Haven (War of the Princes) (13 page)

           
“I’ll handle this. Resume your duties,” he ordered.
  

           
The men, older though they were, nodded respectfully before promptly marching out.
 
The girl hesitated with uncertainty.

           
“Rosie,” he addressed with a disarming smile. “She’s fine. I promise. Trust me.”

           
I could instantly see his affect on her. She cast her long lashed eyes downward in response to his attention. Pink rushed to her cheeks. It was clear why they called her Rosie. “Yes Lord Axton.”

           
She backed clumsily away, and I vowed not to be affected by this Axton in any such way, despite his ethereal beauty. He was one of my captors.

I glared at him unabashedly from my position against the railing.

           
“Come inside,” he asked, rather than ordered. “It’s gusty out there. You could catch cold, or the rail could fail and send you down into that water, and let me tell you, there’s a frightful undertow beside the keep. Trust me, I’ve tried to swim it.”

           
“Trust me?” I asked uneasily. “Is that your trademark?”

           
He cocked his head with a quizzical expression.

           
“You’ve already said it twice in a span of three minutes. I’m pretty sure that Rosie would trust anything that you’d say, but why should I?” I told him, and a smile broke across his face.

           
“Suit yourself. I just hope you’re a good enough diver to make the fall and a good enough swimmer to get out of that undertow,” he said, languidly seating himself in a chair just within the room, beside the wide open door.

           
The exit was tempting and daunting. How could I get past him?

           
I wanted to resist. I wanted to do the opposite of whatever he told me. But the truth was, it was cold, and while the heights didn’t bother me, the wind
was
strong. I didn’t want to find out if the railing actually would break. I kept my chin up and sidled into the room with my back to the wall, keeping as far away from him as I could. He quirked an eyebrow and gave me an incredulous look, as though I was overreacting.

           
“I thought you might like an upgrade,” he said, clearly referring to the cell I was tossed into early that morning.

           
“Where are my clothes?” I demanded with quiet embarrassment.

           
“The nurse changed you. We didn’t think you’d be comfortable sleeping in the ones you were wearing. They were wet.
No
, I had nothing to do with dressing you, gentleman’s honor. Did you sleep well? This is my favorite guest room,” something about the casual tone of his voice began to infuriate me.

           
“What do you want from me?”

           
“Me? I just thought you’d like a nicer place to stay,” he said innocently.

           
“Why am I a prisoner?”

           
“Prisoner? No, you aren’t a prisoner. Not anymore. You’re my guest. Just don’t try to leave Breakwater and you can have as many freedoms as you’d like. And there’s no better place to stay-”

           
“Trust you?” I scoffed, finishing for him.

           
“Listen,” he said, leaning back with one elbow atop his chair. “We’ve gotten off on the wrong foot. Let’s start over shall we? I’m-”

           
“Axton,” I interrupted again, trying my best to look unimpressed. I didn’t like it, but in truth, it was getting harder and harder not to stare at him.

           
“
Dylan
,” he corrected me with a smile that was gentle enough to be the most charming smile I’d ever seen. “Dylan Axton. You trust people when you know them right? I’m the second son of the late Vance Axton, Common-Lord of Breakwater. My father died four years ago in the line of duty for the Breakwater Militia. My older brother Brendon is the Common-Lord now, but since he and the others are out in the field fighting
Lurchers
, I’ve taken up his duties. Red is my favorite color, I despise green beans with all of my heart and soul, and I’m unusually good at learning card games but I almost never win.”

           
I had a feeling this Dylan Axton didn’t need to win at cards to get what he wanted. He was as charismatic as he was good looking.

           
When I didn’t comment or reply, he asked, “What’s your name?”

           
I didn’t answer. I’m not sure why. I had no idea how calm or afraid I should have been. It might have done no harm to tell him my name, but I didn’t.

           
“I want to go home,” was my response.

           
“Well maybe I can help you do that,” he said smoothly. “Where are you from?”

           
My lips stayed closed. Sharing-time was over as soon as they tied me up and threw me in a cell. No points for diplomacy.

           
“I’m trying to help you here,” he persisted, breaking the silence.

           
“Just let me go,” I implored him, fighting to keep my emotions from spilling out of my tear ducts. It was all I wanted. No questions, no words, just a way out.

           
“I can’t do that,” he said apologetically, and the open sincerity on his face made me want to believe him. “I’m sorry. We’re at war overseas. You’re a very big security risk. Now it’s plain as day to me that you aren’t a spy. Seems ridiculous to send a
spy
to a place as backwater as Breakwater, and even if they did, you aren’t it. As long as I’m here, you won’t be treated as a prisoner, but it is important that we know who you are and where you are from so that we
can
let you go.”

           
He sounded like he was telling the truth. As little as I knew about the outside world, I felt compelled to sympathize with him. But perhaps for the first time, I truly took the message over the aquamarine pool to heart: DON’T LET THEM IN. Could it have meant the monsters in the dark, or the people of this town? I couldn’t bring myself to tell him anything.

           
“Won’t you at least tell me your name?” he asked, locking eyes meaningfully with mine. With the distance between us I couldn’t tell what color they were, but it was evident that they weren’t silver like mine and everyone else’s in Haven Valley.

There was a delicacy about how he looked at me, gentle, disarming, and just personal enough to make me feel unreasonably flattered.

           
Try as I might, I couldn’t hold his gaze, and like the other girl before, I found myself studying the floor tiles.

           
He sighed. “Shy it is.”

           
I understood that they wouldn’t let me leave. I’d have to try to find a way to escape, but for now I had another very pressing question.

           
“Are you hungry?” Dylan inquired, gesturing to the tray of covered food on the opposite side of the open door.

           
My feet were beginning to feel sore and chill from the hard stone floor and my stomach grumbled a bit, but I ignored his question and served him my own.

           
“Is Rune alive?”

           
He gave me a long measured stare that appeared very subtly disappointed. “Yes,” he answered.

           
Relief flowed through me and I could feel myself breath a little easier. It may have been stupid to feel that I had a friendship with Rune. I hardly knew him better than “Young Lord Axton,” but Rune was the one who got me into this mess. He was the one whose life had so recently depended on me. He mattered.
 

           
“Can I see him?” I asked, forcing myself to meet his gaze. This time I didn’t allow myself to be swayed by his unparalleled beauty. There was a shrewdness to Axton’s eyes, and I focused on that so I wouldn’t be distracted by the rest of him.

           
“I told you,” he said, appearing amiable. “You’re my guest.”

           
The answer wasn’t enough for me. I waited.

           
“Yes, you can see him,” he elaborated. Then, at last, there came the catch. “The thing is, for security reasons, someone has to be with you whenever you’re outside of this room. Since you’re my guest, I’d like that person to be me, whenever possible.” Dylan gave me a smile that almost made my knees turn to jelly. “Besides, you’ll need a tour guide around town. Do you mind if I take up that post?”

           
“No, I don’t mind,” I answered with grudging resignation, barely able to get my voice working.

           
“Excellent!” he said cheerfully, hopping from the chair to his feet. “We’ll go to see the Dragoon. But first, why don’t you put on something warmer. The days have been hot, but the nights are getting colder.”

           
“How long was I asleep?” I wondered aloud, glancing outside for some hint of the time.

           
“Thirteen hours, and I must admit I’m impressed,” he said with apparent admiration.

           
“Thirteen hours?” I exclaimed. I’d been known to sleep in for ten at best after a long couple of days, but thirteen was pushing it, even for me. I realized that I may have been guilty of trying
not
to wake up. After doing the math, it made sense. I’d been tossed into the dungeons sometime around dawn. It just sounded like such a long time to spend sleeping, especially under my circumstances.

           
“I made preparations for clothes that looked about your size. They’re in the armoire,” Dylan nodded over at the hefty wooden thing on one side of the room. “I’ll be just outside when you’re ready.”

           
He slipped out of the room, closing the door behind him.

           
I sighed heavily and slumped against the wall where I had been standing. I wasn’t swooning over Dylan, I was just wound up tight with confusion and the ever present longing to be home. It was tiring, even for a girl who had gotten thirteen hours of rest.

           
The dark wood armoire was overstuffed with clothes, as promised. I avoided the feminine looking garments in favor of the practical ones, choosing a grey pair of trousers, a pale orange shirt with long sleeves and the meanest pair of boots I could find among the slippers and sandals. I didn’t know if I’d get a chance to escape, but if I did, I’d better have some good all-terrain shoes.

           
There was a mirror on the armoire’s inner door, and an assortment of brushes, combs, ribbons and bands. I brushed my hair as quickly as I could without tearing it out, and secured it in a ponytail with a simple rubber band.

           
That being done, I stole a corner of bread from my food tray, ate it, and left the unfamiliar morsels where they sat. It’d have to hold me for the time being.

           
When I took a deep breath and left my plush “guest” room, the first thing Dylan had to say to me was, “Interesting choice of colors.”

*
         
*
         
*

           
Breakwater Keep was much larger on the inside than it had looked from the outside. My room was on the highest floor, along with the Axton’s private chambers, studies, meeting hall, and observatory. We passed a few of those doors, and Dylan cheerfully explained the purpose of each one.

           
I got more than one strange look from the people we passed and I caught a few disapproving glances from militia guards. Dylan was oblivious. He led me straight down the very broad sets of stairways all the way to the ground floor and through a side passage filled with bright windows opening to views of the water around the keep, a long silvery white beach, and the clusters of cottages beyond.

           
It was obvious by the smell of alcohol and herbs that we had made our way to the medical wing, and I was grateful for fresh air that the windows allowed to circulate.

           
The main waiting room was filled with squat armchairs on one side and long desks cluttered with papers and books on the other. Huddled over these desks were two old men and one middle-aged woman. They all wore dull green uniforms.

           
“Good evening doctors,” Dylan said with familiarity, alerting them to his entrance.

           
“Young Lord Axton,” one of the old men said, peeping at them from behind spectacles. “What a pleasant surprise. What brings you here? Furthering your studies?”

“Not today, Brambles. My friend Shy here would like to visit the Dragoon,” Dylan replied, and they all looked at me with utterly perplexed expressions.

The middle-aged woman stared at me with the deepest intensity. Her brown skin was smooth and mostly clear of wrinkles, if it weren’t for strongly intermingled grey hairs, I would have thought her in her early thirties.