Chapter One
“She’s mine.”
“No. She’s mine.”
“You’re both wrong. She’s mine.”
I wish I was wearing more than my school pajamas. Even at twenty years old, these things are juvenile. They’re really not the attire to be facing three very large, very frightening men who are looking at me with competitive, possessive lust in their handsome gazes.
I’m used to getting in trouble, but not like this.
Each and every one of them is a musclebound fighter. Each one of them is capable of great violence and even greater cruelty. That’s all I really know. Other than that, they’re strangers to me. Three very attractive strangers who I individually managed to start some shit with and who now want me for… well. There’s no delicate way to put this.
Mating.
They’re more like animals than men, and that’s saying a lot, because I’m more beast than most.
I shouldn’t be in their presence, let alone in their captivity. But I wouldn’t run away even if I could.
Because I’m feeling the same thing they are.
Imagine the most intense desire in the world. Then imagine it multiplied by three. Imagine knowing you love someone more than yourself, but they’re a complete stranger. Then imagine that happening all at once again, and again, and again, one after another, all in a row.
I’ve been in trouble my whole life. Right now, I’m in more trouble than I could ever have imagined being in.
“We’re going to have to share her,” the dark, smoldering one with the piercing blue eyes says.
“I don’t share,” the stunning blond responds. This man should be on the cover of a magazine. He should be on the cover of all the magazines.
What the hell am I doing? I try to fight my way through the fog of lust to make some sense of things.
“There’s no choice. For any of us.” The oldest one speaks. He’s in his forties, with dark reddish hair, glittering green eyes, and the most intensely vicious paternal energy I’ve ever encountered. You can talk about dominant men. You can talk about alpha men. But this guy makes every other commanding male I’ve ever encountered seem like a… well, a sub.
I can usually trust in my ability to rebel, but right now, I’m regretting every choice that led me to this place of no sexual return.
I could have made better decisions. I could have stayed safe and sound in a literal fortress designed to keep me safe. But no, I had to sneak out one more time. Had to break the rules…
[divider]
Yesterday, or maybe the day before…
The royal city of Eclipse sprawls out beneath the hallowed walls of the King’s Guard Academy. The city is bright, incandescent with brilliant yellows, purples, and greens. I can’t hear it from here, but I can imagine the sound of it. There’s traffic and life, people shouting, screaming, cursing, laughing. Eclipse is even busier at night than it is during the day. I’m not allowed there at any time.
I’m supposed to stay here behind thick walls of old stone construction where those loyal to the king train to guard his highness. This is where I belong, they tell me.
I crouch at the highest point of the academy, teeth bared to the wind, ears pinned back against my head as I breathe in the night just as it turns the corner to day.
There is nothing more invigorating than the night and the full moon. Energy flows from it to me. I half-close my eyes and let myself bathe in it. Sometimes I feel alone, but not here, not when I am like this. A wolf is not capable of feeling loneliness in the same way a person is. A person, finding themselves separated from society, struggles to stay sane. A wolf finds out who they truly are and becomes it unapologetically.
“Darcy!”
My name is shouted by an annoyed woman, standing down below on the level where the ladder to the rooftop sits. She’s the matron, and she has some limited authority over me when I take the human form that makes me smaller, weaker, and infinitely less interesting than this one.
“Darcy, come down from there this instant!”
Matron’s strident tone irritates me. Makes me want to leap from the very top of this rampart, but I know I’ll be hurt if I do, and wild as I am, I have been trained. My wildness has been blunted.
My fur abandons me first. I feel the cold of the air that was enjoyably bracing now beginning to chill me to my bones. I shiver as I become human again. Small, naked, curvy, short.
I climb down the ladder to the matron, who throws a blanket over me rather than wrapping it around me. Little gestures show her disdain, and there are so many opportunities for little gestures in a day.
“Put something on!” she harries me as I push the blanket off my head, scowling as if she is deeply offended by my nudity.
“You’ve got some nerve breaking curfew to come stand up here,” she says. “You knew the guard would report you. Why can you not follow the rules? You’ve lived with them a lot longer than most! And you know it’s uncouth to display that animal.”
She talks like my wolf isn’t me. It’s because she’s just human. She doesn’t understand what it’s like to be wild on the inside, and sometimes on the outside too. My behavior is an annoyance to her. My existence is an inconvenience. She’d much rather be tucked up in her little apartment watching her stories on the television and sending dirty messages to the archery instructor. Everybody knows she likes his shaft.
I came to the academy when I was three years old. The youngest students they have taken nowadays are sixteen. But I’m rare. I’m a female wolf shifter. They don’t make many of them. Most wolf shifters are men. Something to do with the Y chromosome and the missing leg not repressing a certain wildness. For a female to be a wolf shifter, she’s got to have the gene on both chromosomes.
Usually, that leads to a creature that is more wolf than person. Not really a shifter so much as a werewolf. The fact that I can take a human form makes me important. Not important in the way that people treat me very well. But important in the way that I should never go anywhere or do anything. That kind of important.
There are two places a female shifter is allowed to be, according to official academy guidelines. One is inside the academy; the other is inside the royal palace, where the wolf king takes them into his harem. I don’t want to be taken into a harem, and so far nobody has been stupid enough to try to put me in one, but every day that passes, and I get closer to graduation, I know there’s a time limit to how long I can be here. Not because they’ll kick me out, but because my sanity is starting to wane.
Shifters belong to the king. Male shifters are trained here, as are loyal human males. I’m the only female, because females are supposed to be sent to the palace. I don’t know who made the decision to keep me from the royal household when I was very young, but I think it was the right call. I can barely follow the rules of this place. I can’t imagine what it must be like in the palace. I’ve been told over the years that it’s a place with endless protocols, and you have to do exactly what you’re told all the time. The academy is theoretically like that, but the rules are looser. Well, sometimes.
“Do I need to remind you of the very simple rules?” Matron scolds me as if I am ten years old.
I don’t say anything as I follow her down the stairs and into the interior of the academy. This place is beautiful. It was actually the old king’s palace at one time, but several kings back they built a new one and left this to the guard. It is old, and it has always been inhabited by shifters. You can feel that when you walk through the halls, or sit in the rooms. There’s a kind of hominess that makes me feel as though I belong here—and yet there’s a part of me that needs to roam, break rules, and push past the boundaries of the narrow expectations that have been imposed on me.
“Nobody takes their wolf form inside the academy…” She leaves the sentence dangling for me to finish.
“Unless authorized,” I sigh.
“Yes. That’s a simple enough rule, isn’t it? You don’t have full control of yours as yet, and doing it outside of the academy will inevitably lead to what?”
“Disaster,” I groan dutifully.
“You can report to detention this evening at seven p.m.,” she says.
The joke is on her. I was already reporting to detention at seven.
Three different instructors sentenced me to it yesterday. I don’t bother to tell her that, of course. Instead, I try to look chastened, like I know I could do better. I’m lucky that I have the kind of face that screams innocence: round shape, low cheekbones, big brown eyes. When I smile, I lose some of my sweetness. My canines are kind of elongated. People who don’t know better think I am a vampire. Sometimes I let them think that, even though it is stupid because vampires aren’t real.
“Yes, ma’am,” I say. “I’m sorry.”
She checks her watch. “It’s almost time for the rising bell. You may as well get ready for class.”
[divider]
I don’t get ready for class. I go back to the little single room that’s been assigned to me in the attic. The male dorms are below. They’re split into shifter and non-shifter. I’m kept clear of most of the shifter boys. I don’t know what they’re afraid of, but I know I’m managed within these walls.
I belong here, and yet I don’t.
That’s why sneaking out of the academy is my one joy.
Eclipse is full of people who are free to make whatever decisions they want. It’s chaos out there. It is a high-tech city, with a whole lot of mechanical automatons and electric tools and artificial intelligence and a whole lot of money going around in a whole lot of ways. We don’t get a lot of education about things like the economy, but I know Eclipse City is one of the richest cities on the planet. It’s got a lot of poor areas too, where the tech breaks down, or never reached in the first place, but they’re exciting too.
I’m told that Eclipse has changed a lot in the last hundred years or so. I’ve only been here for seventeen years, I’m assuming. Add three for when I got here, and that makes me twenty, almost twenty-one. I have no idea who decided to leave a toddler outside a military academy, but I’m guessing it was my parents.
There’s never been any information about them. I used to ask, when I was old enough to be curious. Nobody knew anything. The nicer teachers told me that I’d been left for safekeeping, that I was special. I thought that my parents would come back for me, but they never did.
So now I just do what I want. I’ve been at the academy long enough to do the entire syllabus three times. I’ve read the books so many times I could recite some of them backwards.
If a tutor gets mad at me for not attending class, I generally pick their main text out of my brain and perform a passage for them. That really pisses them off. They think I’m too arrogant, that I know it all. I don’t know it all. I just know everything they usually teach a king’s guard, which isn’t that much.
There’s a stack of books on the bedside table. My favorite Elements of Deception and Disguise by Sir E. Bitten sits on top, open, many of the pages dog-eared. It’s the best book, because it was written by a king’s guard who was around when king’s guards actually did something. Sir Bitten’s book is full of stories of sneaking into enemy encampments and detecting spies in the royal household. I’ve used a lot of techniques from that book in my own life already.
There are not too many other books, maybe three or four. The academy isn’t really a book-heavy place. There is a library, but hardly anybody goes there.
Truth is nobody wants smart guards, beyond what they need to know to keep bad guys out. This place doesn’t train people to do algebra, or any of the other subjects I’ve heard my city friends talking about over the years. I’m not technically supposed to have city friends, but my whole life could basically be summed up by the phrase ‘not technically supposed to.’
Apparently algebra is hard. So are biology and chemistry, and physics isn’t that simple either. I can do enough maths to count whether all my fingers and toes are still on, which is all a king’s guard needs.
I also don’t pay a lot of attention to politics, or the news. Both are frowned on at the academy. The King’s Guard aren’t supposed to be political. They’re—we’re—supposed to serve the king without question. I hear things when I am out and about, though. Most of them indicate that things are bad and getting worse.
I think about this stuff as I stand naked in the middle of my little room. It must be maintained to military standards, so it has a cot bed with two starched sheets and one starched pillow and a blanket that’s so scratchy it’s often easier for me to take my wolf form and just curl up on the bed rather than sleep inside it.
They don’t know how much time I spend taking solace in my animal self. It’s frowned upon to do it publicly, but when I am alone, I like to melt into my simpler brain. I sleep better. My appetite is better. The academy meals actually seem tasty. And I don’t feel as lonely.
But I’m done with being a wolf for now. Now I’m turning my attention to appropriate attire for a city visit. We’re allowed to have a certain amount of street clothing, and I’ve pushed that limit the same way I push all the limits. It’s pretty impressive given the fact that I have no money.
I look out my window, checking out the guard configurations for the day. They like to switch them up, but I can always tell. The academy has a pulse, and I know it as well as I know any part of my body. This place formed me.
My window overlooks the rear of the grounds. Basically, the academy is a big square building with a courtyard in the middle. There’s the main tower at the front middle, then four other erections at each corner. A center courtyard is where most of the training takes place. From where I am, I can see guards walking the parapets, as well as down on the ground at the gates. It’s a light number, which makes sense. Nobody has attacked the academy since I’ve been here. The guards working now are students who are practicing for one day walking in circles at the palace.
The academy is located at the edge of the city, near the royal palace, in an area where people can’t afford to live unless they’re very powerful and corrupt. It’s a little weird, growing up as a glorified servant amid this much wealth.
That’s another thing I can’t say out loud. The kids who sign up for the King’s Guard believe in it fervently. They take pride in their training and their service. They bow when they pass the king’s portrait. There’s one hanging in this room, though I’ve slung a bra over his face. I don’t like the way he looks at me.
They have several different portraits of the king around the place. There’s the coronation one, which is the most common one. Then there’s the green one, where he’s wearing green, and the red one… again, another thing I can’t say is that I don’t care for them. Any of them. I think it’s weird to have someone’s face plastered everywhere, even if your whole life is technically dedicated to protecting and serving them.
Most of the guys in the academy are going to take some rank in the King’s Guard. Some of them will be grunts, but others will be his own personal attendants. It’s all very prestigious and exciting for everybody. I’m over it. I don’t have the same kind of purpose they do. Sometimes the director of the academy, Madame Kier, makes some reference to me becoming an instructor when I’m older, but I’m widely regarded as such a bad influence that’d never fly.
By now I’m dressed and ready to go. But it’s not just a matter of walking out the front door. I’m not sure I’ve actually used the front door in years. Do I still know how to use a door? Better not risk it, and go out the window. Windows are just doors wearing see-through clothes, if you ask me. I wrote an essay on that once. Got detention, but it was worth it.
I’m not allowed in the city at all really, not without special permission, but it’s sort of an open secret that I sneak out. Can’t change the rules; that would make them look weak, and it would mean they couldn’t enforce them when they decided they felt like it after all.
Sometimes, when you’re dealing with an institution that is all about rules, people get used to the rules being broken regularly and looking the other way. There are rules that are real rules, and rules that are more like guidelines, and other rules that only exist when someone needs them to.
The official reason I’m not allowed in the city without a leave slip is because it’s not safe. According to the director and general faculty of the academy, Eclipse City is a hive of scum, villainy, and street vendors who are harder and more dangerous than either of the previous two groups.
Also, I haven’t been given a leave slip in years, because I keep sneaking out. Chicken or egg? Anyway, I don’t care. I know dozens of ways out of the academy, and I find more every time they patch one of the exploits I’ve found. Sometimes I think they tolerate me because I’m a one-woman security assessment.
I slip down from my window, shimmy down brickwork, drains, ledges, gargoyles, and other bits and pieces that people inevitably attach to buildings. Then I drop the ten feet or so to the ground and roll into a bush that they should really get rid of. I’ve always wondered why people plant out secure areas. You need to be able to see what’s going on. I’d bring it up with the faculty, but that would just make my life harder.
I crawl out from the hole under the wall. It’s a tight fit, but I make it out. The back of the academy faces onto the river that runs through Eclipse. The Avon River is big and polluted and contains a unique ecosystem of fish that you absolutely should never eat. But it is useful for floating things down, so there are always boats and sometimes people paddling around. Or floating face down, if it’s a particularly bad day. Which it often is.
In spite of all the many reasons not to do what I’m doing, I’m not afraid of anything in the city. That’s because I’m a hero.
Nobody knows it yet, but it’s just a matter of time until they do.
I’ve always had that feeling that I was special. Some people say I’m just weird because I’m basically an orphan who was raised in an institution that wasn’t set up for it so I’ve never been parented and therefore have a contentious relationship with authority, but special is easier and quicker to spell.
Now that I’m out of the academy proper, I head into the city. It’s quite a bit of a walk, because I don’t intend to spend the little cash I have on a ride service. My legs work just fine. Plus it’s not like I am in a hurry. I’ve got the whole day to myself.
I sneak down the river a ways, moving through what remains of the rushes, and then into the city proper. I go up fire stairs and onto the roofs of the nearby buildings. I have to be careful here, because there’s a lot of academy surveillance around. The more I move away from the castle and the academy and into the more commercial areas of town, the safer I feel.
I like to think I blend in with the locals in a way most academy students don’t. A lot of the time they go in wearing their uniforms, because they’re proud of them. And half the time, even if they’re in casual dress, you can still pick them out a mile away because of their short haircuts.
My hair hasn’t been cut short; it sits asymmetrically around shoulder length. They let me get away with that because I can tie it up. Because I’ve been sneaking into the city since I was about seven years old, I’ve developed a sense of style, kind of a mish-mash of various street trends. I don’t want to be too easily identifiable as one thing or another. I also want to be able to get away quickly if I need to, and I need something that hides my weapons.
That means I’m wearing tactical pants, which are not uncommon in Eclipse. Everybody here needs a lot of pockets, including some long enough to put an entire bottle of wine in. Ask me how I know.
I’m also wearing an oversized jacket with a hood that extends far enough out to hide my face from surveillance drones and hardwired cameras. Eclipse City rule #1: Don’t Look Up.
Unless you want to be immediately fed into a network of machines and databases that will track your every move, of course.
My favorite thing to do in the city is steal. That sounds bad, but everybody does it, and it’s pretty much a pastime at this point. Nile drones deliver cargo throughout Eclipse. If they don’t get to their delivery target on time, or at all, the customer gets a full refund and a re-delivery. So people don’t even mind when the drones are attacked.
The Nile Corporation minds quite a lot, of course. That’s why their delivery drones are now always flanked with armored offensive drones.
I spot a small airborne contingent of three. One decent-sized delivery drone, and two guard drones. They’re traveling low over the city, and they haven’t spotted me. I guess there haven’t been too many raids on the drones lately. It costs a lot more to have deliveries escorted. Anyway. Their mistake.
I pull my sidearm. Contraband at the academy, but mandatory for self-defense in the city. It’s a purple electric bolt unit with the capacity to drop a grown man, and completely fry the circuitry of any given drone.
I snug my mask up over my face, take aim, and fire.
The satisfaction of seeing a drone lose control and slam into a city building is honestly impossible to describe. The way they sort of cartwheel across the top of the concrete roofs, spitting bits of plastic and circuitry as they go, and dropping packages everywhere is great.
This time, though, I’ve fucked things up a bit. Instead of the drone crashing on the roof, it loses altitude a little too fast and smashes into the wall of the building, showering the ground below with all kinds of goodies. Looks like it was carrying a whole bunch of snacks. Delicious.
I poke my head over the edge of the building and watch as down below, a bunch of people without homes, or ways to get homes, scrabble for the contents of the drone.
It’s very hero coded, really. Very Robin Hood. Very stealing from the monolith and giving to the masses. I’m proud of myself.
‘Target Acquired’
A bolt shoots past my head as one of the two guard drones that was with the packages locks onto me. I let out a little squeal of excitement and start running. I’d almost forgotten about this part of the game. The part where the Nile is actually authorized to kill me now because theft and looting are punishable by death.
I’m not worried. Drones are actually easy to lose because there are all sorts of limitations on where they can go. They can’t go into private residences, and they don’t operate well in confined spaces. Their rotors get all messed up by the air currents and they have a tendency to crash.
I rush for the fire escape and half-tumble, half-slide down it, looking for an interior window that’s open.
Pew! Pew!
The glass next to my head smashes, giving me the opening I was looking for. I throw myself into what proves to be someone’s kitchen.
A woman screams.
“Log a support ticket!” I cry out. “It’s a Nile drone!”
More fire is being sprayed through the window, smashing cups and saucers and various other homewares. The AI should know not to open fire in enclosed domestic spaces, but drones are fucking stupid.
This opinion is reinforced a moment later when the bolt ricochets off the window somehow and ends up hitting the drone. It crashes into the stairs and proceeds to burst into flames.
I’m already at the apartment door when that happens.
“I’m so sorry! You’re definitely going to be eligible for compensation!”
I hit the landing outside and go down the stairs. There’s a chance the other drone will be waiting for me outside, so I once again opt for the back exit. That leads into an alley pretty full of trash, and a wall, which I vault over.
The other side turns out to be a drop that’s a lot further than I thought it was. Eclipse wasn’t built on flat land. It’s sort of undulating in its geography and occasionally that means ground level on one side of a wall isn’t ground level on the other side.
I am falling a lot further than I intended to. Not far enough to die, probably, but far enough to give me time to think about how badly I’ve fucked up.
Fortunately, I don’t take the brunt of the impact alone. Instead, I find myself cannonballing into the torso of a guy big enough to break my fall perfectly. I hit hard flesh softened by clothing and cape. He’s got to be wearing light armor, or maybe he’s just got a softer build over harder muscle. Whatever it is, he’s about three times my size. I hit him at an angle, knocking him onto his ass as he reflexively catches me.
“Thank you,” I say, getting up to run. I’ve lost the drone, but it won’t hurt to put some distance between me and it, just in case it circles around the building and picks me up again.
“Watch where you’re going, boy!”
I swing around because my arm has been caught by the guy who seems to have a problem with what just happened. This means I have to look at him properly.
He’s tall, broad, and he has the kind of handsomeness you see in violent men. Something about the construction of his face is nature’s way of telling everybody who looks at him that he’s capable of being incredibly dangerous. It’s in the square set of his jaw, the thickness of his brow, the way his cheekbones are high and flat as if made to deflect blows.
More superficially, he has well-cut, mid-length dark russet hair that is just starting to blond and gray at his temples. Matched with flashing green eyes, he’s a very striking man. He looks faintly familiar for some reason, too. Like I’ve maybe run into him before, or stolen from him before, or…
He’s narrowing those eyes at me too, as we share a mutual silent moment of wondering if we know each other from somewhere. I don’t think so, though. I might have done a crime to him at some point, but he’s way too old for me to know him socially. He’s got to be more than twice my age.
He’s also more than twice my size, which makes his mistake make sense. He’s huge, and he’s used to being huge. Mature males are bigger than females by a long way, but I bet he’s so used to towering over other men he’s immediately not even thinking I could be a woman. Instead, he thinks I’m just a young guy.
I’m used to being mistaken for a boy, even when I’m not in disguise one way or another. Right now I could definitely pass for a boy.
It’s even possible I’ve picked up a lot of male mannerisms over the years. I’m surrounded by guys at the academy. Most of the faculty are male, too. The King’s Guard doesn’t explicitly ban women from joining; it just suggests they might like to do something else instead, like have a nice little lie down.
Of course, every rule has an exception, and I’m proof that they take girls under very specific circumstances, when nobody else can, or will, and when the girl has certain talents, traits, or bloodlines.
But most of the time, girls aren’t abandoned by their families. If they’re orphaned, someone else generally takes them in, or they’re raised by another family who wants them to be a wife for one of their sons one day.
I was lucky. Nobody wanted me.
That does mean I’m pretty much treated like one of the guys, because nobody there has any idea how to treat a girl, and even if they did know how to treat a girl, I wouldn’t want them to. I’ve heard the way they talk about women. It’s enough to make my skin crawl.
All this means I’m not scared of this guy, and I’m definitely not going to correct him. My hood is still up, and my mask is still on. As long as those elements stay in place, I’ll be safe enough.
“I didn’t mean to bump into you. I just didn’t see you there. Chill.”
“Chill?” He rumbles the word like it’s a deadly insult.
“Yeah. It means relax, old man. Don’t freak out.”
“I am not freaking out, you little shit,” he growls. “You need a lesson in manners.”
“Oh, yeah? Who is going to give me one?”
What he doesn’t know about me, aside from the fact that I’m a girl, is the other fact—I love a good argument. Sure, I could apologize, but fuck that. I don’t like his tone, so I can’t resist mouthing off to him.
He is incredibly hot, though. Those brilliant eyes, that hair, the clothes that look expensive, but not flashy.
His clothes aren’t what get my attention, though. He has a face card that a lot of girls I know—all two of them—would almost certainly want to collect. I can’t drag my eyes away from him, his annoyed expression set on a face that is all jaw and cheekbones and brows that are well-shaped, and the slightly arrogant flare of his nostrils. I don’t know what the hell I am doing, but it feels like I’m trying to imprint his image on my mind.
I have to remind myself that hot does not equal good. His attractiveness means nothing if he’s the sort of person who thinks threatening people half his size on the street is some kind of flex.
He looks down at my hip. “Is that a real sword, or a costume prop?”
“It’s real,” I tell him. “And I know how to use it.”
He has no fucking idea how well I know how to use it.
“I’ll teach you a damn good lesson,” he growls. “We will duel, you and I, and you’ll learn your lesson thoroughly, the hard way. You strike me as the type to need harsh teaching.”
“A duel?” I repeat the words, because that’s old-fashioned as hell, not to mention highly illegal. When the various military academies were established, cadets and soldiers used to duel between schools all the time. It was banned because of the deaths and stuff, and because it was technically murder, though people argued that it wasn’t murder if you agreed to be murdered, and they had a point.
He nods. “I’ll teach you a lesson you won’t soon forget, whelp. Meet me outside the St. Michel Monastery at noon.”
“Noon,” I nod. “Fine. See you then.”
I go on my way, now in even more of a hurry thanks to him. He’s going to find himself on the wrong end of my saber, of that I am certain.
[divider]
Having gotten out of his way and put some distance between us, I stop to figure out what I’m going to do now. Midday is about an hour away. Maybe I should get something to eat. I might need the calories for kicking that guy’s ass.
Actually, I should check my weapons. I should make sure my saber is sharp. It’s been a while since I tried to actually use it for real fighting. I avoid doing that, because people get seriously hurt when you hit them with sharp metal. Unfortunately for hot, mean street guy, I’ve had no shortage of practice with blunted weapons.
I decide to head to the unofficial weapons merchant. There’s always someone who can alter weapons there. Usually some disenchanted, disenfranchised ex-military guy who loves weaponry more than he loves anything.
Or his kid.
Today it’s his kid. Thank God.
Jory, the weapon-smith’s kid, has been my friend since we met outside the academy years ago. He was an apprentice then, and I was a shitty little kid who kept begging him for the swords he was practicing making. He’s one of the few really good friends I have outside the academy, which is why I walk right up to him at the counter even though there’s a small crowd in the shop.
“I need my sword sharpened,” I tell him. “Gotta kill…”
“Excuse me.” Someone taps my shoulder rather sharply.
“What?”
“I was next in line.”
I turn around and look at the man up and down. He’s got long dark hair, blue eyes, and a thick beard. He’s conventionally, classically attractive and he has that smugness that attractive men have about them. I’m not impressed. I already met a very attractive older man today, and meeting one for the second time isn’t as impactful as the first. Or maybe it is.
I don’t know what’s going on with me today. Am I ovulating?
This man is close to the age of the other guy I ran into today, but not quite as old. Probably thirties or something? I don’t know. I’m not standing here doing a deep age analysis of a complete stranger. I have to stop being so impressed by attractive strangers. It’s not usually a problem for me.
“I was next in line.” I repeat his words in a mocking tone. Not the most mature response, but he sounds kind of childish complaining about his place anyway. “I won’t be long. I just need to get this sharpened.”
He quirks a brow at me. “I don’t care what you need. It’s not your turn.”
“It is, actually,” I start to say. I’m about to throw my jacket open and reveal the fact that I’m female, and ladies always go first—but I don’t get the chance.
“Oh, I see. Another spoiled city kid desperate for a lesson he doesn’t know he needs to learn.”
I cast a glance over at Jory, who doesn’t look happy about this because I’m making a scene in his place of business.
“Don’t,” Jory whispers to me. “That’s Rafael.”
He says the name like there’s weight to it, like I’m supposed to know who he is talking about.
“Who?” I squint my eyes and look back at the guy. I’ve never heard of any Rafael. Probably because I don’t know a lot of actual criminals. As much as I like to slum it on occasion, I’m still pretty insulated from the worst parts of Eclipse. Even at the weapon-smith, I shouldn’t really be meeting anybody actually bad. That makes me think this guy, whoever he is, is just acting like he’s impressive.
He takes my question as the insult I intend it to be. At first he smirks, but then he narrows his eyes at me and speaks in low, menacing tones that don’t quite go all the way through the words. It’s like he wants to be intimidating, but he can’t quite bring himself to fully invest in the moment.
“Meet me outside the monastery at one o’clock, and bring a body bag.”
“Bring your own,” I shoot back.
He turns on his heel and leaves, giving me the last word, which is satisfying as hell.
“Just a sharpen, please, sir,” I say to Jory. “Sounds like I’m really going to need it.”
He arches a brow at me and shakes his head.
“You just made quite an enemy,” he says. “I’ll let you leave out the back once I have this sharp, in case he’s waiting out front for you.”
“Don’t tell him anything about me,” I say as I hand my sword over.
“There’s not a chance I’ll be saying a word. I’ll be denying having any idea who you are, Darcy. Girl, you have got to start being more careful. Eclipse City isn’t at all like the academy. You’re not going to get special treatment everywhere.”
“Well, that’s insulting,” I pout at him.
“It’s not insulting. It’s just true. You get spoiled at that academy, and here. I worry about you, Darce. One day you’re going to realize you can’t always get away with everything.”
“I’ll let you know if that happens.”
Jory rolls his eyes and sets about sharpening my sword for me. While he works, I sit out back by the forge and think about the day I’ve had, and the day yet to come.
That’s two duels.
Somehow I’ve managed to live twenty years without ever being in a duel, and now I am going to be in two in a single day. That’s how life works, isn’t it. When it rains, it absolutely pours. Doesn’t matter. I can kill the first guy at midday and have a good fifty-minute nap before the next one shows up to be dispatched.
King’s guards are trained to kill. I’ve never actually killed anybody before, but I’ve always known it was only a matter of time before I did. Because of how I entered the academy, I have been trained to fight since I was old enough to hold a sword. Most recruits don’t start until their teens, but most recruits don’t have the fortune of dead parents.
I glance at my watch. I’ve got some time before I have to take a life for the first time, so that’s good.
“Alright. It’s sharp.”
I reach for the sword, but Jory holds it out of my reach, his muscles gleaming in a sweaty blacksmith sort of way.
“What are you doing?”
“Promise me you’re not going to actually go to that duel,” he says. “Go back to the academy. You’ve made enough trouble for one day.”
“I promise,” I lie.
“You’re such a bad liar.” He calls me out right away, but he gives me the sword. “I want you alive, Darcy.”
“Nothing bad is going to happen to me,” I promise him. “I’m careful.”
“No. You’re not. Seriously. Don’t go fight that guy. He’s the best swordsman in the city. They say he’s a…” he lowers his voice, “terrorist.”
Jory has always been exposed to people I’m not because he handles a lot of weapons and the sort of people who need weapons are the sort of people who use them. But that guy I just met looks more like a model than a violent criminal. Besides, he was kind of sassy about it. If he was really a piece of shit, he could have just punched me in the face. He didn’t. So it’s probably fine.
“Okay. Thanks, Jory. See you next time.”
“No payment then? No. Of course not,” he smirks. “Get out of here.”
I go, heading into the back alleys. I’m a little concerned by Jory’s warnings, but then I remember that he has always been the sort to freak out about stuff when he doesn’t really have to.
Besides, he hasn’t seen me running drills lately. I’m not being arrogant when I say I am one of the best in the academy. I’ve literally trained my whole life with a sword. I’ll be fine, and two big, arrogant older men are going to learn not to bully what they think are smaller, younger guys.
I decide to get something to eat. I’ll need my strength for kicking ass later. Sushi is always a good choice, so I head through the streets toward my favorite place. Eclipse is buzzing, like always. I dart through the crowd, moving at a pretty decent pace.
There’s a line for sushi, of course, and this time I don’t know the person selling it, so I content myself with the notion I’m going to have to wait.
I notice that there’s a guy nearby, waiting for something or someone. He’s just casually holding up a wall, leaning against it in a way that makes him look hot.
Okay. I’ve got to be ovulating. Super ovulating.
I’m used to guys. The academy is absolutely full of them. They’re everywhere. Until very recently, like, today, I was starting to think I was pretty much immune to them. Couldn’t muster interest in them no matter how attractive they were. Now I’ve met two hot men today—maybe I’m just into older guys? And this guy? This guy makes me feel the most different of all.
He’s younger than the other two I’ve run into, maybe a few years older than me. He has thick, blond hair to his shoulders—do I just like muscular men with long hair? That could be it. Don’t see any of that in the academy. His features are hawkish, sharp, and refined. He’s dressed in fine clothes, so expensively cut I am pretty sure he’s a prince of some kind. He just has that regal kind of look to him. Every bit of fabric on his body is tailored to those powerful long lines.
He catches me looking at him and flickers a wink at me. I try not to smile back, but fail as a hot flush rushes through me.
I go over there, though I know I shouldn’t. Something about this guy tells me that he is trouble. Good guys don’t wear devilish smirks like the one that spreads over his face as he realizes I’m coming to talk to him.
“Are you Yoki?”
Shit. The way my heart plummets when I realize he’s only smiling at me because he thinks I’m someone he’s waiting for is bad. I keep forgetting I’m dressed like a guy basically. I’m definitely not presenting myself like one of the many hot city girls milling around this area. I’m jealous of the way they don’t have to worry about displaying their bodies. There are high heels, short skirts, and crop tops everywhere right now. What the hell was I thinking, imagining even for a second he’d be into me.
“Yes,” I answer. I don’t know why I lie, I just know that I want to say yes to this man in general. He’s tall and magnetic, and even with my neck craned to make eye contact with him, looking at him is incredibly rewarding.
A knife flashes under my eyes. “What’s the password, Yoki?”
Holy shit. The hot pretty boy just pulled a knife on me.
“I’m hoping that you’re joking,” I stammer, taking a step back. Not because of the knife, but because of the intensity of his expression and tone. This is a guy who wants to do damage. He looks like an angel, but he’s got the heart of a devil.
“You’re not who I’m waiting for,” he says flatly.
“No. Well. I might be,” I smirk. Then I remember again that I keep getting mistaken for a guy today, and that’s probably part of why he’s giving me a flat kind of expression. These are some crossed wires I have no intention of trying to untangle. It’s way too much to explain, and there’s a crowd around.
“What does that mean?” he asks.
“It doesn’t mean anything.”
“Are you trying to proposition me?”
I have to save face, and quick. “Sorry,” I say, mentally scrambling for a good excuse for this. “I thought you were for sale.”
Right. Good. Call him a hooker. That will sort this whole problem out right away. Sometimes I really don’t know what I am going to say until I have said it. This is one of those times, and it is very much not a good thing.
His head goes up and back, and he looks down his nose at me with an expression that denotes surprise.
“Are you trying to get yourself killed where you stand?”
“No,” I say. I’m edging toward the crowd, hoping to join it and be swept away from him and this awkward interaction.
“You’ll meet your fate at two o’clock, outside the ruins of the monastery, if you have any honor at all!” he calls to me just as I slip into a gaggle of tourists talking about going to the castle.
Alright. Three duels. This last one is the only one I feel bad about, and it’s because it’s the only one where I feel like I came across as an awkward creep trying to buy sex from a stranger. Hopefully I can kill the other two long before my appointed duel time with him comes. I’ll be at the academy having an afternoon bath before I see him again. How fucking embarrassing.
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