“Yeah, baby, of course you can. You’re still my best friend. I’d love to have you there.”
“Okay. Cool. I’ll come then.”
“Great.” He grinned and tugged me along to the openness of the doors, right where everyone would be able to see me. My heart told my lungs to take faster breaths, but they wouldn’t listen. “Wait here a sec.” He dropped my hand and walked forward; I waited in the shadows under the eaves. “Atteeention!” he said, standing straight and tall; a unified clap echoed off the bare walls as the men stomped one foot to the ground, dropping their arms to their sides.
My lips twitched with the urge to laugh at the seriousness on all of their faces.
“Men?” Mike called out. “We have trained hard. We have sweat blood—” he pointed to someone at the back of the room, “—and there have even been some tears. But what you have worked towards is finally here. I present to you, my friend and your future queen—Princess Amara.”
I stepped into the room and it grew bigger as the space from hip height up emptied, each man dropping to one knee, slapping a fist over his heart. And I became smaller, not really sure what to do. “Um, hi.” I waved clumsily, instantly wanting to slap myself.
“At ease, men,” Mike said loudly, then looked at me.
The room crowded again as they stood tall, eyes forward—on me.
With each step Mike took, pacing the floors, addressing the men about the day’s training activities, I tried to step behind him, staying out of sight. I caught the gaze of a few men, who gave a soft nod or a small smile of what I assumed was reassurance. I felt ridiculous, but watching them, the way they responded to Mike’s orders, the way they stood, the very manner of the room, I realised that this was real to them. I’d never really stopped to think about it, but the truth was, I was their future queen. To them it was something regal, something magnificent—to me, it was like someone stole my life and was telling me how to live it. But these guys were here, offering their lives in service of what they believed to be real—to protect something important to a lot of people. I suddenly didn’t feel so ridiculous. I started imagining each one with Lilithian power, wondering what special gift they might have—if any at all.
“Okay.” Mike clapped his hands together. “Break up into groups of six. I want three-on-three sparring.” The room came alive then with the sudden movement of fifty men, and the noise rose up between the mirrors on the walls, bouncing off the hard wood floors, filling the room with more energy than my headache could handle. I rubbed my temples until Mike pulled my hand away. “Come on. Time to meet your Private Guard.”
“Okay.” I half walked, half looked over my shoulder at all the men, dispersed to every corner of the room, lining up sparring mats and grabbing swords from holders on the walls. They all just looked so cool. Like my very own video game, but with real blood. “Are they allowed to cut each other like that?”
Mike looked behind him. “You only get cut if you’re fooling around. These guys are trained to attack and block. They get cut, it’s their own fault.”
My eyes widened in horror.
“Ara, relax. We don’t usually have too many casualties. They spar fair and aim not to cut—for now. That’ll change soon.”
“Oh, okay.”
“And these four, fine men here—” We stopped in a mirrored section at the end of the room, where four men waited in a line; their hands behind their backs, chins slightly lifted, feet set apart, “—are your Private Guard.”
“Hey,” I said, giving a friendly wave, this time not so awkward.
“Men,” Mike said. “I’ll introduce you by name. Step forward as I address you. Ryder.”
The first man marched up, stomping his foot down hard, then clapped his arms to his sides.
“Hi,” I said; he nodded once, looking away quickly.
“Quaid,” Mike said, and the next man came to stand in line with the first; he was shorter than Ryder, but bulkier across the shoulders, with short, shaggy hair and black skin.
I nodded at Quaid when our eyes met for a second before he looked away.
“This guy is Falcon,” Mike announced, and the man took a step toward us; he had a strong jaw, square, covered with a slight brush of sandy stubble, like a broader, more serious version of Mike. I didn’t even bother trying to greet him, because he looked like he’d sooner lecture me than say hello.
When the last man stepped forward and planted his hands behind his back, he smiled at me, winking as he did. He had a cheeky grin, the kind that always got me into trouble, while his shaved hair matched his black eyes perfectly.
“This is Blade.” Mike clapped him on the shoulder.
“Blade?” I said.
The four men turned their heads slightly to look at me.
“I’m sorry—it’s just a strange name,” I stammered.
“It’s a nickname,” Mike said, and all the men cast their eyes forward again.
“Oh, okay.” I looked directly at the last knight. “Why Blade?”
“I know how to handle one pretty well,” Blade said, his English accent knocking a breath of surprise from me.
“So, you’re from England?”
“Once.” He nodded.
“What did you do before you came here?”
“Black Ops.” He grinned, running a hand over his hair. “I was kind of their secret weapon.”
“Hm.” I nodded then turned to Mike. “Way to go, Chief—good team.” I looked back at Blade then. “So, they won’t miss you, will they? At your old job?”
Blade laughed. “Doubt it, Princess. I went a little rogue—had a contract out on me.”
“Contract?”
“Death warrant,” Mike said.
My eyes widened, but I smiled when Blade brushed it off with an ultra cool shrug.
“So, then, what do you mean by you went rogue?”
Mike took me by the arm and led me away from the men. “Not rogue in the way you think, baby. He’s a good guy—follows orders, but not when he deems them unethical.”
I grinned widely. “Exactly the kind of guy we need, then.”
“Right. I hoped you’d say that.” Mike looked back at the guys for a second, lowering his voice. “If I had to pick any one of these men to fight for you, it’d be him.”
“Is he that good?”