Almost.
“I know it’s easy to get wrapped up in peer pressure,” she said, feeling as if she was talking to a child rather than a young man her own age. “But you should know better. We’ve spent most of our lives together. You should want to defend me, especially if you care for me, Levka. And even if you didn’t know me, you shouldn’t have let those men talk to me like that.” She swallowed hard. “You joined in without much hesitation.”
“Temp—”
“Saying sorry does not excuse your actions tonight, and you know it. If your behavior taught me anything, it taught me that you and I are not right for each other.” She opened the door to the barracks and looked him straight in the eye. “We don’t have a future together, and I won’t change my mind about that.”
Tempest stepped inside and slammed the door in Levka’s face before he had the chance to respond. Her heart clenched at the pain that had flashed across his face. She leaned against the door, breathing heavily. She immediately felt terrible about her needlessly harsh rejection. Don’t think about it.
“Next time you sneak in, don’t slam the damn door,” Dima muttered from his bunk.
“Sorry,” Tempest whispered. She didn’t mean to disturb the whole place. She crept to her bed and managed to kick off her boots and drop her cloak to the floor before crawling under the sheets, still wearing the dress and all.
Tomorrow, she’d deal with everything on her plate. For now, she’d sleep.
Six
Tempest
Winter’s bite, she hated morning.
Tempest felt like death, yet she dragged herself out of bed to eat breakfast at the palace with the war council and the royal family. It had become a regular part of her routine over the last several days.
It was a mistake.
Her new morning ritual pained her to the point that she hardly ate anything. Sitting among scheming war criminals dampened one’s appetite. Tempest rubbed at her eyes. Bloody hell, she was exhausted. What she wouldn’t give just to crawl back into bed.
“Excellent!” King Destin said joyfully.
Her lip curled. Morning people. Depraved, morning people were a blight on the world. She wiped her disdain from her face and sighed, her gaze flicking toward the king. What had the monarch and his lackies concocted the night before once she’d been dismissed?
Destin stood, his chair scraping across the floor noisily. Tempest straightened as all eyes were riveted in the king’s direction.
He smiled, his handsome face lighting up. “My sons will be leaving for Kopal in three days hence,” King Destin announced.
That was sooner than expected. Such a trip took preparation and time. How long had the king been planning this? What was his end goal? With the rising rebellion, why didn’t he want his sons close? Risking his sons’ lives on the road was careless. Her mind flashed to what the Jester had said the night before—that knowing the princes were going to leave Dotae could be useful. Why would the king announce his sons’ travel plans like he was? Moving his sons in secret was safer. Was he trying to flush out a traitor? If so, it was stupid to gamble with his heirs.
“It will do the kingdom some good,” Destin continued. “It will be to our benefit to show that we are willing and ready to make alliances with other nations, especially in these trying times with the Talagans.” He sat as his war council fawned over him.
Her skin prickled. Someone was watching her. Tempest glanced to her left and caught the attention of Ansette who was sitting beside her. How had she not noticed the princess before? She swiped a hand over her face. Stupid mornings.
The look in the girl’s eyes told Tempest loud and clear that the princess did not think it was a good idea to send her brothers away so early, either, and that there was therefore something much larger at play right now. Ansette stabbed at a boiled egg on her plate.
Tempest slid her gaze to the king. Did he know his daughter was clearly unenthused with his decisions? That sort of discontent among royals was dangerous. The girl was going to get herself killed if she didn’t start learning to hide her feelings. Tempest once again rubbed her temples, feeling sick and stressed. Between what the king had—and hadn’t—said, the way Pyre had acted as the Jester the night before, and even how Levka had treated her, Tempest was rung out. Now, she also had a dissatisfied, intelligent princess to keep an eye on.
It was too much. She couldn’t take being around people anymore.
Tempest stood abruptly, clattering her knife and fork onto her plate of largely uneaten food. She muttered an apology and fled the banquet hall before a single word could be said to keep her in place.
She needed a distraction from all the treachery, politics, and mind games. Tempest needed to fight.
Forlornly, she thought back to a few short months ago when all she had to worry about was her trial to join the Hounds. Everything had been simple then. Easy.
It had all been a lie.
Nothing was easy.
The next day was filled with Tempest training, training, training, until her body felt like it might break. But with every day that it didn’t, it instead grew stronger and leaner and harder.
Tempest trained until she could almost ignore the fact that she was a double agent.
Almost.
Stars, she loved physical activity—how it suited her soul and made her feel in control of herself. But it wasn’t helping like it normally did. Tempest snarled and violently shot an arrow. It hit the target and shattered on impact. She heaved in a breath, sweat dripping down her neck. That might have been a tad aggressive.
“Careful, Tempest,” Madrid said sternly from his position overlooking the training grounds. “That’s your third one this week. Surely, you do not want to ask the king for more arrows.”
She stiffened at his tone. Uneasy, Tempest shifted, and her fingers tightened around her bow. What exactly did Madrid know about her arrangement with king? Anything? He had to know something. He was the Madrid—the King’s Sword.
Heat rushed into her cheeks in embarrassment at the king’s suggestion from the night before. She still did not understand why he had ordered her to do anything necessary on her next mission. His insinuation had been obvious, but if he was as personally interested in Tempest as he had previously let on, then why would he want her sleeping with the Talagan rebels? Perhaps it was all a show to make sure the other members of the war council knew that he was in control of her.
That soured her mood further.
Instead of verbally answering Madrid’s question, Tempest nodded. He pursed his lips in a rare show of emotion. Clearly, she’d needled him. He turned from Tempest to oversee another group of archers who were gawking at her.
Time for Tempest to move on to something else. The sword.
She moved over to the circular arena preserved for close-combat fighting. There was nobody else there. Thank Dotae. Her mood was as black as the Jester’s heart. Carefully, she leaned her quiver and bow against the post and pulled her sword from her scabbard before clambering over the ropes to begin swinging the sword in practiced movements. No one approached. A humorless smile touched her mouth. It seemed as if nobody would dare to spar with her in her current mood.