August let himself have a moment to think. Options began to click into place in his mind, as he began formulating a plan. He would have to confront Ronan tonight. Until then, he had to clear his head and focus on the team in front of him. Trying to not look at Ronan, who was still grinning with too much excitement, August turned to the two other soldiers.

One, who was stretched a half a foot taller than August, with piecing green eyes and wild red hair came forward and shook August’s hand.

“The name’s Finnian Lapain, but most just call me Finn,” he said, his gaze settling on August’s face for a split second before he turned to take in his surroundings. August pulled his hand away, tucking it swiftly back in the pocket of his jacket. The man’s attention whipped back toward August, but he just gave a nod and moved off to the side. Out of the corner of August’s eye, he could see Finn rocking back and forth on the soles of his feet, as his hands picked at the side of his uniform.

His unsteadiness worried August. The man looked ready to pounce into action at any moment. Would he be all too pleased to attack a traitor trying to desert the company? August seemed to have the stronger build, but Finn’s long, slender body could prove to be a difficult match if August tried to escape on foot.

The other soldier stepped forward. In contrast to Finn, this soldier stood completely still, glaring at August. Dusty brown hair brushed his eyebrows, blending in with his tanned skin. While Finn looked to be about two years older than August, the soldier in front of him looked about two years younger. It was only the hard stare and the set jaw, that spoke of the boy’s potential. He moved on silent feet, eyes carefully calculating everything around him. While Finn’s gaze flicked from one thing to the next, this boy’s stare transfixed on one thing in particular, observing close enough to unravel everything about it.

An undesired bead of sweat ran down the side of August’s face. The boy’s eyes narrowed even further, no doubt tracking the perspiration along his jawline. He knows, a voice whispered through August’s mind. Somehow this boy would see right through him, would know what he was planning. August clenched his fist. No, he could do this. One nosy boy was not going to stop him from achieving freedom. The whispers of doubt quieted, intrigued to see what would happen next.

When the boy said nothing to introduce himself, August nodded and glanced between him and Finn. “Well, I’m Private August Blackwell, but you’re welcome to just call me August.”

“Wait,” Finn said, his posture stilling. “They’re letting a private lead a mission?”

“You are too inexperienced,” the boy said, voice low and steady.

Captain Crestwood stepped forward. “You men will not question the Prince’s decision. Finn, I still expect you to step up to the occasion and lend your experience needed to travel outside the wall.”

“You’ve been outside the wall?” August asked, turning toward the wild red-head.

Finn nodded, his hands returning to their fluttering. “Spent three years out on the field, mostly with a company in the north. They brought me back about a month ago.”

“And what about you?” August looked at the boy, who had his calculating gaze turned on Finn. Although, as the words left his mouth, he could feel that gaze lock back into place on him.

“Not old enough. Until now, I guess.” The boy finally stepped up to August and reluctantly extended his hand. “Private Cade Fanil, at your command.”

August shook his hand. “It’s good to finally meet you.”

No longer able to contain himself, Ronan stepped forward and slapped a hand onto August shoulder. “Of course, there’s no introductions needed between us.”

August nodded somberly. Later, they would talk later.

“So,” Finn said, clapping his hands together. “Where’s the fifth member?” He spun in a circle as if he merely missed him.

“Not here yet,” Crestwood answered. “The Queen has put this mission at top priority. She is sending out some of her own men to fight.”

“Aren’t we the Queen’s men?” Cade asked.

August nodded his head, but a tremble across the ground stopped him from commenting. The sounded of marching feet thrummed against his eardrums as a large mass rounded the corner of the castle, making a straight line toward the Military Tower.

“The Royal Legion,” Finn said in awe. Beside him, Ronan’s jaw dropped, while Cade found the blades of grass at his feet suddenly worthy of close examination.

Indeed, these were no ordinary soldiers, but the Queen’s personal guards. At least twenty Immunes marched in their direction, with a slimmer silhouette of a man leading the way. As the group came within sight of Gallow’s team—the leader closest to the approaching group—for them to notice who it was at the head of the mass, they all dropped onto on knee, bowing deeply. The rest of the soldiers swiftly followed suit, even the captains bent low at the waist, yet August remained in his current position. The Prince had arrived.

August received a swift kick to the back of the leg, causing his knee to give out. The momentum had both his knees smacking hard against the earth. A hand grasped the back of his head and forcing his gaze to the ground.

Crestwood whispered furiously, “You will bow to your Prince, Blackwell.”

August tried to knock the captain’s arm away, but his grip only tightening, as he shoved his face into the grass. He knew he was walking a thin line by not showing proper respect to royalty, but old habits were hard to break, especially when a deep seeded hatred was involved. As August bent on the ground, watching the Prince’s pristine boots grow ever nearer, he could not help the rage building inside him. He shoved it back down though, knowing that he had to behave to get outside of Varis.

“General Aldrich, ever the organized one, I see,” the Prince said, his voice soft, yet August picked up on an underlying edge.

August managed to tilt his gaze upward, to see Aldrich straightening his back to meet the Prince’s eyes. With raven black hair cut short on the sides and left longer at the top—a simple silver band this time nestled on top—standing in an elegant contrast with his pale skin and jade green eyes, the Prince was the jewel of Varis. It was only his sharp jaw line and lithe built that spoke of something darker within.

“Your Highness, I was not aware that you would be the one escorting the Legion,” Aldrich said, bowing his head once more.

“The Prince escorts no one beneath him, General.” Before Aldrich could spout an apology, the Prince continued. “Mother did not think it wise, since there are still many more meeting and decisions to be made in getting ready for the Festival in a month, but I thought we could speak one last time on some of the details of this mission.”

“Not to upset Your Highness, of course, but the Queen has already given us the information needed for the mission,” Aldrich said, lifting his head once more.

The Prince nodded, his expression showing contempt, but that small twitch in his jaw did not go unnoticed to August. “I have no doubt in that. Yet, she seemed to have kept me in the dark, which is quite unreasonable considering that I have a team of my own choosing going out there. I am hoping that you will shed some light on this matter. If we can only meet in your personal office, I’m sure we can clear things up.” He swept his hand to everyone around him. “No need to keep these soldiers waiting while we discuss.”

“As you wish,” Aldrich said, before turning his attention to Crestwood. “Captain, if you don’t mind showing the members of the Legion to their respected groups, so that those remaining may return to their Tower. The orders following should already be known.”

“Yes sir,” Crestwood said.

The Prince moved toward the Military Tower’s entrance, with Aldrich close on his heels. Once they had both moved into the confides of the Tower, Crestwood stepped forward to stand in front of the group.

He directed his attention to the Royal Legion—who stood in organized rows, with hands obediently at their sides. “Will those who were selected for this mission please step forward and join your groups.”

Four Immunes detached from the rows and walked to the awaiting groups. A boulder of a man, with pale blond hair tied in a band at the back of his head stepped in front of August.

“You are the leader, yes?”

August nodded and introduced himself. Although, when he extended his hand, the man stood there staring at it with his amber eyes.

“My name is Soren,” the man said. August let his hand drop to his side. Soren stood a head taller than Finn, and by the looks of the rest of the Legion, he was one of the taller ones of the group. He would be definitely be a problem if August had to fight his way against him to escape.

“Alright men,” Crestwood said, clapping his hands to get everyone’s attention. The rest of the Royal Legion were already marching back toward their Tower. “You are released for the rest of the day. You are all well aware of your orders as followed.”

Each solider snapped to attention, saluting Crestwood, except of the legionaries—who only gave respectful nods—and August, as he wiped the dirt off that had remained on his knees. He turned to his team, about to release them as well, but found them all scattered, even Ronan, leaving him to stand alone in on the lawn.