Crown of Iron (Book 1 of the Crown Trilogy)

Twelve

The first orange and fuchsia rays of sunlight peek over the horizon when I slip into the stables. I'm not sure when Kyron plans to head out on his secret mission, but I want to be ready when he does. This might be my only chance to get the upper hand on him. I've already wasted two weeks playing by Kyron's rules, allowing his soldiers to jerk me around. And with each of those fruitless days, my father has grown closer to his demise. It's time I take control and put a plan into action.

The smell of livestock and the stomping of hooves greets me as I walk down the row of stalls. Dry hay crunches under each step, making them sound menacing and surer than they really are. I set out on a bold journey weeks ago, ready to face any challenge that came my way. My resolve was set; I would defy my king and march into the Stigian on a rescue mission. Those plans seem harmless in comparison to what I have planned for today.

Selecting a saddle from its hook on the wall, I stop in front of Nortus and hold out an apple. His ebony head appears over the wooden railing, and he presses the bridge of his nose to my forehead.

"Are you feeling up to an adventure today?" I ask him, and he responds by taking the apple from my fingers.

I scratch behind his ear while he chomps away on his treat. Some days, Nortus is the only friendly face I see. He is a constant assurance in a place riddled with uncertainty—a reminder of home. It's like he senses how much I miss my family and he doesn't mind anchoring me to memories of those I love most. Until I arrived at Basecamp, I had not gone a day of my life without seeing at least one of my family members. I miss sword fighting with Rowan, looking at new dresses with Salone, and reading bedtime stories to Ansley. But most of all, I miss my mother—the way she gently corrects me and the sound advice she gives. My duties were my sole focus, causing me to take my family's presence for granted.

Now, my father's horse is the only being tethering me to those I love most.

After securing the saddle onto Nortus' back, I give him a rub along his nose and slip out of his stall.

I need to stay hidden but also appear busy caring for the horses if I'm caught. I take a brush from the nails hammered into the wooden wall and move down the hay-lined row. When I reach the last stall, I remove my uniform jacket and pull my tunic's sleeves to my elbows. The horse inside the fence bats his big brown eyes and snorts.

"Good morning to you, Mr. Samson," I say, opening the gate and stepping inside.

He nuzzles his nose into the side of my neck. I duck in an attempt to step out of his reach. He hasn't given me trouble since that first day. It turns out all the ornery old horse needed was a stern talking to and a few apples. We are now friends.

Samson follows me, continuing his greeting.

I push at his head, saying, "At least buy me dinner first."

Samson bristles and stands tall, ready for what has become our daily routine. I lift the brush and stroke it through his black mane. He and Nortus have become my stress relievers. I stop by the stables or corrals several times a day. It doesn't matter how much I ache or how tired I am, they have a way of making me forget. They shower me with attention and listen while I voice my frustrations. The horses are my tiny reprieve in endless, grueling days.

Not that everything is barked orders and pure intimidation. Up until last night, I thought I was making progress with Kyron's top officers. Although Ulric and Terro handed me over to the farming unit of retired soldiers and their spouses. They occasionally check on me and even ask how I'm coming along. I watch for them when I'm in the gardens, wishing they would stop by and strike up an easygoing conversation. After what I overheard, I'm left questioning the authenticity of the friendships I thought we were building.