment longer, his gaze inscrutable, and then turned on his heel and strode away.

I stood in the ring, clutching both my and Marcel’s swords, my heart pounding with anger.

“Give that to me.” Marcel swiped his sword back with a furtive glance at the other members of the prince’s personal guard.

But they were all still watching the prince, their backs to us. “I don’t need you to carry my sword for me.”

I blinked as he stormed away. I knew he wasn’t really mad. Death was once nothing more than a game to us, back at home, when we were children and we practiced for hours every day with sticks instead of swords. Back when I was still Alexa, instead of Alex, Marcel’s twin brother and member of Prince Damian’s personal guard. He used to get so mad at me for beating him, he wouldn’t talk to me for the rest of the day.

Before our parents were killed and death suddenly became so very, very real.

Marcel didn’t get angry when I beat him anymore.

“Nice job, Alex. Don’t listen to the prince. We all know he couldn’t use a sword if his life depended on it.” Rylan nodded at me with an approving smile when I walked over to him and the other men who’d been watching.

I laughed, modulating my tone to keep the sound of my amusement low and as unfeminine as possible. I’d been doing it for so long, I didn’t even have to think about it anymore. Trying to sound like a boy was natural to me now. “When have I ever cared what the prince thinks? The day I start taking advice about fighting from him will be the day Marcel can finally beat me.”

Rylan laughed. “True. I think Marcel’s going to be feeling that hit for a few days.”

“Well,” I replied, “it’s always good to give him a reminder of why I’m going to beat him out for the captainship someday.” I chucked my sword through the air and Asher grabbed it at the last second, just before it hit him in the chest. He and Deron were up next in the practice ring.

“Which won’t be anytime soon,” Deron, the current captain, said as he passed by us.

I watched Asher enter the ring as I peeled off my padding. The oppressive heat held the promise of a storm, a damp weight to the air, as if the very earth were sweating almost as profusely as I was. My shirt stuck to my body, but luckily the leather vest hid the binding I’d wrapped around my breasts earlier that morning. I glanced up at the cloudless blue sky, stretching across the palace and the jungle that surrounded us, and wondered how long it would take before the humidity worked itself up into a mass of dark, threatening thunderheads.

“Come on, Captain, let’s do this,” Asher called from within the ring. The sun made his red hair practically glow — or possibly, it was the ref lection off his skin. I’d never seen someone so white before in my life until I’d met him. Most of the people of Antion had at least a hint of olive or darker tones to their skin, to varying degrees. But Asher was originally from Dansii, the nation north of us, where almost everyone’s skin was that white — or so he’d said. But King Hector was also from Dansii, and though he was pale, he wasn’t that white.

In comparison, Deron’s dark skin seemed to absorb the light. I’d known Deron for so long now, he didn’t frighten me anymore, but I still shivered as he lifted his sword and walked into the arena to face Asher, who was ten years younger than him and at least fifty pounds lighter. Deron was the biggest man in the guard, and at thirty-six, also the oldest. But that wasn’t why he was captain — no one had ever beaten him in a challenge. Well, no one except me.

But when I fought him to earn my position on the guard a year ago, I was too new and too young to be made captain, so it didn’t matter.

Marcel came back with two tall cups, one in each hand.

“Water?” I asked, eagerly reaching out.

“Yep,” he said, but he pulled back, keeping the cups out of my reach. Then he lifted one of them to his mouth and drank deeply.

 “Are you planning on sharing that, or am I supposed to apologize for beating you first?”

“Nope. No apology necessary. I fully intend to give you what you deserve.”

Before I had a chance to react, Marcel tossed the entire contents of the second cup into my face, drenching me. At first, I was too shocked to do anything except stare at him. Then I burst out laughing. The cool water actually felt good as it ran down my nose and chin, dripped off my short hair onto my shirt.

“Well, that’s one way to admit you’re a sore loser.” I ran a hand through my wet hair, shaking the excess water off.

“You two never stop, do you?” Rylan shook his head, a wry grin revealing his straight, white teeth. His skin was the color of cream with a hint of melted chocolate stirred in.

“I need to go check on things inside the palace,” I said, forcing myself to look away from Rylan’s warm brown eyes. I had no business noticing his smile or his teeth or what shade of chocolate his skin and irises resembled. “Try not to lose any more sparring matches.” I pointed at Marcel. “I don’t think too many would-be assassins are deterred by cups of water in the face.”

“Yes, sir.” Marcel saluted me with the empty cup.

With a sigh and a suppressed smile, I turned away from my brother and strode across the courtyard, purposely making my stride as long as possible.