DEFY series: Behind the Scenes

Deron Point of View Bonus Scene

Deron, Captain of Prince Damian’s personal guard

The sky was clear as I wandered through the groups of young soldiers, all split into pairs with their commanding officers looking on as they sparred. I didn’t like clear skies. It usually meant the inevitable storms to come would only be that much worse when they finally blotted out the sun and unleashed their fury. But for now the ground I walked across was firm and dry and the slight wind that listlessly stirred the oppressive heat was free of moisture.

I’d come to see if the rumors were true, to witness for myself if the boys I’d been told about were as good as everyone claimed. There’d been another attack on the palace—on Prince Damian. The assassins had been swift and ruthless. It was the worst way to be woken up: the pounding on the door and the shocked grief on Asher’s face when he told me that they’d stopped the assassins from reaching Prince Damian, but four guards had died in the effort. Four. We’d never lost so many at once. The weight of their deaths was heavier even than the heat that pressed in on me as I paced across the packed earth, pausing to watch one pair with keen eyes.

My contact in the barracks who watched the soldiers and reported back to me had said there were some young, talented soldiers he’d be willing to allow to try out for positions on the prince’s guard, if I agreed to let them.

Gerund, my contact, stood a few paces away and nodded when I lifted my eyebrows with a slight nod toward the soldiers I’d been watching. The pair of boys looked similar, brothers perhaps. One was slightly taller and more filled in, his arms more muscular and his chest broader. He was probably in his early twenties, definitely older than the other who looked to be no more than seventeen. But they both had the same light brown skin—obviously of mixed heritage—and they both moved with ease as they sparred, fighting each other with obvious skill.

“Rylan,” Gerund said quietly, as he stepped over to where I had halted, indicating the taller of the two. “And that one’s his brother Jude.”

I grunted. As I watched, Rylan lunged toward his brother, a sharp, fast jab that Jude barely avoided. But then Jude took the offensive and it was Rylan who had to avoid the next swing of their wooden swords. They fought for a few more minutes before Rylan pressed his advantage and finally landed a hit on Jude’s lungs, effectively winning the sparring match.

“Orphans or volunteers?”

“Orphans,” Gerund confirmed. “The other two I wanted you to see are as well.”

I would have preferred volunteers, as orphans often had little loyalty to the royal family since they’d been forced into the army. But we were down four men; the prince was in grave danger if we didn’t fill those positions as quickly as possible. If these boys beat the competition out, I would question them and feel out their dedication—their willingness to risk their lives for a prince they very likely despised. “Tell Rylan and Jude to come and try out for the guard. They’re young but skilled.” I turned away before they caught me watching them. “And where are the others?” I asked.

“This way,” Gerund said, walking past a few other pairs of boys. “If you thought that was impressive, wait until you see these two.”

Despite his recommendations and the fact that he’d been right about Rylan and Jude, I was still skeptical of the praise he continued to heap upon this next pair of boys. Until we rounded a corner and came upon them, sparring in a ring, with a whole group of soldiers standing in a circle, watching them.

They were obviously twins—the same nearly-black hair, the same smooth, olive skin. There was no doubt Blevonese blood ran through their veins, but again, they were obviously of mixed heritage. Both boys were of average height, almost bordering on small for men. One was slightly thinner than the other, but they both moved with a speed and agility that was fascinating to watch—almost intoxicating. They were strangely graceful, even though their movements were strong and lethal. It was almost like a dance. A beautiful deadly dance.

“As you can see, they’re both very skilled.”

I barely heard Gerund’s words as I pushed through the group of soldiers watching the fight to get closer. The two boys in the ring had delicate features, and as I got closer, I realized just how small they were, nearly a head shorter than me. But what they lacked in size or muscle, they more than made up for with skill.

I’d never seen such young boys—nor many older ones, for that matter —fight with such speed. Whoever their parents had been, they’d been trained well. Their swords whistled through the air, their bodies twisting and spinning, as each fought for the upper hand. They were both extremely proficient, but the slightly smaller one soon showed himself to be even a step above his brother.

“That one is Alex.” Gerund had elbowed his way up to stand next to me, the other soldiers quickly stiffening to alertness and backing off when they realized the captain of Prince Damian’s guard and a commanding officer were in their midst. “And his brother Marcel.”

Alex, the smaller, better one, suddenly threw himself into the offensive with renewed vigor, almost as if he’d been waiting, wearing down his brother’s energy. He was a sudden flurry of movement, his practice sword a blur as he slashed and jabbed and twisted, hitting Marcel on the arm, then the leg as Marcel frantically tried to hold off his brother’s attack. But Alex was too fast, too good. In less than thirty seconds, he knocked the sword out of Marcel’s hand and jabbed his own wooden weapon into Marcel’s chest so hard that he landed hard on the ground with a thud and a pained groan.

Their audience burst into applause and Alex turned with a grin to face his fellow comrades, but when he saw me and Gerund standing there, the smile wavered and he quickly stiffened into attention, dropping his eyes to the ground.

“More orphans, huh?” I murmured to Gerund and he nodded. A curl of guilt squirmed through me, knowing that their misfortune had led them to me. But this was war, and I needed the best soldiers available to me for the guard.

“Alex, right?” I called out and he nodded, lifting his eyes to meet mine once more. His lashes were long, almost giving him a feminine look. If I hadn’t just seen him fight, I never would have believed such a pretty boy could have the abilities that he obviously possessed. “I expect to see you and your brother at the tryouts for the open positions on Prince Damian’s personal guard tonight.”

His eyebrows lifted slightly, but he quickly nodded, pressing his right fist to his left shoulder and bowing slightly. “Yes, sir!”

His brother, Marcel, scrambled to his feet, his cheeks pink with embarrassment. But he, too, echoed the words, “Yes, sir!”

“Good.” Without another word, I turned and left the twins behind me.

Four new positions meant four bodies for which I had to prepare funeral pyres. My steps were heavy as I marched away from the practicing soldiers and the two sets of brothers I hoped would soon join the guard beside me.

Perhaps these four were skilled enough to keep me from needing to prepare any more pyres. It was a desperate but burning hope.