A Shield I Didn't Ask For

Natalia

My eyes flew wide, and a joyful cry nearly escaped my lips. I wanted to surge forward, to run to her and throw my arms around her, but I was frozen in place. Morgan was being hustled along by a group of men in starkly unfamiliar uniforms, her wrists bound in shackles before her. They were not Ruen’s palace guards. My heart began to hammer against my ribs like a trapped bird, and I ducked back into the concealing darkness. They passed, but I did not follow. I fled. Abandoning any thought of hiding, I raced as fast as my dirt-stained gown would permit, heading for my bedchamber with the desperate hope that Viktor would be there.

In my haste, I nearly trampled Jace.

"Jace!" I gasped, stumbling over him and crashing to the floor. I threw my hands out to catch myself, scraping my palms raw against the cold stone.

"Lady Natalia! Where have you been?" he cried, his eyes wide with alarm and glistening with tears.

"There's no time for that! We have a serious problem!" I scrambled to my feet, grabbing his small hand and pulling him along with me. "Jace, I need you to listen to me and stay with me, do you understand?"

"What's wrong?"

"It's my friend, Morgan. She's with men who aren't our guards, and her hands are tied. She swore to me she would never come back here." I burst through the doors to our chambers, but they were vacant. Of course. The ball would have started by now. The ballroom was on the other side of the castle. "Shoot."

Jace and I ran, the echo of our frantic footsteps bouncing down the empty corridors. After what felt like an eternity, but was likely a full ten minutes, we reached the wing that housed the ballroom. Just as we were about to round the final corner, I held a finger to my lips and pulled Jace back. Peeking around the edge of the wall, I saw them. Two foreign soldiers stood guard at the ballroom entrance. What were we going to do?

Then, an idea, born from dozens of classic films devoured in my childhood, sparked in my mind. A slow smile spread across my face. I hastily twisted my unkempt hair into a makeshift bun and did my best to dust off my gown, attempting to project some semblance of royal authority. I knelt beside Jace.

"Jace," I whispered, "I need you to be my element of surprise." He nodded, his expression grimly resolved. I stood, smoothed back his hair, and straightened his clothes. "Hide behind my skirt," I instructed.

Lifting my chin and straightening my posture, I rounded the corner as if I owned the very stones beneath my feet. The guards were stunned at the sight of me.

"How did you get out?" one demanded.

"Out?" I feigned bewilderment, my voice dripping with aristocratic hauteur. "I'm afraid I don't know what you mean. I simply stepped out of the ballroom to have a word with the palace cook. I have several allergies, you see."

One of the guards rolled his eyes and seized my arm. "Come on, Your Majesty."

"What are you doing? What is the meaning of this?" I cried, letting genuine terror bleed into my voice.

"Just cooperate." As the other guard moved in to assist his comrade, I saw my chance.

"Now!" I screamed.

I stomped down on the first guard's instep with all my weight, slammed my fist into his face, and drove my knee into his gut. As he doubled over, I kicked him squarely in the back of the head. I prayed fervently that I hadn't killed him. When I turned to face the second guard, he was already on the ground, with Jace standing over him, the boy's knife gleaming in his hand.

"Where did that come from?" I asked, startled.

Jace just glanced at me before dropping his eyes to the floor. There was no time to press the issue. We carefully pushed open the massive ballroom doors and slipped inside, taking cover behind the large, elaborate buffet table. The room was unnervingly silent. I peered over a soup tureen to see what held everyone's attention.

My blood turned to ice. On the dais, Viktor was on his knees, two crossed swords held to his neck, execution-style. Morgan was up there as well, a man I recognized as King Stefan standing beside her, the point of a knife pressed into her ribs.

They were close to our hiding spot. If I could use the element of surprise, I might be able to save one of them. Might. But I didn't think I had a choice. My mind raced as I bit my lip. I vaguely remembered Viktor once mentioning he was skilled with two swords. If I could just get those swords out of the executioner's hands, Viktor might be able to fight his way out. But Morgan… Morgan couldn't fight. I couldn't leave her to her fate.

"Lady Natalia," a small voice whispered beside me. Jace. I had almost forgotten he was there. "You help the king. I will help your friend."

"No, Jace," I said immediately. "You can't. I won't let you get hurt."

He shook his head, his young face set with a resolve that defied his years. "It does not matter what you say. I will help your friend."

To argue would be to reveal our position.

"Alright," I snapped, then instantly regretted my harsh tone. "Just be careful," I added softly.

Jace gave a single, sharp nod. And together, we ran.

Morgan

King Viktor was kneeling just a few feet from me, two gleaming swords crossed at his throat by King Stefan's executioner. I needed a distraction—any distraction—to give me the opening I needed to use Josias's poison ring on Stefan. Without one, Viktor would be dead in moments.

King Stefan was droning on, pontificating about how long he had awaited this day, how his victory was at hand, and other such nonsense. Why wouldn't he just shut up? Not even one of Natalia's tirades was this long-winded. Wait. Natalia!

She was sprinting across the dance floor toward Viktor, a small boy scrambling frantically to keep up with her! In that single moment of universal astonishment, I acted. I slipped the protective cover from the ring, twisted my hand, and drove the poisoned needle deep into King Stefan's side. He was so fixated on the incoming commotion that he barely registered it. He started to swing at me, but the young boy suddenly launched himself at Stefan's legs, tackling him with surprising force. I seized the opportunity and drove my fist into a man's most vulnerable spot. In a few minutes, King Stefan would be dead.

My attention snapped back to the dais. Natalia had collided with the executioner, who was now sprawled on the floor. In a flash, Viktor was on his feet, the discarded swords in his hands, a whirlwind of lethal steel scything through Stefan's men. We actually had a chance; Stefan had brought only a small contingent into the ballroom.

The young boy, Jace, was suddenly at Natalia’s side. I took a step toward them just as one of the Ethonian soldiers lunged, his sword held high, aimed directly at Natalia. She tried to shield the boy with her body, but he refused her protection. He shoved a startled Natalia out of the way.

Time seemed to slow to a crawl. I screamed. The blade, meant for Natalia, sank deep into the young boy's chest. His eyes widened in shock. He coughed up a mouthful of blood, smiled faintly at Natalia, and his eyes closed as his small body crumpled to the floor.

"JACE!" Natalia's scream was a raw, broken sound that sliced through the din of battle. Oh, no. She was going into shock.

A shadow fell over me. I spun back around. King Stefan was still on his feet. How was he still alive? I ducked as he swung a fist at me. I tried to dance away from his clumsy, pain-fueled attacks, but my luck ran out. He landed a powerful blow to my stomach, and I bent over, gasping for air.

Before he could strike again, a figure slammed into him. Viktor. He delivered a single, vicious punch to the back of Stefan's skull. The man's eyes rolled back in his head as he collapsed. This time, I was sure he was dead. Just then, the grand doors burst open with a resounding crash, and Ruen's royal guards poured into the room. They were battered and bloodied, but they were victorious. Within minutes, the fight was over.

I rushed to Natalia's side. She was holding the boy's body, gently stroking his hair as she gazed at his serene face. I remembered Natalia telling me once that she had always loved children and wanted to name her first son James. My heart ached for her as silent tears traced paths down her cheeks, landing on the dead boy's face like raindrops.

I felt a hand on my shoulder and looked up to see Markus.

"Morgan?" he breathed, relief and disbelief warring on his face. I could only nod. He was limping, with a nasty gash on his forehead. Tearing a strip from the hem of my ruined dress, I began to gently clean the cut.

"You came back," he said softly. I nodded again, dabbing the blood from his brow. He pulled me into a hug, and after a second's hesitation, I slowly, reluctantly, hugged him back. I had thought of him while I was gone, more than I cared to admit. That didn't mean he wasn't infuriating.

My gaze drifted to King Stefan's body, his lies echoing in my mind. I would never tell a soul what he had said. Nothing the devious, evil king had uttered could change the fact that I am Morgan S. Clarke. I looked over at King Viktor, who was now conferring with his general. He couldn't be my half-brother. Stefan had lied.

But even as I denied it, a treacherous part of my subconscious kept replaying the image of the King of Ruen.