Roar Page 4

  Rora halted. She’d been so caught up in Cassius that she’d forgotten about his brother.

  Cassius answered, his voice barely above a growl. “Let me worry about that. It’s working, isn’t it? She’s little better than clay in my hands.”

  Rora’s ears started ringing the way they did when a loud noise sounded too close.

  “Her mother is powerful. Rumor has it that the girl might be more so. I wouldn’t get too confident.”

  “Confidence is exactly what she lacks. I don’t care how much power she has … she’s tentative and unsure. She’s soft. I’ll have no problem bending her to my will. So you can run along and report to Father that everything is moving according to the plan.”

  “Where are you going?” Casimir asked, and Cassius’s heavy footfalls only sped up.

  “For a walk. Would you like to chaperone me for that as well, big brother?”

  There was no reply, but after a few moments, Rora heard Casimir turn and leave too, and when his steps faded into silence she slid down the wall until her legs collapsed beneath her. The corset cut into her hips and thighs in this position, and the weight of the headdress pulled her head forward.

  There was a hole in her chest, an awful, gaping hole that screamed like she wanted to. Like a cyclone, it seemed to suck up everything in its path until her knees were curled into her chest and her body hunched, and she just kept collapsing in and in and in. Suddenly unable to breathe, she clawed at the beaded fastenings that connected her headdress and necklace. One of her fingernails bent and splintered as she scrabbled for the hooks; when she could not find them, she took hold of the beaded cord and pulled until it broke, beads scattering across the stone floor around her.

  The headdress tipped sideways, tugging painfully on her hair. Again and again, she pulled at the ties until her palms felt raw and beads littered the floor around her. The headdress began to sag, and she was nearly done, nearly free when someone stepped through the archway, and she froze.

  Novaya.

  Thank the skies. The dark-haired servant held an urn full of steaming water in her hands, and she stared in horror as if she had stumbled upon a monster rather than a crying girl. Nova had been Rora’s closest friend before she cut herself off from everyone at her mother’s command. Girls with secrets the size of Rora’s could not have friends. Nova took a step forward, paused, then knelt down, her large brown eyes carefully blank.

  “Should I call for your guards? The queen?” Nova asked.

  “No!” Softer, Aurora said, “No. Please don’t tell anyone.”

  Once upon a time, Nova had kept all her secrets. Now the two rarely even looked each other in the eye when their paths crossed, and it was all Aurora’s fault.

  “Your Highness? What happened?”

  Rora shook her head and returned to tugging at the headdress still tangled in her hair. She couldn’t say the words aloud, couldn’t let anyone see how much of a fool she was. Aurora had become accustomed to her shortcomings as a Stormling, as an heir. But she’d thought she had her mother’s strength, tenacity, and intelligence. But maybe that was wishful thinking. Maybe she was altogether … inadequate.

  “Stop, Princess. You’re hurting yourself.” Nova put the water aside, crawled forward, and grabbed Rora’s wrists. “Aurora, stop.”

  All the years spent missing their friendship came rushing back, and she froze at the sound of her name. Not Princess. Not Your Highness. Aurora. But the moment she stopped moving, it all came crashing down on her. Her naïve plan to kiss him, to experience something real. She should have known that her future would hold only more lies. As if she knew anything about real life, real anything. She lived in this palace, protected and pampered and put away like a doll on a shelf, too fragile for anything but appearances. And it seemed that’s all she would ever be.

  Cassius wanted control of the city for himself. He thought he’d have to fool her to get it, but the moment the world found out that Rora had no magic, he’d become the ruler in truth, and she’d be the puppet at his side. He wouldn’t have to feign interest in her then. He wouldn’t need her at all.

  She wound her arms about her legs and rested her forehead on her knees. Nova moved closer, and Rora sat still and silent as the girl worked to remove the headdress. Her old friend had grown into a beautiful young woman—flawless bronze skin, shiny black hair, stunning features. She’d recently begun assisting the royal seamstress in addition to her position as a maid. She probably had more friends than she could count. Aurora could not help imagining how different her life would be now if she had never become heir.

  The headdress finally gave way, and Nova slipped it off and laid it on the stone floor beside them.

  “Tell me what happened.”

  Rora leaned back against the wall. It was cool against her abused scalp, and she muttered, “Nothing happened.”

  At least she had that much. She hadn’t kissed that beast. But what she had done felt worse. She had hoped. And hope broke more hearts than any man ever could.

  “Should I get someone? A friend?”

  Rora let out a bleak, cold laugh. As if she had any of those. Softer, she said, “I don’t want to see anyone. I just need this dress off. The makeup too. I need to breathe, and I can’t do it through all this mess.”

  “I can do that. I came to help remove the headdress and gown. Stand up and we’ll go to your room. Everything will be fine, Your Highness.”

  She didn’t tell her old friend how wrong she was, not as she peeled the dress off her and unlaced the corset. Not as she wiped away the powder that was smudged and striped on Rora’s face, thanks to falling tears. Another maid came in with more steaming water for a bath and Rora let them clean her up, wishing it was as easy to wipe away the last few hours.

  She sat in the bath until the water grew cold and her skin shriveled like dying fruit. She had to face the facts. The Rage season was coming, as was this sham of a wedding. And she didn’t know how to fight it any more than she knew how to stop a storm.

  But she would not give Cassius any more opportunities to see her vulnerable. Nor was she giving up. If there were no other way, she would marry Cassius.

  But she had six days. Wars had been won, empires toppled, and cities leveled in less time. If there were a way out of this, Rora would find it.

  When Slumber wakes to Rage,

  The old war begins to wage.

  When Slumber sleeps its last

  The easy days are past.

  —A Stormling Stands: Verses of Old

  3

  Aurora’s knife slammed into the center of the target with a gratifying thunk. She reached both hands back, trailing her fingers over the flat sides of the knives tucked away near her shoulder blades in a worn leather holster. Pulling two knives at once, she spun, releasing first one knife, then the other as she turned. One struck directly below the blade already lodged in the center, and the other just above.

  Still not enough.

  A group of soldiers trickled into the training courtyard, having just returned from a run. Their faces were slick with sweat and their boots messy with grass and mud. A fine layer of dew covered the land today, another sign of the waning Slumber season.

  Merrin, one of her frequent guards, said, “Need more of a challenge? We can strap one of those to Elmont and give you a moving target.” He slapped a younger soldier on the back, whose face turned a blistering red.

  Elmont was new to the palace guard. He was part of the regiment that manned the palace gate, and their first few encounters had been when Rora was going out for an early ride on her horse, Honey. He had been reluctant to let her leave, eager as he was to prove himself in the guard. It had taken a lot of cajoling and not a little amount of flirting for her to get her way.

  She offered them a polite smile. “As interesting as that sounds, I would not risk Elmont just so I can allay my own frustrations.”

  Taven stepped forward, his usual serious expression in place. “Spar, Princess?”
>
  A slow smile spread across her face, and she nodded. Taven had been the one to teach her to throw knives and use a bow. He had never laughed once when her blade spun off course or thunked handle first into the target. She’d been restless and lonely and angry, and he helped her channel that into something worthwhile by teaching her about defense. And this morning she had many emotions to channel.

  Taven set the rest of his unit up doing drills, and then came back to her. They began slowly, but in half a bell, they were moving close to full speed, their bodies lunging and spinning and dodging. Taven was beyond careful with his blade, never thrusting near or hard enough to actually impale her. She understood the point was to teach her body the moves without endangering her life, but in the event she ever needed to use these skills, she doubted her attacker would be so generous. And right now, especially, she needed a bigger challenge to clear her head. She spun fast, slashing out with her blade. He ducked, and while his bigger body was still recovering from the movement, she swept out a leg, striking him below his calves and taking his legs out from under him.

  The other soldiers, who were supposed to be focusing on drills, snickered and cheered. Rora immediately felt guilty as Taven rose to his feet. She should have known it would not be possible to goad a man like him into aggression. He had always been so serious and calm. The day he had been assigned to her personal guard, he had committed himself fully to her protection, as if there was no life, no purpose outside it. She had embarrassed a man that had only ever been loyal to her. She opened her mouth to apologize, but a familiar voice from the courtyard’s entrance interrupted and made something twist in her belly.

  “Seems the princess needs a more capable opponent.”

  She did not want to look at Cassius. There was such a jumble of emotions inside her that she couldn’t be sure she would not burst into tears at the sight of him. Or send the knife in her hand flying. More than that, she feared he would see the distrust and betrayal written all over her face. So she answered without turning, “Taven is far more capable than I.”

  She offered the soldier an apologetic smile.

  “Taven, is it?”

  “Yes, Your Highness.” The soldier inclined his head toward Cassius. He came to a stop beside her, once again dressed in black. She was dressed similarly today in an old black and gold military uniform she wore for these early-morning training sessions.

  “You taught her?” Cassius asked.

  “Yes, Your Highness.”

  He surveyed Taven for several long moments. Then Cassius turned to Aurora and their eyes met. Anger clawed up her throat, and she struggled to keep her face blank. Better for him to believe he still had the upper hand.

  “You taught her well,” Cassius said without looking away from Aurora, “but I’ll take it from here.”

  Over Cassius’s shoulder Taven met her gaze, eyebrow raised. She nodded; she had kept him away from his soldiers long enough, and she could not avoid the prince forever.

  “You are full of surprises, Princess.”

  She smiled, ignoring the bile threatening to rise in her throat. “As are you, Prince Cassius. As are you.”

  He circled behind her, and she felt the weight of his touch against one of the knives still sheathed near her shoulder. His breath fanned over her ear as he asked, “May I?”

  Without waiting for an answer, he lifted the blade from her. “Good balanced weight,” he said. “I imagine it flies well.”

  “Like a dream.”

  His mouth was at her ear again—too close, too warm. “Show me.”

  She stepped away like it burned. “I think I’m done for the day.”

  “Come now, Aurora.” She flinched at his use of her name. Had he used it yesterday? She could not remember. But now it felt too familiar, far too intimate. “What will it take to get you to show me? How much of my pride shall I bargain away?” His hand touched the small of her back. “Or what shall I offer you in return?”

  She spun, and before she realized what she was doing, she had the point of her knife beneath his chin. The courtyard went still around them, but Cassius only smiled wider in response. She was unnerved by the darkness that licked at the edge of her thoughts, of the voice inside whispering to push the knife a little harder, to show him she was not so easy to control. All she knew was that she had let fear rule her for too long, and now it was time she took the reins.

  “Do you trust me?” she asked, and slowly let the knife drift along his jaw.

  His eyes narrowed. “Trust … is not one of my skills.”

  “If we are to be married, if we are to someday rule, there is nothing so important as your ability to trust me, and I you.” He watched her warily. “You want something from me,” she continued, “but you’ll not get it unless I trust you.” She was talking about far more than knives, and from his long pause he seemed to know it.

  “I’ll hand over my trust in this. What would you have me do?”

  She led him to the largest target, the one with an outline of a person meant to test the thrower’s ability to hit a body’s weak spots. She pushed against his chest until he thumped back against the target. Then she snatched the knife from his hand and said, “Stay there.”

  After retrieving the blades she’d left in the other target, she moved to stand a good distance away. She stowed all the knives but one and met his eyes. He was leaning on the target, his arms folded and his feet crossed at the ankles. He gave her a challenging smirk. It was possibly the most handsome she had ever seen him, and yesterday she would have been charmed. Now … she could only hear the words he had said last night.

  Tentative. Unsure.

  Soft.

  Well, she had no intention of being tentative now. She gave no warning, no instructions, only pulled back her elbow and let the knife fly. It thwacked into place a finger’s width to the side of his neck.

  When his eyes darkened and his easy posture fell away, she smiled.

  “You did promise to trust me,” she said, reaching back for another knife. “Do not worry, when it comes to a blade, I am almost never unsure. The key is to avoid a grip that’s too soft, while likewise not gripping too tightly.”

  He stood rigidly still as she carefully sent two more knives toward him. The first landed on the other side of his neck, and the second high in the open space between his thighs.

  The last throw had his fists clenching so hard that she had to turn her back so she would not laugh. She pulled another knife from her harness and took a slow breath. When she was about to turn she felt hands at her hips and warmth against her back. She reacted on instinct, shoving an elbow into the body behind her, before stamping hard on his foot. She spun, her knife raised to defend. Cassius was hunched slightly behind her, his hand over his stomach. She swallowed the smile that threatened to break free.

  He straightened, his head tilted as if he were surveying her through new eyes. “Was that fun for you?”

  “Very.”

  He made a sound—a low, husky bark that might have been a laugh. Hard to tell with a man like him.

  “I trusted you with my body,” he said. “It’s only fair you trust me with yours.” His eyes roamed down her form slowly, with intent. Rora could almost swear that her heart gave out in that moment, that it refused to beat, and all the blood it held just seeped out into a puddle in her chest.

  “W-what?”

  It was one thing to think of kissing Cassius last night, to hope that he might be able to show her all the things she was ignorant of when it came to her body and his. But now? She knew he saw her as nothing more than a means to an end, a tool to be used and discarded when no longer necessary.

  “You do not have my trust yet, Prince.” And he would never have her body if it were her choice.

  “Are you afraid of me?”

  She scoffed in answer, mostly because she did not trust herself to lie.

  He frowned. “Do you have that little faith in my skills?”

  It took a moment for
her to realize he meant his skills with a knife. He wished her to stand at the target as he had done. She was so relieved that she let her guard down, and he plucked the knife from her hand.

  “Can you trust at least that I would not do you physical harm?”

  There was a challenge in his eyes and just a hint of amusement at her fear. That set her blood boiling all over again, and she marched over to the target. He followed, retrieving the blades she had thrown earlier. He moved in close, and she tipped her chin up defiantly. His blue-black eyes roamed her face as he reached behind her back and took several more knives from her holster. He brushed his knuckles over her cheek. She fought against the urge to jerk away. “I like you better like this. No frills, no finery. Just you.”

  As he strode away, she saw that the soldiers had given up any pretense of training and stood lined up nearby.

  “I hope your aim is as true as you believe, Prince. If not, you’ll have far more than one knife coming at you.” She lifted her chin in the direction of the watching soldiers.

  “I told you last night, I enjoy a challenge.” Cassius gave a devilish grin and commanded, “Stretch out your arms.” He waited until she lifted them both and gripped the edges of the target.

  Rora refused to show fear or flinch. She held her breath when his arm drew back and the knife came flying end over end toward her. It hit the edge of the target a few inches above her head, and the board vibrated with the force of the strike.

  He proceeded to outline her body with blades, seeming to pay particular care to her curves. She felt pinned in by the time he had landed knives alongside her thighs, hips, and the indent of her waist. She hoped that would be the end of it, but he picked up two final knives. Her arms shook with strain, but she stayed still as he sunk another blade below her armpit, just to the right of her breast. She gave an exaggerated yawn. He grinned in response as he lined up for his final throw.

  As Cassius drew back his last knife, a shrill wail pierced the air. She had only a moment to place the sound—one of the horns blown from atop the city walls that signified the imminent arrival of an approaching storm—then Cassius’s arm was moving and the blade left his hand.