The Prince's Rogue (Golden Guard Trilogy Book 2)

“Better by whose definition?”

  The prince paused, clearly unaccustomed still to someone standing up to him with such determination. “All those whom I’ve ever employed.”

  She could debate that, but wouldn’t. In fairness, she knew little about those he employed and cared less. She would formulate her own opinions of the prince. It was why she had permitted him to tail along with her for so long.

  “In Yon, we’ll stay at an inn.”

  “An inn? A bed?” he interrupted eagerly.

  “If I win.” Raylynn didn’t know why she played coy. She had never lost in Yon. She had only ever lost once in her life, not counting her duels with her mother.

  “I’d be happy to help—”

  “No. You will do no such thing. These are my fights, and I will not have you interfering.” She cut that notion off at the knees.

  “So you’ll take my help when it comes to carrying your things but not let me do what I am actually good at?”

  “Good at?” She arched her eyebrows at him. “That’s debatable.”

  “I almost had you beat.”

  “The dead man does not have breath for ‘almost’.” Life was predicated on victories.

  She had finally driven him to silence. Raylynn allowed the wind to make a pass between them and the quiet to stir words in the back of her mind. For the briefest of moments, she thought about telling the prince what had actually brought her to Yon. But no words were ripe for the picking, and she let the thoughts linger on the vine.

  Yon was settled in what had once been a thriving oasis. Packed earth and rock told of the bygone days when natural lushness surrounded the city. As such, it had been a well-trafficked outpost for those on their way to Shaldan. But the Empire’s foolish war had put a sudden end to such migrations, and the water had all but dried up. Were it not for the group of Southern Waterrunners who had decided to make their home in the city, it would have been reclaimed by the sun and sand.

  For Yon, the Empire both gave life and took it away. It had been that way for Mhashan on the whole.

  Their presence was instantly noticed by the townsfolk. Most took note of Raylynn’s golden hair before her other, more common Western features. Coupled alongside the prince, she was certainly in a position to play the role of the Southern tourist, assuming she was not facing an opponent she’d previously bested in the ring.

  “Fiarem evantes,” the tea-keep greeted as they entered the shade of his stall. “Good day to you,” he translated the traditional Western greeting very loosely.

  Raylynn held her tongue, not revealing that she had learned the Western words before Southern common. “Good day to you as well!” she said cheerfully, trying to strip her speech of the lilting tones they usually held as a result of her native accent.

  “Been a long time since we had anyone flaxen-haired visit Yon.” The man ladled out two cups of a brew as dark as pitch. He paused as he handed it to her, studying her face. “Not entirely of the South, though, are you?”

  “My father was Western,” she lied. In actuality, it had been the other way around. “Trying to see if I can find him.” Also a lie. She had no idea who her father was, or where he was, and she certainly had no interest in finding him.

  “The West is a large place, and the Waste hides much.”

  “So I’ve found.” Her mind instantly went to her mother’s sword and the slippery Knights. Raylynn took a sip of the brew, enjoying the almost nutty flavor that curled on her tongue.

  The princeling at her left broke out into a coughing fit, sending the man into a roar of laughter. “Your friend seems to have yet acquired a taste for kaha.”

  “Perhaps it’s because he’s as Southern as rain?” Raylynn enjoyed a chuckle at the prince’s expense. She fished out two gold pieces from her bag, well overpaying for their drinks. “So, tell me: I heard a new inn opened in town. Is it true?”

  It was amazing what people told you when their mental wheels and emotions were greased with a bit of surprise coin. They stood at the tea stall for a good hour talking with the brewer.

  The man affirmed what she had previously heard: A Western lord, one Raylynn knew was notoriously rumored as a Knight of Jadar, had opened up an inn in Yon. The investment was substantial for such a backwoods town and the most likely explanation in her mind was that he planned to make it an outpost for the Knights in a place where they didn’t have to worry much about the Empire’s or Lord of the West’s prying eyes. The group had a habit of hiding their most valuable treasures in concealed basements and old vaults in forgotten outposts nestled in the depths of the Waste’s dunes.

  The prince was clearly feigning interest, but he remained quiet. Raylynn asked her most pointed questions when he looked away, saving the more benign ones about the dull state of the duels in Yon for when he was paying attention. The brewmaster didn’t have much to relate other than the complaints he’d heard from others—he was not, apparently, “one for the ring.” She could’ve guessed as much from his inability to recognize her.

  The dwindling state of the town’s entertainment made her meeting with the duel overseer shortly thereafter all the more interesting.

  “It’s you.” A squat little man with a tuft of feathery, raven-colored hair in the center of his otherwise balding head squinted up at her.

  “You remember me?” She raised a hand to her chest. “I’m flattered.”

  He snorted. “If I could forget you, I would.” That Raylynn believed. “I will have no bets placed on you.” His eyes drifted to Baldair with an appraising look. Whatever the man saw, he didn’t like it. “Or your friend.”

  “I have a different proposition.” Raylynn folded her arms, leaning against the desk as though she owned it. “I hear the duels in town have gone a bit stale.”

  The man said nothing, no doubt stewing over the fact that she was giving him her back. Raylynn wondered if he wanted to put a dagger between her shoulder blades. She almost wished he would try. Could be the most excitement the town had to offer.

  “There’s little people love more than grudge matches. So, send out word to the five I bested last time and let them know they can challenge me again, for their honor.”

  “Honor doesn’t pay the bills.”

  “Oh, I like that. I may use it.” She pushed away from the desk with a grin. “In any case. You sell tickets to each bout. You get half, as our esteemed host. The other half goes to the victor.”

  The man stroked the dark stubble of his chin.

  “It’s a fair deal. No matter who wins in the ring, you don’t loose.” She leaned forward. “What do you say? Make a bit extra, energize this dusty little spot?”

  “Tomorrow night.” He waved her away after another moment’s thought. “And I recommend you leave town shortly thereafter. You’re not well liked here, Fie. I wouldn’t be surprised if someone tried to put a blade between your ribs while you slept.”

  “Their inability to do so is, I believe, the root of their problem.” She brushed off the man’s concerns, adjusted her traveling hood and stepped back out into the sandy world beyond.

  “Fie?” the prince said after a long moment.

  “One of my many aliases.”

  “You’re not really adored under any name, are you?”

  Raylynn shrugged. Being “liked” by people was vastly overrated. “I have the people I care about. Their opinions matter.”

  “And who are these people?”

  “Do you really think you deserve to know?”

  The prince surprised her by chewing over his response instead of firing off some brash demand or a royal pout. “Maybe someday.”

  “Maybe someday,” she was reluctant to agree. If he continued down this path of measured reason, it would become harder and harder to deny that he was the one the late princess had foretold for her.

  9. Baldair

  Frustr
ation was a circle. It started with her, rotated through confusion, did a turn around annoyance, looped back so widely it crossed over want, then finished with her anew. She was always there, but never seemed to be in the same place as his mind last left her.

  There wasn’t an explanation for the depth of his obsession, just as there wasn’t fully one for the reasons he put up with her temperamental nature or demands or the fact that she hadn’t really told him over the past week they traveled together what exactly it was they were doing.

  Nevertheless, Baldair found himself enamored the more time he spent around her. She knew just how to keep him at arms’ reach without ever saying no—an important distinction, for if he had any reason to feel his presence or advances were truly unwelcome or unwanted, he would retreat faster than the sun’s last light on the dunes. But her every manner was expectant, demanding, tempting him to take one step further while she took one step back. It felt as though she wanted him to follow her, though he did not yet know their destination.

  At least, that was how he saw it.

  The more Baldair thought about her, the more his mind hurt, the more tempted he was to demand a spar from her again to put them back in a place where things made sense—the dueling ring. But he held his tongue on that too. If he made his desires known, he was likely to end up fueling her superiority and earning a sword point at his throat. Her win hadn’t been a fluke, Baldair knew, and the following evening he witnessed the fact once more.

  She moved like music, stepping to a beat only she could hear. Against her, the opponent was off-rhythm; Raylynn left the willowy man in her literal dust as she skipped around him, kicking up plumes of dirt from the wooden floor of the ring. Men and women cheered, supporting their local swordsman out for revenge. But Raylynn had it from the first moment their blades touched.

  She was toying with him, but Baldair couldn’t decide if she was doing it out of pleasure or frustration.

  The Empire had called for soldiers from every corner of the land to fight in the North. The Emperor wanted to make the conquest swift and unforgiving. No one expected the relatively quiet people of Shaldan to last very long in the face of the armies of the sun, with the blessings of the Mother behind them.

  Even this far West, men and women had responded to the call of their Emperor. Two of Raylynn’s past opponents had left Yon already to join the fight, none knowing if they would ever return. The same could be said for him, Baldair realized. He could die before ever seeing winter’s first snow, or tasting a maiden’s first kiss, ever again.

  Ralynn’s foot rolled and Baldair’s fist clenched around the pommel of his sword as she slipped into a tumble. He almost called out, caught up with the rest of them in the moment where every spectator thought her opponent would finally gain the advantage.

  But Raylynn was a better actress than he ever realized. She rolled. Her opponent’s sword stuck into the slats of the wood. She reared back, the point of her blade stopping just before it gouged through the hollow at the man’s throat.

  The swordsman was winded, where Raylynn looked no worse for the fight. She had taken on three opponents back to back and bested them all like they were boys. That was when Baldair resolved himself to finally question her on where exactly she had gained such skill.

  He waited until they were on their way back to the inn, a walk that found him keeping his hand on his blade and giving long side-looks at any of the disgruntled townsfolk who might make good on their apparent grudge against an outsider who bested their own. But he and Raylynn were given a wide birth, and heard not so much as a barbed jeer.

  “They won’t attack.” She read his mind.

  Baldair eased his hand off the pommel of his sword, only somewhat convinced.

  “They know I can beat the best of them.”

  “But they have the numbers,” Baldair couldn’t help pointing out. “If they all moved at once, it would be like ants taking down a beetle.”

  The notion seemed to give her genuine pause. Raylynn glanced around them. “Between us, we’d be able to fight our way out.”

  Baldair let the fact that she was including him slide, choosing to relish in it quietly. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

  She hummed in agreement, quietly adding, “They’re not the ones we need to worry about.”

  “Who are?”

  Raylynn gave a small shrug but never answered him. Baldair let the matter sit. There were many dangerous folk in the world and he was presently too far from home to know the difference between a benign traveler and a trained assassin. He’d have to trust her and, considering she’d done a good job of demanding that trust, they walked in silence all the way back to the inn where they had acquired lodging.

  She paused right before her room, considering him.

  “Ask.”

  “What?” he was caught off-guard, as he often seemed to be around her.

  “Whatever it is you’ve been mulling over.”

  He’d been grinding questions away on the sharpening stone of his mind for days. What was there to ask now that he was being given the opportunity?

  “When will you tell me everything?”

  She huffed in amusement, the graceful curve of a smile stretching the thin scar he’d noticed long ago on her right cheek. It was a complement to the horizontal mark on her nose and the other knick near her brow. If her question had been a test, he’d dare say he passed it.

  “Everything. That would require a lot of words, princeling.”

  “I do like words.”

  “Do you?” Raylynn leaned on her door frame, as easy as she’d been in the ring, as easy as she ever was.

  “They’re rather essential.” Good gods, he almost sounded like his brother.

  “We are not people of words, you and I.” Raylynn pushed away from the wall and closed a fraction of the space between them. Her eyes dragged over him, looking with a fascination he’d never really seen from her, and one he discovered he liked directed at him. Slow, but not timid, a hand reached out, smoothing over his chest and up his shoulder. Raylynn remained focused on the action, observing herself before him.

  He remained focused on her.

  Baldair’s eyes dilated, his breathing hitched. Her fingers curled around his shoulder, pressing lightly. He smirked. Just another game of hers to assess him.

  “I assure you there’s more than enough muscle there to keep my stamina.” The prince patted his sword.

  “Of that I have no doubt.” Raylynn laughed and lightly pushed him away. “Sleep well, princeling.”

  “You never answered my question!”

  She gave one more pause, the same grin playing at her lips as she wore in the arena. “How do you not get it by now? If you’re with me, everything happens on my terms. If I wanted you to know, you would know.”

  The silence challenged him yet again to throw his rank at her. And yet again, he didn’t.

  “Keep your things packed and be ready to go with little notice,” she commanded. “We leave early.”

  Baldair held his tongue and let the woman have her control. She held him in her palm, and all he could hope for was her mercy when she finally finished deciding what to do with him.

  10. Raylynn

  She leaned against the door and tipped her head back. Her hand still burned with the heat of him, the feeling of his warmth and life under her fingers. Raylynn studied her fingertips as if she expected to find the truth burned into flesh.

  He had become someone she was beginning to enjoy having around. As much as she tried to remain an enigma around him, working him to frustration at the fact, she wanted to learn more about her companion. She was beginning to wonder what delighted him—not to use the knowledge against him, but to serve in her own ways. Raylynn closed her eyes with a soft sigh.

  Did mother feel this way? she wondered.

  Surely, there was
an element of lust between them she couldn’t deny that likely hadn’t been a factor in her mother’s service to the late princess. But the feeling of rightness in walking at his side... Perhaps it was what had drawn her mother away from the life she’d always known to live in service of the crown—a creed that she had raised Raylynn by as well.

  Raylynn opened her eyes and stared at the mostly untouched room. Her larger bag was with Baldair and she hadn’t really bothered to pull out any of her personal effects. There was a chance of things turning sour tonight, and if they did, they had to be ready to go.

  How she hoped he would heed her final command… It would be his head if he didn’t.

  She remained braced against the door until the sounds of the inn grew quiet. They were the only patrons, and the townsfolk who had been enjoying the bar at the front seemed to vanish with the dwindling hours. Raylynn stretched her hearing as far as she could, holding her breath. There were no traces of the melodies of life people stirred into existence with their mere presence. Everything was still.

  She eased the door open.

  The dark hallway was empty save the deep shadows that clung to the walls. In the distance, a single candle still burned at the bar. The light was consistent, unflickering. It told her there was no one moving about, shifting the air.

  Baldair’s room was quiet as well, and she shuffled silently past it. For the briefest of seconds, she considered asking him to help. But it was not a role he had yet earned the right to play.

  Her sword obliged her commands and was silent at her hip. She crept out to the main room undetected. Raylynn paused, thinking where she should look first.

  She had rummaged through a few strongholds of the Knights of Jadar and studied their symbols and manners at every turn. Raylynn began behind the bar, looking for a hidden lever or false bottle pull that would unlock a secret passage. When that search yielded no fruit, she ran her hands along the walls, feeling for the shifting of air that could betray a hidden passageway.

  Empty-handed and frustrated, she started toward the stairs that led upward to the inn keeper’s abode. They wouldn’t keep stolen goods upstairs; it simply wasn’t their habit. Plus, it was easier to build secret egresses underground or behind false walls, and it was far more complex to access such spaces lofted above ground level.