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The Narrow Gate Series: The Narrow Gate
The Narrow Gate Series: The Narrow Gate
The Narrow Gate Series: The Narrow Gate
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The Narrow Gate Series: The Narrow Gate

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The Broken Crown: 

Princess Emilia Aurelius was only seven when she watched her mother die at the hands of her father—martyred for believing in the God of the Atlas Empire's Insurgo rebels. At seventeen, exiled to a military outpost where no one knows her true identity, she's vowed to leave her royalty behind and explore the truth of the Insurgo rebels her mother loved.

When the Emperor of Atlas summons the princesses from each of the provinces to the imperial city to choose a wife for the crown prince, Emilia must leave her military life behind to join a royal court rife with cunning and intrigue. Navigating the waters of court politics and budding love are treacherous on their own, but Emilia fears for her life should anyone learn of her Insurgo sympathies.

With an unlikely ally in the captain of the emperor's guard, Emilia must uncover the truth of the Insurgos, start a revolution, and learn to become the princess she's vowed never to be, all while protecting her heart from a prince who could sign her death warrant.

 

The Desolate Reign: 

Emilia Aurelius should be a queen, but she'd settle for not being a fugitive. Taking refuge in the Borealis court seems her only chance to find a haven from Emperor Cyrus, who is playing a dangerous game of power with a set of rules all his own. Unfortunately her own country is on the brink of civil war, attacked from within and without by the very people she's sworn to save—the Insurgos.

With the truth of the Insurgos' God and agenda murkier than ever, Emilia embarks on a treacherous quest for truth and her rightful place as queen. Neither will come without a price. Political pressure may force her to choose between her crown and her heart, while the search for ancient secrets unearths more questions than answers.

A mysterious prisoner may hold the information she seeks if she's willing to bargain. What is the Narrow Gate? Can she finish what she started and save the Insurgos from extinction... even if they don't want to be saved?

 

The Ancient Heir:

Everything she thought she knew is ashes—her home, her crown, her future. Only one thing remains for Emilia. She must find the truth of the Narrow Gate and the Ancient One's power before the Emperor does. The future of the Insurgos depends on it.

A forgotten kingdom and bloodline stands in her way, and Felix holds the key to unlocking it. But opening this door will divide the loyalties of those she came to save.

With the weight of a prophecy and the expectations of an exiled people on her shoulders, Emilia must lead those loyal to her into the heart of the fire. To save her people, to redeem her past, will take every bit of faith she can muster. But that faith may require the ultimate sacrifice…and it may not be her own. 

LanguageEnglish
Release dateMay 1, 2024
ISBN9798224504107
The Narrow Gate Series: The Narrow Gate

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    Book preview

    The Narrow Gate Series - Amory Cannon

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    Copyright © 2024 by Amory Cannon

    All rights reserved.

    No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

    Contents

    The Broken Crown

    The Desolate Reign

    The Ancient Heir

    image-placeholder

    This book is a work of fiction. References to real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locales are intended only to provide a sense of authenticity, and are used to advance the fictional narrative. All other characters, and all incidents and dialogue, are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real.

    The Broken Crown

    Copyright © 2016 by Amory Cannon

    Cover design ©Jennifer Zemanek/Seedlings Design Studio 2016

    All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

    Printed in the United States of America

    Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication dataCannon,Amory.The broken crown /Amory Cannon.p. cm.

    Summary: Emilia, an exiled princess turned warrior, must attempt to win the affection of the Imperial Prince if she hopes to restore Christianity to her pagan kingdom. She faces a choice between the life she was born for and the one God called her to. Both of which could mean death.

    ISBN 97984089518881. Kings, queens, rulers, etc. —Fiction. 2. Christianity —Fiction. 3. Love —Fiction. 4. War —Fiction. I. Title.

    First Edition, 2022

    www.Amory-Cannon.com

    Contents

    Dedication

    Epigraph

    Daughters of Atlas

    Prologue

    1. 1

    2. 2

    3. 3

    4. 4

    5. 5

    6. 6

    7. 7

    8. 8

    9. 9

    10. 10

    11. 11

    12. 12

    13. 13

    14. 14

    15. 15

    16. 16

    17. 17

    18. 18

    19. 19

    20. 20

    21. 21

    22. 22

    23. 23

    24. 24

    25. 25

    Acknowledgements

    ABOUT THE AUTHOR

    For my sister, Salem, who read my first stories and encouraged me anyway.

    Blessed be the Lord, my rock, who trains my hands for war, and my fingers for battle…

    The King will desire your beauty. Because He is your Lord, bow down to Him.

    From the lost Aletheia

    ZEPHYROS

    CASSIA- PRINCESS OF ZEPHYROS

    GLORIANA- PRINCESS OF ZEPHYROS

    OCTAVIA- LADY OF DUBRIS

    BELLA- COUNTESS OF LEODIS

    CLARISSA- COUNTESS OF VECTIS

    AUSTRINA

    DAVINA- PRINCESS OF AUSTRINA

    AUGUSTA- LADY OF PRAETORIUM

    VICTORIA- LADY OF ANAVIO

    BOREALIS

    EMILIA- PRINCESS OF BOREALIS

    EUROS

    CORDELIA- PRINCESS OF EUROS

    LIVIA- PRINCESS OF EUROS

    JULIANA- LADY OF CORIA

    FELICIANA- LADY OF DEVA

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    The sky is blacker than I’ve seen it at noon. Normally at this time I’d be inside eating a pastry from the kitchen and looking over my lessons. But today isn’t normal. It’s anything but.

    My father, King Alector of Borealis, stands beside me on the dais overlooking the courtyard where a large portion of our kingdom has gathered. His hand rests heavy on my shoulder, and though I want to hide my face in his thick robes, I don’t dare. It’s not a gesture he’d welcome.

    Still, I tip my chin up to study my father. He surveys the crowd with a solemn scowl and tightens his grip on me. A squeak parts my lips before I can quell it.

    Emilia. His eyes turn to me now, and I feel as if he’s surveying me, studying me for signs of the same disease that’s tainted my mother. I know this is hard for you, but it is the law.

    Harsh is the law, but it is the law. I’ve memorized those words from the Codex—the laws set forth by the first Emperor of Atlas to protect us from the Insurgos who wait on the fringes to overthrow each of the six kingdoms. The threat of rebellion has been instilled in me since I was born. The Emperor who ruled before the current one insisted anyone showing signs of Insurgo sympathies be driven from our cities. My grandfather and the kings of the other countries burned the sacred book, the Aletheia, and slaughtered thousands in the Great Crusade. They burned the bodies on a pyre as a sacrifice to our gods.

    Please, father. Mother is no threat to you. I’ve waited for the right moment to appeal to him on my mother’s behalf, but it never came. Now I’m out of time.

    Hush, girl. He raises his hand but doesn’t strike me. There are too many people watching. Though he is king and people fear him, I am the precious princess they adore. Your mother is queen. What better position for the Insurgos to use her to overthrow my kingdom? She made no effort to hide her prayers to their God.

    It’s true. I first heard my mother pray when I sat at her feet while she braided my hair. Not the sort of memorized prayers we recite in the temple, but a conversation with someone I couldn’t see. The cadence of her voice, the magical quality that saturated the room—I felt light as a feather when she prayed.

    Not until my father’s guards burst into the room one night and pulled my mother from me did I realize there was anything strange about her prayers. It was the religion of the Insurgos, who believe in a single God and threaten the sanctity of everything this empire was built on. According to my father, their Aletheia and their philosophy revolve around conquering and ruling those who have been set above them.

    The crowd below us roars, and I look away from my father to see the masses part and a small faction of the King’s Guard lead their prisoner toward the small stone circle in the center of the courtyard. A large wooden stake towers over everyone except me and my father who stand above it all. My father says he feels closer to the gods up here. I could not feel further away.

    My mother’s head hangs low as she follows behind the guards. Still, I see her lips move, and I feel her prayers surround me. There has to be something, anything…

    Fight! Screaming at her won’t save her, and the bit of self-preservation I have reminds me my father probably wouldn’t hesitate to burn me as well. Already I’m a problem for him. Without a queen in residence, my position as princess is precarious. If he remarries, my line of succession will be invalid.

    It’s rare to see my mother without her crown, and her bare, dark head looks common in comparison to her usual splendor. But my father already made show of stripping her of her crown. Now he’ll execute her as a commoner.

    Everything in me strains toward her, but my feet remain firmly planted on the wooden dais. There’s nothing I can do. Nothing.

    She doesn’t resist as they lead her to the center of the stone circle and stretch her arms around the wood pillar. This is wrong. No matter what my father says, no matter what the law says, I feel it in my bones.

    This God she believes in, he’ll save her, won’t he? But I don’t know this God so I’m not sure what to expect. Perhaps he’ll just receive her death as an offering like our gods do. Maybe she’ll walk through the fire like in the stories she used to tell me about the three men thrown in a furnace.

    A mixture of gasps and cheers rises from the masses as a guard lowers his torch to hover just above the hay and kindling surrounding my mother, all soaked in oil to consecrate the offering to our gods. Then all eyes turn to my father.

    Alexandra Aurelius, you have been found guilty of heresy against our high god Caelus and his court. Additionally, you are guilty of high treason against your husband, King of Borealis, and His Eminence Emperor Cyrus of Atlas for your collusion with the Insurgo rebels. For these crimes you have been sentenced to burn at the stake. May Caelus have mercy on you.

    He recites my mother’s sentence without any emotion, which only makes the tears in my eyes fall harder.

    I can barely see through the blur they create, and I’m grateful for that much. Because I don’t see them light the fire, but I hear the whoosh of the flames as they lick the oil anointing the altar.

    By the time I clear my vision and fix my eyes on where my mother once stood, flames roar as high as the heavens. I can’t stop the scream, the plea, that tears from my throat, and only my father’s hands on my shoulders keep me from running toward the fire.

    She’s already gone. I feel it in my chest where the lightness used to live. I don’t know this God she loved, but I do know he’s dangerous. Maybe my mother didn’t know just how dangerous. Maybe she did. But I don’t want to believe that, because that means she loved him more than she loved me. Enough to die for him instead of living for me.

    Why couldn’t she stay with me?

    As the flames from my mother’s sacrifice kiss the sky, I wipe my tears away and vow I’ll never bow to death as she did. I won’t go down without a fight.

    1

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    This man must die. And I must be the one to kill him.

    Tension knots between my shoulders as I pace the length of my tent as if to escape the thoughts or the responsibility. Outside the sturdy canvas walls, my fellow soldiers jeer the man who sneaked into our camp last night. A man I know. If only I’d let them kill him last night, his blood would not be on my hands. Now I have no choice.

    God, steady my hands and my heart.

    Shoulders thrown back and chin raised, I smooth my tunic and adjust the sword on my waist. Then, with a deep breath, I lift the flap on my tent. Bring the spy to me.

    All eyes turn to me, full of irritation and expectations. They won’t refuse me, even if they don’t know who I really am. They respect me—or rather, they respect Nox. I gave them a new name to go along with my new identity, and since then I’ve proven myself here, which makes the crown I’ve hidden away in my pack superfluous.

    Milo, the only soldier stationed here longer than my seven years, jerks the disheveled captive from his knees and shoves him toward my tent.

    Tipping my chin higher, I refuse to look at the beaten man’s face, at least not yet. There will be time for that in a moment. Instead, I stop Milo’s forward progress with a raised hand and meet his hard stare with a steely one of my own. My pulse pounds as it always does when he looks at me like that—as if he sees me for what I really am.

    Give me a minute alone with him. It’s not a request, but Milo doesn’t immediately acquiesce to my demand.

    This is dangerous, Nox. His dark eyes spark like flint, ready to ignite a well-known temper. You can’t be alone with him.

    Come now. I force a sly, sweet smile to compliment my syrupy tone. For the most part, I avoid any appearance of femininity because it’s dangerous in a camp full of men. However, situations like this require some finesse, and my mother taught me never to underestimate the power of a smile and female charms. You can’t possibly think I’m in danger from him.

    It’s ludicrous. Milo trained me from the time I arrived at this military outpost, a scrawny ten-year-old who could barely hold a sword. I’ve worked hard to become what I am, an elite soldier who can best anyone in the camp with the exception of Milo. This prisoner, an older man, would be no match.

    Well, no. I’m sure you’re in no danger. Milo drags his eyes from me to the prisoner, then back. But what could you possibly want with him?

    I take a deep breath and hope my lie will be convincing. You never mastered the art of interrogation. He may have some information to relay before we dispatch him.

    Not that I’m a skilled interrogator or orator. But only this prisoner knows me for who I am, what I’ve truly become. Though I have only a few clumsy words to offer him, I will do it in private.

    Milo seems pacified with my answer and turns his back as I lift my tent flap so the prisoner can pass through. Only when satisfied the soldiers won’t challenge me do I duck inside the tent.

    Levi, I whisper as I take in the slumped man before me. Though his posture speaks of the beatings he received, his green eyes remain bright. What are we going to do?

    The first time I stumbled across him while on patrol in the nearby forest, I nearly put an arrow through him. He’d worn the mark of the Insurgos—an embroidered red cross—on his sleeve and carried a sword. But he’d knelt to pray, and instead of killing him, I listened.

    When I first professed my belief in the God of the Insurgos, a large, wide expanse opened up in my chest, filling every crevice with warmth. The warmth has since faded, but the largeness remains. Only twice have I felt as warm and safe as I did in those first days—once as I prayed on the battlefield, and then a secret moment alone in my tent as I held my crown. There’s no rhyme or reason to it, and that only makes the restlessness in my chest more troubling. It’s a new feeling, and I don’t know what it means.

    You’re going to kill me. Levi’s words feel as firm and unyielding as my shield lying on my cot. Unlike my shield, they do not deflect the pain. It’s the only way.

    It can’t be. I resume my pacing, mind frantic with possible escape routes. But with all the soldiers nearby, all of them hold certain death. I might escape, but Levi would slow me down, and there is no reason for me to leave if he isn’t with me.

    I knew when I came to you last night that I would die. And it is an honorable death if you heed my message.

    I don’t want a message, I snap. I want to find a way to get you out of here.

    So you could be caught helping me? Levi raises gray-tinged brows. I’ve always thought he had an ageless quality about him, but he looks older now, as if he decays before my eyes. We can’t both die, Princess. You have a higher calling.

    The use of my title, so unfamiliar for the last seven years, stills my movements. Levi knew who I was the moment he saw me. I look too much like my mother—same ebony hair, dark eyes, tanned olive skin—who he knew well, for him to think otherwise. Now that my mother is dead, and I’m exiled until my father is assured I don’t share my mother’s sentiments, Levi has been a piece of home I hadn’t known I missed.

    And now I have to kill him.

    What’s the message? He’s given me so many messages over the years, words that opened my heart to the true and living God. Words that could get us both killed in Borealis or any of the other kingdoms of Atlas where worshiping the one, true God was outlawed fifty years ago.

    Don’t be afraid, he whispers as he clasps his gnarled hand around my slender one. His fingers bite into my skin. The whole of Atlas will nip at our heels soon. The Emperor won’t allow us to survive. You can be the one to save us all. That is why you must embrace what’s coming. You are who you are, you’ve been placed here, for such a time as this.

    The restless wings in my chest flutter madly in response to Levi’s words. For a brief moment, I feel they might actually give me flight. It’s not the lightness I felt when my mother prayed, or even when I sometimes pray, but the sort of dizziness that makes me feel I’m already high above the ground. It sounds like the Aletheia, perhaps one of the few passages Levi memorized before my grandfather and the other kings burned the scrolls years before. He gives me bits of what he recalls each time we meet in secret in the forest. But what is important enough about this one to cost him his life?

    Oh, Levi. My shoulders slump, and I pull my hand from his and sink back on my cot. Moisture pools in my eyes. How could he be so misguided? I’m no deliverer.

    You are the princess of Borealis.

    And my mother was the queen. That didn’t stop her execution when they learned she was an Insurgo. I’m here because my father wants to break me before he makes me his heir. If he makes me his heir. He’ll never welcome me back to court if I demand clemency for the Insurgos. That’s a death sentence in Atlas.

    Then you must appeal to the higher court.

    The Emperor would never agree to see me. I’m not even sure I hold any standing in Borealis anymore. I tangle my fingers in my braid near my scalp and pull as if the pain can clear my head. Why can’t you understand this is life and death? You risked everything for this, and it means nothing.

    You will understand one day.

    Levi. My voice breaks on his name. He needs to understand. They’ll make me kill you now. You’re one of them, and the king demands no leniency be given to Insurgos.

    Yes. He nods once, a confident gesture. If I perish, I perish. And I’m ready. You must do this, Princess. If you don’t, they may suspect your loyalties, and your life will be in danger as well. This will prove your strength for what’s to come.

    How can you ask me to do this? I’ve killed men before, but only in battle and only those who threatened my life. Here, it does not seem right I should hold life and death in my hands.

    It is the law. And the law is harsh, but it is the law. That he quotes the Codex, the very laws I—as a princess—will be sworn to uphold, infuriates me.

    Time’s up. Milo throws open my tent with no warning and fists Levi’s collar. He meets my eyes with a sneer. I’ve never had to guess how he feels about the Insurgos—the same way he feels about the men from Zephyros who relentlessly attack our borders and would take us to war. The crowd’s gathered.

    Levi’s eyes hold mine as Milo drags him from the tent. Every fervent prayer I’ve learned rushes through me, though none pass my lips. They don’t feel like enough. What to do?

    For such a time as this.

    Is this really part of God’s plan? Will that absolve me of the blood on my hands? I have so many questions still to ask my teacher—about God, about my mother.

    With trembling hands and a heaving stomach, I exit the tent with the grace of a princess I’ve yet to become. If executing good men is what it means to rule this country, perhaps I never want to become her.

    Soldiers gather four deep around Levi, leaving barely enough space for me to walk to him. I feel their eyes on me, a sort of hushed reverence as they wait my response. I know what is expected and so do they.

    I stop in front of Levi and try to think of anything but the kind words he whispered over me and the stories he told of my mother’s childhood. He’s right about one thing—if I refuse to kill him, I’ll be branded guilty by association. Milo found the two of us speaking last night. Levi immediately surrendered and pled guilty to treason against the crown. All before I could even wonder what he’d come to tell me.

    The words come to me again, unbidden. To save us all…for such a time as this.

    My fingers involuntarily curl around the sword Milo places in my hand. It fits so naturally there, as if I was born for this rather than the crown. I chance one look at Levi. This is the price for that destiny.

    A low murmur rises, and it takes a moment for me to realize Levi is reciting the Aletheia. Blessed be the Lord, my rock, who trains my hands for war and my fingers for battle. He is my—

    I take a deep breath and swing the sword with frightening precision.

    Levi dies with a prayer on his lips.

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    Hushed whispers outside my tent wake me shortly before dawn. I know because through the small tear in my tent I’ve yet to mend, the black sky has softened to a lighter blue. Not light enough for me to see the blood on my hands, though I still feel it caked under my nails.

    I buried Levi at dusk and told my comrades it was to keep the vultures away. Over his unmarked grave, I whispered his last words.

    Now I focus on the whispers rather than the guilt that sits on my chest. Two people—Milo and one of the scouts who was on duty last night. Their low, solemn tones pull me to a sitting position with my bedroll bunched around me. If something has worried them, I dare not try to sleep through it.

    My muscles protest as I silently stand—a testament to how they tensed to fight off my nightmares—but I ignore the ache as I’ve been trained to do. Certainly my father would be glad of that. He didn’t send me here to be comfortable. Whatever his given reasons, he and I both know he sent me here in hopes I’d be killed in a skirmish with the Insurgos or our constant battles with Zephyros. A tragic end to the heir he never wanted.

    I slip out the back of my tent and appear next to Milo and the scout without ceremony. The younger man starts, but Milo gives me an appreciative nod.

    Nearly perfect, he whispers. I only heard you inside your tent, but not once you left it.

    This is high praise coming from Milo but well worth my hours of training.

    More than I can say for you two, I hiss. Can’t you gossip outside someone else’s tent?

    We have visitors.

    Milo’s words send icy daggers through me. Has someone come looking for Levi? Are we about to be attacked? The fact that Milo hasn’t raised the alarm gives me a flicker of hope. At least the attack isn’t imminent.

    Who? I finally ask as I study the face of my mentor. As always, it is hard and nearly unreadable, especially in the predawn light.

    A group of five men, the scout says as his hands ring the pommel of his sword. He presses the blade to the ground as if to casually lean against it. No self-respecting soldier would treat his weapon so flippantly. They camp a couple of miles from here. I found them while I was scouting.

    Five? Five is not considered a lucky number by the citizens of Atlas. We have six of everything because there are six gods. Caelus—the patron god—is said to bless everything in multiples of six. There is even a mock sixth kingdom—the abandoned island of Solitarius—so the gods will bless the empire. So, for there to be five travelers, I can only conclude they mean to add one more to their group.

    What sort of men? I ask. Regardless of number, it’s very strange to find a band of so few so far from the city—at least three days journey. If they are looking to cross into Zephyros, the country with which we share our western border, they might have done it much further south. The only things this far north are the mountains and the sea. And of course, the Insurgos.

    Imperial Guard seals on their capes. Their leader wears the pendant of the Commander of the Guard, the scout tells me with the hushed awe that most use when they reference the Emperor or any of the ruling monarchs who comprise the Atlas Empire.

    I don’t share his enthusiasm. There is certainly no good reason for the Imperial Guard to be this far north, not when Aurora—the seat of the Empire—shares our southern border. What do you make of it? I ask Milo, ignoring the scout. I don’t trust any soldier who leans on his sword.

    I don’t like it. He spits then wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. But if they’re headed this way, I guess we’ll find out soon enough what brings them here. Though I can’t think of a single thing out here that would warrant a few Imperial soldiers.

    I can think of exactly one. I swallow hard and picture the crown in my bag. A tiara really—a single aquamarine stone set against white gold and pearls. If I am right, I may wear it again for the first time in seven years.

    Should we prepare to welcome the Guard? the scout asks. He looks to Milo instead of me for the answer. I don’t correct him. After yesterday, I don’t care if I ever make another important decision again.

    I could see no other choice, but the feeling of wrongness still weighs heavy on me. Did my father ever feel this when he signed my mother’s death warrant? Probably not, because he made me watch and swear on the crown I would not fall prey to my mother’s weaker nature. That I would not blaspheme the gods in favor of the religion and revolution of the Insurgos.

    But an oath is only as strong as the person who makes it, and at ten, I was weak. Though he’ll probably never know it, my father did me a favor by sending me to the farthest military outpost he could think of. With little action my first few years, save the occasional Insurgo raid or sailors crossing the mountains to return home, I had plenty of time to learn the ways of a warrior. And when I met Levi, I learned the Aletheia, too.

    Ready the men, Milo commands. I expect they’ll be here soon.

    I start to follow the scout, to help with the preparation to welcome the visiting dignitaries—or as close to it as we get out here—but Milo stops me with a hand on my shoulder.

    Not you. You need a bath. There’s still blood under your nails. I can’t have the Imperial Guard thinking I’m treating the only woman in our camp poorly.

    Of course. The Guard will not know I’m capable of incapacitating any man who thought of treating me poorly. But my stomach buzzes with the fear that they will know something else about me.

    I retreat to my tent and gather my things into a pack to take to the river to bathe. The sun is rising higher now, so I have no trouble winding through the familiar path in the woods to the wading pool.

    My fingers tangle in my hair as I unwind the braid and let the strands hang to my waist. Normally, I would hurry through my ritual, afraid someone might see me bathing. But today I have no fear, or maybe I have too much, and so I take my time.

    Though the water is icy, I let it numb me as I swim around before lathering my skin with a bar that smells of lavender. I bear surprisingly few scars from battle, but I linger over each one and wash it with care. I’m proud of them. Proof that I am stronger than when I left home.

    When I am clean, I pull myself on the grassy bank and reach for my clothes. I wear the same uniform as the rest of the Borealis military—a royal blue tunic with close-fitting black pants—which I’ve taken in so they don’t hang on my small frame. I buckle my empty weapon belt around my waist and slip into my sturdy boots. Except for my hair, which I leave undone to dry, I look just like the rest of my company.

    My return trip to the camp is considerably noisier than when I left. Men scurry across the camp, cleaning our one permanent building that houses most of the supplies and hoisting our colors—a blue standard with a silver bird. The anxiety that thrummed beneath the surface all morning has come to a head. I’m about to jump in and help, when one voice rises above all the others.

    Attention! Presenting Commander Felix Fidelis, Captain of the Imperial Guard. The camp herald bows low as a great white horse and its rider pass before him. The rest of the camp follows suit, but I am frozen in place.

    2

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    The horse is the most exquisite animal I have ever seen. Its silvery-white coat gleams with the light of the morning sun. Clearly, even on the long journey from the empire’s seat in Aurora, the horse has been meticulously cared for. The stallion’s every move is graceful, even more so than the four that follow it. The tack and saddle on each mount are black with sparkling gold accents. I haven’t seen such finery in years. Finally, I raise my eyes to the owner of the beautiful horse.

    Commander Fidelis looks nothing like I expect. Though the heavy beard that masks his face makes it difficult to tell, he appears younger than most of his companions with his unlined face and few visible scars. Certainly much too young to have risen to such a high position. The Imperial Guard is the elite force in Aurora and requires physical prowess as well as mental. Their reputation is known throughout the empire, and even the weakest soldier is better than most other nations can conjure up. Other than the Commander’s age, he is nearly indistinguishable from the other guards. Even from this distance, I can tell their eyes are dark and unfriendly.

    His eyes find me, and I realize I am not bowing like the rest of my camp. It seems strange to me, how circumstance dictates who is worthy to be revered. In my father’s court or any court in Atlas, the Commander wouldn’t warrant a second glance. He is no more than a glorified soldier. But here, among men who have never laid eyes on any royalty—or so they believe—he is almost a god.

    Milo is the first to rise, and he greets the Commander with a clasp of forearms. To what do we owe this pleasure, your grace?

    Felix Fidelis still looks at me as those around me slowly rise. I can’t read his eyes so I take a bold step toward him. His lips twitch, barely visible beneath his beard, but he doesn’t look away.

    I’m here under order of His Eminence, Emperor Cyrus and His Majesty, King Alector to retrieve Princess Emilia Valentina Aurelius of Borealis. His voice is strong as he recites the titles, as if he’s practiced them on his long journey from the empire’s capital. I, however, have not practiced a response.

    Princess? Milo laughs and rubs the back of his neck. A few of our company echo his chuckles. My grace, there is no princess here. I’m afraid you’re mistaken. Nox is the only woman, but she’s no royal. Isn’t that right?

    All eyes turn to me now, and I dig my short nails into the palms of my hands. This moment feels much different than I imagined it would. And though I thought I was ready, the thought of confirming the Commander’s words makes me ill. I don’t wish to be the sort of princess my father expects.

    But, because I have no choice, I reach into my bag and pull out the crown. A collective gasp rises from the crowd as I hold it up for them to see.

    Milo’s jaw drops, and the men who have just risen for Felix now stumble to their knees in front of me. I want to yell for them to stand, that I am no different than I was yesterday, but it would be a lie. Levi is dead, and I am a world away from the girl who walked into their camp seven years ago. Yesterday, I might have refused whatever the Commander asks of me, but Levi’s message weighs heavy on me. Is this God’s way of setting his plan in motion?

    Only Commander Fidelis remains on his feet, and he walks toward me with a singular purpose. When he stops just in front of me, I see his eyes are not so dark, but rather a lighter golden brown. Still, they don’t hold any warmth as he drops to his knee and bows his head.

    Rise. I choke around my command because it feels foreign in my throat. He rises then studies me with his head cocked slightly.

    You look well, my lady. To his credit, his tone remains even, but for the first time, I get a glimpse beyond the hardness of his eyes. I know what he’s thinking. I don’t look like any princess he’s ever seen. But I have the crown, and I look like the former queen of Borealis so he can’t refute me. The deep golden tones of my skin, the waves of thick black hair, dark eyes—they all mark me as unusual at best and lower class at worst. But they are my mother’s traits and my birthright.

    This is my moment to take charge. To show everyone I am who I say I am. God, give me wisdom. Levi wanted me to appeal to a higher court, and there is none higher than Emperor Cyrus. But I’ll have to prove I belong in the highest courts of the land.

    You will address me as Highness. My voice is stronger this time as I meet the Commander’s stare with one of my own. If he has a retort, he keeps it to himself. I am Princess of Borealis, daughter of Queen Alexandra and King Alector.

    Very well, Highness. Do I imagine irritation in his voice? My orders are to escort you to Aurora where the Emperor has decreed all the princesses of Atlas will gather for his son, Prince Ronan, to choose a wife.

    The bottom drops out of my carefully constructed façade, and I struggle to replace my blank expression before anyone notices. But Felix’s lips twitch again, and I know he’s seen my slip.

    An arranged marriage? To a prince I’ve never seen let alone met? Even that is the best scenario. I don’t want to think about the worst. This is my father’s doing, and he’s put me in a very precarious position. I haven’t been good enough to be named his heir, to appear in his courts, but he will gladly marry me off to the Prince in order to strengthen the relationship with Aurora. And if I’m not chosen he will add that burden to the weight of shame I already carry.

    Felix rests a hand on his sword and straightens his shoulders. I find myself admiring him despite our less than cordial meeting. He demands respect, and I can tell his guards willingly give it. The four of them remain on their horses, but they sit tall in the saddle, eyes on their commander.

    Highness, Felix emphasizes the title, it’s imperative we leave immediately. The festivities begin in a week, and we’ll need at least that long to reach the palace.

    So this is it. No time to process. No decision to make. I can only act. It’s the type of situation I thrive on, though I can’t begin to say I’m happy about it. I’ll get my things. I barely take a step when a hand encircles my arm.

    There’s nothing you need here, Highness. I’m tiring of that title already, especially with the edge Felix adds to it. I look down to where he holds my arm, and he immediately relinquishes his grip. We have supplies for you at our campsite.

    It’s just as well. The personal belongings in my tent are depressingly few. My crown is the only thing I’ve brought from home. Though I have a sword and shield, they are made of far inferior stuff than the Commander’s. Perhaps, he’s right. It would be better to start over.

    Holding my chin up takes great effort as I follow Felix to his horse. I’m not keen on riding with him to the campsite, but he left the extra horse there. Perhaps to exert some manner of control over me. Whatever the reason, I have to swallow it down and pretend I’m in charge. This is my only choice.

    There’s no one to say goodbye to except Milo, who gives me a slight bow and nod of his head. Seven years summed up in a small gesture. It nearly brings tears to my eyes. I’m taking nothing with me and walking toward the unknown. If not for Levi’s words and the prayers that fill me, I would be utterly empty. It reminds me too much of the journey I made years ago when I left Borealis behind.

    By your leave, Highness. Felix tips his head in a bow, then reaches for my waist, presumably to help me mount the horse. I take great pleasure in stepping away from him and vaulting into the saddle on my own. I haven’t needed assistance mounting a horse since I left the palace.

    The scowl beneath his beard is more noticeable now, but he says nothing as he situates himself on the stallion in front of me. There is nothing warm about him, even when my chest presses against his back and my arms reluctantly circle his waist. His body is as hard as his eyes.

    I expect him to urge the horse to a gallop as we leave Milo and the others behind. Instead, he gives just enough reign for the horse to trot at an easy pace, which jars my teeth. I suspect he does it on purpose.

    You’re the Captain of the Imperial Guard, are you not? I ask as I let my hands drop from his waist and curl my fingers around the saddle instead.

    Yes, Highness. He doesn’t turn around. It doesn’t make sense.

    Something about his answer bothers me. And have you escorted the other princesses to Aurora?

    I have not, Highness.

    The title holds no meaning now. You may stop calling me that. Who did you anger to be sent all the way out here for me? Should you not be protecting the Emperor?

    He doesn’t answer right away. Silence spreads between us for so long that I begin to think he’s ignoring me. Finally, I’m here because the others travel with their own entourage. You have—

    No one, I finish silently as he shuts himself up. At least he thought better of finishing the sentence. My father did not think me worthy of the fanfare of an escort from Borealis. Instead, I’ll travel with a group of taciturn guards and their surly captain. I’m merely chattel, a bargaining piece if I’m fortunate enough to win the heart of the Prince.

    I don’t let myself dwell on that thought long. The best scenario would be for me to marry the Prince and hope that, over time, I might soften his heart to my faith and the truth of the Insurgos. That won’t likely happen. But if I lose, I can’t come back to this outpost now that they know the truth.

    The things I know about Aurora or the Prince can be counted on one hand. Not only is Aurora the seat of our empire, but it is the throne of secrets. That is, of course, how the empire was formed after the original ruling family, the Valerias, was deposed. Aurora’s soldiers are rumored the be the most disciplined, well-trained men in the empire, so much so that the mere threat of their deployment is enough to quell most uprisings. And, of course, it is the golden city complete with a glittering palace. Even if that’s only marginally true, it’s enough for me to know that I do not belong in a place like that.

    We arrive at their campsite in what feels like seconds. The faint embers of a fire still smolder inside a defined rock circle. Their tents and a few packs are placed around the ring. I’m surprised they didn’t leave at least one person here to guard their things. Then again, they are the Emperor’s elite soldiers. I suspect they’d have no problems replacing anything stolen from them.

    I slide from the horse before the Commander can instruct me to and land lightly on my feet. He follows my lead, then reaches into his pocket and hands me a few sugar cubes.

    You want me to feed your horse? It seems an odd request, one I’m debating on refusing when he laughs.

    No, I want you to feed your horse. Get to know her. He gestures to a horse, approaching from behind the tents on the lead of another guard.

    I try not to act disappointed as the man hands me the lead. The horse before me is a beautiful sorrel chestnut with a shining coat someone must have brushed every day since they began their journey. But she is tame, docile. She has nothing of the spirit in the eyes of Felix’s horse.

    Does she have a name? I ask as the filly nudges my side.

    That’s for you to decide, Highness. The Commander runs a hand over the horse’s mane before returning his attention to his mount.

    And what’s your horse’s name?

    Ares, he replies as he allows the stallion to nip the sugar cubes in his hand.

    A fitting name. In the old language, the name Ares was associated with war and strength. The perfect name for the perfect horse. I look at my horse. She doesn’t make me think or war or strength, but of peace and gentleness.

    She’s a gift from the Prince of Aurora for your trouble, Highness, the Commander adds.

    I hold out my hand and let the filly eat the sugar from it.

    I certainly can’t be disappointed now, but I file the meaning of it away for further study. The Prince has sent me a gift. Why? Thank you, Commander, but I don’t require a title every time you address me.

    It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask him to call me Emilia, but I’m afraid it would diminish my precarious position, make me look weak. But who am I kidding? I may be strong as warrior, but I am very weak as a princess. I don’t know how to be this girl I left behind at ten. But I do know kindness goes a long way toward establishing friendships, and I could sorely use a friend. I’m sorry I said that in front of those men.

    It’s your place. You are the princess, are you not? There’s a faint hint of amusement in his words as he echoes my earlier question to him.

    I have the crown. I’m not sure that makes me the princess.

    I volunteered for this journey, he says, deep eyes looking me over with a frown. Don’t make this a waste of my time.

    He doesn’t mince words, and I like that about him. I’m not used to the flattery of court and—despite my earlier request—the ridiculous titles and politics. But I do wonder what would make him volunteer for such a ridiculous task, and why would the Emperor let one of the most elite protectors leave his side? Something feels wrong about this.

    I hold to the hope that this is God’s plan, because if it were my choice, I would not be here at all. I have no interest in ruling and no interest in a royal husband. But the images of Levi and my mother push me forward as does the warmth that rushes through me as I offer up a silent prayer.

    Show me your path, God, and I will follow.

    I straighten my crown and begin saddling my horse.

    3

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    We’ve travelled for nearly three days when I finally speak to the Commander again. Sitting atop my mare, my voice is hoarse from lack of use. I ask him to take a wide berth around the capital of Borealis.

    Though I don’t like to admit I’m afraid of anything, I’m not sure I could handle facing my childhood home with the weight of everything else hanging over me. Though our natural route wouldn’t have taken us near the palace anyway, the fields and forests just outside the city are swollen with memories of time spent there with my mother and, on rare occasions, my father. Reminders of happier, simpler times before royal pride and paranoia engulfed love and security.

    Whether Commander Fidelis guesses the reason for my detour request or doesn’t care, he doesn’t ask why, but orders the guard at the front of our pack to change course. I’m grateful I don’t have to explain.

    Two days later, by the time we approach the lush valley where Borealis, Aurora, and Euros intersect, the sun sits low in the sky, and I can barely stay atop my horse. My eyes blur against the sting of a cool wind as the hours I’ve lain awake at night catch up with me. My head bobs once, twice, and then I’m slipping into the warmth of sleep.

    I’m jerked awake by the sensation of falling and find my horse is no longer under me. An arm around my waist pulls me to another horse, and for the few seconds I’m suspended in midair between the horses feels like a dream. I recognize the white coat of Felix’s mount, which has now come to a stop.

    The Commander turns in the saddle and glares at me—dark eyes and lowered brows. I don’t look away, though the heat of embarrassment tingles on the back of my neck. Yes, I dozed off and nearly fell off my horse, but that’s my first misstep on this journey. He’s fortunate I’m not a typical palace-bred princess. Otherwise, I would’ve never been able to ride for so long or manage my own tent and supplies. Without my training we’d be days behind.

    For reasons I can’t explain, I want him to acknowledge that. At least say something. His silence has been loud since we left camp. Perhaps he is a dullard with nothing going on in his head; or maybe he knows the less he says, the more precious each word is. My instincts insist it’s the latter.

    Make camp, Felix calls to the rest of the men, whose names I’ve not learned. Since we began our journey, they’ve not sought me out to begin a conversation. Maybe they don’t think it’s proper. At any rate, I’m grateful because it gives me quiet time to pray without prying stares. Because without weapons—which Felix refused me—they could kill me if they suspect I’ve abandoned the gods in favor of the Insurgo’s religion.

    Thank you, I say as I slide down from his horse. This way we’ll be refreshed for our entry into Aurora tomorrow. I’m not foolish enough to think I can enter the city without notice, though it’s certainly my plan to try.

    All you need to do is ask, Princess. I’m yours to command. He dismounts with ease and starts to lead his horse and mine to a nearby tree to tie off.

    Felix. I say his first name for the first time, and he pauses. Something about his words upset me. Maybe I should get used to commanding those around me, but I liked him better when I thought he simply acted out of concern for me. But I tell myself his motives don’t matter. Send one of the men out for firewood and two others to gather berries and any game they see.

    He nods, almost imperceptibly. So far we’ve dined on jerky and dried fruit every night, and I miss the warm meals that came with the permanence of a military base. I imagine these men, though trained to survive on much less, miss the feasts of the palace as well.

    I help Felix and the remaining guard unpack our tents and bedrolls and set each up. Neither of them speak, but I feel the Commander’s eyes on me, studying me, as I tie off the last of my tent poles.

    The guards return with two rabbits and a variety of berries, which Felix insists on tasting before he’ll let me sample them. Not until I’m in the middle of preparing a stew from the rabbits does the implication hit me.

    I haven’t had the luxury of a taster since I was a child, and I’m not sure what it means that Felix was willing to check for poisonous berries for me. It’s foolish, because we would be lost without the Commander had he succumbed to some toxin, but I’m impressed he didn’t force the task on one of the other men.

    We eat our fill of stew and berries, and everyone lingers around the campfire until only embers glow against the black night. The guards draw straws for first watch, though I volunteer and am laughed at. It’s still easy to forget these men don’t know me as Nox or as a soldier. To them I am a princess and both easy and exceedingly difficult to dismiss. But I don’t fight them on this because I did fall asleep on my horse earlier, and I don’t know what I might face when we reach the palace tomorrow. Rest might be the best thing. So I bid them goodnight as the watchguard stokes the fire and the rest of us disappear into our tents.

    What might be hours later, I open my eyes to a blackened tent, ears tuned to what I think is a rustle outside. When I hear it again, I’m on my feet, reaching for my sword before I remember I left it behind at the Borealis outpost.

    A gurgling scream rends the night, and I dart out the rear of my tent. The sound of a slit throat. It chills me to the core. I crouch as low to the ground as possible and strain my eyes to make out the shapes creeping in the darkness.

    From the tent beside me, Felix appears with his sword drawn. I try to catch his attention, but his eyes focus on what I’ve just seen in the center of our camp. At least seven men rifling through our things with moonlight shining off daggers at their waists. They stand near the fire now, and I can see their faces.

    The Commander charges into the midst of our attackers with his sword swinging. One man falls immediately before they notice Felix’s panther-like grace and form a circle around him. He disarms one man, whose sword flies in my direction. I start toward it as the bandit moves to recover it. His eyes catch mine as his fingers curl around the weapon.

    I sprint for the cover of trees as shouts come from the bandits and my guards who have woken. The one who spotted me sprints behind me and manages to grab my arm.

    He blocks my attempt at a punch with his forearm and throws me to the ground. The impact knocks the breath from me, and I barely have time to recover before he’s on top of me.

    His rank breath fans over my face before I bring my knee up into his groin. He doubles up, and it’s enough that I can roll out from under him and launch to my feet.

    My bare feet dig into the dirt at a run, this time toward the camp. The ring of clashing swords sets my teeth on edge. Shouts come from all around me. Felix’s voice calls to me, instructs me to run, and I do, but not in a direction that pleases him.

    A strange calm always comes over me right before a battle, and this time is no different. But I’m in the middle of it all before I remember I have no sword to draw or shield to hold. Though I’ve sparred weaponless with many men, this is different, and I regret my impulsiveness.

    The man I fought off minutes ago has returned to camp, and his eyes lock on me with a sinister gleam. I can’t know if he means to kill me or take me as entertainment, but I’ll never allow the latter.

    I dart in and out of the pairs of men, each swinging swords and fists and staffs. The bandits are large men, but they are noticeably unskilled warriors compared to the disciplined Imperial Guard. The man following me seems to be the swiftest of the group, and he mimics my every move until we stand face to face in a clearing just beside the others.

    Wild desperation colors his actions as he lifts his sword high and runs toward me. Instinct takes over as I roll under his swing and kick out my leg just in time to trip him. He rolls as well and easily springs to his feet. More agile than I gave him credit for, especially for such a big man.

    All I need are a few well-placed jabs and I could take him down. My muscles fatigue quickly as I strike and recoil, strike and recoil. Days of travel have left me stiff and sore. I need something else.

    A good defense might be better than the weak offense I’ve shown. I crouch in anticipation of his next move, though the singing clash of steel on steel rings at my back.

    The man lunges toward me again, and I dart backward only to crash to the ground as I trip over something. It barely registers that it’s a body before my attacker is upon me, his sword raised once again. I close my eyes as he swings.

    Metal meets metal, and my eyes fly open. Felix stands over me with his shield blocking the fatal blow. He uses his forearm to push the man away, then quickly dispatches him with a single swing of his own sword. His eyes are steady as he turns toward me and pulls me to my feet.

    Stay behind me, he urges as he turns to the fighting once again. And for a moment I do. I am defenseless and one of the guards is dead, so only Felix and three others fight the remaining five bandits.

    The dagger in Felix’s belt catches my eye. It’s not ideal, but I could even the fight. I’ll have to act quickly. So with stealth and speed that would have made Milo proud, I pull the dagger from the Commander’s belt and charge toward the nearest attacker. I don’t look back to see if Felix follows me.

    Daggers have never been my specialty, but my hands know what to do as I fling dirt in the eyes of the first man I come to and plunge the knife in his chest. Blood spurts onto my face, but I have no time to clean it. For just a second before life drains from the man’s eyes, I think I see Levi on the ground in front of me.

    It’s enough to knock me back on my heels. But I can’t stay there. I must move.

    I spin around to find Felix engaged with the largest bandit. He meets every blow of the man’s sword with a parry, but can’t get in any shots of his own. Felix gives up ground to the larger man, exhausted from our days of travelling. He won’t be able to last much longer.

    Do it now. I don’t have much time to think.

    My hand tightens around the knife as I raise my arm and then snap my wrist forward, letting the dagger fly straight and true.

    It sinks into the shoulder of the attacker, who lets out a monstrous roar and turns to find the source of the pain. This is all the time Felix needs to ram his sword into center mass and finish the man.

    I watch it all happen in a dizzy blur. Around me, the other guards have won their fights, and bodies litter the ground. My hands are coated in red, and I feel the same stickiness on my face.

    I’ve killed again. And this time, even though it saved my life and Felix’s, it leaves a metallic taste in my mouth. I choke on another man’s blood and heave the contents of my stomach onto the ground.

    Afterward, with an acid burn in my throat, I collapse to the dirt, and I blink Levi’s face from my mind. Accomplishment and remorse wage a battle in me, but unbidden words trump them both.

    Blessed be the Lord, my rock, who trains my hands for war and my fingers for battle.

    My fingers are stained but steady. My movements on a battlefield are as natural as breathing. I’ve always felt this was what I was born for. Was it God’s will that I be a warrior? If so, he must know that I can’t be both warrior and princess. What I wouldn’t give to know the rest of that passage. If only my father hadn’t burned every copy of the Aletheia. If only I hadn’t killed Levi before he could finish. Now I might never know.

    Shock fades, and I look up into the lightening sky with sun just peeking over the horizon.

    Felix towers over me, but I don’t have it in me to pull myself up and look like a princess, so I duck my head and study the blood under my fingernails.

    Are you hurt, Princess? He sits beside me in the dirt but maintains a respectable distance. And that’s all I want. I don’t want his pity. I just don’t want to be alone, though I can hardly count on Felix for pleasant company.

    No. I look through the loose strands of my hair to find his face. Are you?

    His eyes widen, as if I shouldn’t be concerned for his well-being. Maybe no one ever has. After all, he is only a guard. Then, for the first time, his features soften toward me, and it’s easy to see how young he really is. Yes, I’m fine.

    And the others? I know… I know we lost one. I can’t help but feel this is my fault, but it is the price of battle, and I’ve seen worse. Did word somehow get around that a princess was travelling this road? But my crown has been in my bag since we left the outpost behind. Who were these men?

    Yes, we lost Atticus. He hangs his head and digs his heels in the ground. Hesitance colors his posture, and it looks strange on him. With your permission, I’d like to dig his grave before we break camp.

    Why would he ask me? Hate for my position nearly overwhelms me. If my crown was within reach, I would pull it apart piece by piece.

    Princess, I… I wouldn’t ask except I trained Atticus from the time he joined the Guard. Felix mistakes my silence

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