Desideria paused before she handed it over. I’t going to be that simple. Not this time. Making sure to keep her expression blank, she broke the blade in half across her thigh before she handed the hilt back to Kara.
Kara’s cheeks turned bright pink as her anger no doubt mounted to a murderous level. The sword had been a coming-of-age gift to her from her own mother when she’d advanced from pupil to master. But that was what happened when you lost. The victor chose whether or not to snap the blade or return it intact. Intact was an act of respectful civility. Snapping it was the ultimate act of punishment and a very personal slap. Since her aunt had insulted her father, she would be ruthless in this. Sentimentality be damned.
My father was a good man. And she’d fight to the death for his honor.
Sheathing her training sword, Desideria headed for the showers while her aunt went the opposite direction. No doubt planning her demise every step of the way.
Better yet, my punishment. She sighed in resignation of what would be coming to her all too soon.
As she reached the door that led to the dressing rooms, she saw her mother step forward from the shadows of the seating area. That made her suck her breath in sharply. Her mother didn’t often attend their training, except to tell them what a massive disappointment they all were and how their skills lagged far behind hers and her sisters’ when they’d been their ages.
An older version of Desideria with the same dark hair, deep tawny skin and black eyes, Queen Sarra looked more like Desideria’s older sister than her mother. Her body well toned and sleek from her own countless hours of martial practice, her mother could easily pass for a woman in her early thirties.
Fierce and stern, Sarra had no king to co-rule by her side—the law of their people said that no woman could marry a man who couldn’t defeat her in battle and no man had ever bested her mother.
No woman either.
But that didn’t mean her mother lived without companionship. In fact, her mother’s three male consorts stood two feet behind her and each one of them, just like Desideria’s father, had been won through battle. In the case of her father, he’d been a slave who had crash-landed here and been stranded. A border patrol had picked him up and he’d been donated as the prize for a competition.
Her mother’s other three consorts were Qillaq born and as such had been trained from birth as warriors, the same as the Qillaq women. But because of their perfect beauty, they’d been auctioned off instead of being sent into battle to be scarred. The only time her mother’s consorts had been allowed to fight was when her mother had claimed them.
One battle only to see if they were worthy of being a king. All of them had failed. Now they were nothing more than pampered pets who were at the mercy of her mother’s whims.
Her mother’s eyes glowed with a pride Desideria had never seen in them before. “Kara cherished that sword above everything.”
Desideria made sure the regret she felt over those words show in her demeanor or expression. “Then she should have fought harder to keep it.”
Her mother laughed. “You continue thinking like that and you may yet be my successor, tainted bloodline and all.”
Desideria pressed her lips together to keep from saying something that might get her banished. After all, her mother had chosen to sleep with her father and allowed herself to become pregnant by him. If there was anyone to blame for her faulty bloodline, it was her mother and not her.
But her mother didn’t want to hear that.
“You did me proud, Desideria. And since you’re no longer a student or a child, I want to offer you Kara’s former position in my Guard.”
Those words took her by complete surprise. Not hard to do since she was more accustomed to her mother’s condemnation than praise. “Pardon?”
“You heard me and you know how much I hate to repeat myself.”
Desideria barely caught herself before she hugged her mother as excitement raced through her. That wouldn’t be received well. The only emotions Qillaqs were allowed to show were anger, but never during battle, and occasionally humor. The rest of the time, they were to be stern and serious.
She cleared her throat and inclined her head to her mother. “I accept your offer, My Queen, and am honored that you think enough of me to make it.”
Narcissa gasped behind her as she must have come out of the dressing area.
Turning, Desideria saw her sister stalk toward them.
Her sister raked her with a repugnant sneer. “What of me? I’m older. If anyone deserves to stand in your Guard, Mother, surely it is I.”
Their mother’s eyes were cold and empty. “And you are still a student. You have never defeated your aunt and as such you’re unworthy to be in my Guard.”
“But—”