A cool droplet beats against my forehead, and with closed eyes, I wipe it away. Through my sleepy haze, birds chirp in the distance and the sun seeps through my eyelids, causing them to glow red. My aching body sinks into the patch of grass acting as my bed, and the satchel under my head shifts as I pull my cloak over my shoulders. I just need a few more minutes of rest.

Freezing water splashes over my face. I bolt upright, coughing and spitting until I catch my breath.

The woman I briefly met in general's office stands over me in a soiled uniform and covered in scrapes. She flicks the remaining moisture from her hand and crosses her gargantuan tan arms over her chest. "You're late," she says, cocking a brow.

"What?" I ask, flinching against my tight muscles and the ache in my thigh as I stand upright.

My boots slosh through the puddle of water as I gather my soaked cloak and ring it out. Sleeping on the ground wasn't my first choice, but everyone I tried to speak to last night was busy preparing to leave for a village where the Stigian were expected to attack. With no other choice, I curled up on the ground and attempted to fall asleep, but it was impossible.

The beating of horse hooves and barked orders went on well into the night. The weight of exhaustion would grasp me, and just as it pulled me under something with legs would crawl on me or unknow noise would startle me awake again.

"What part of you are late do you not understand?" the Aquatera snaps.

I throw my satchel over my shoulder. "I'm sorry, ma'am."

"Don't ma'am me; it's Greer. And get moving before Kyron has your ass."

"Kyron?"

Greer presses her tongue to the bottom of her front teeth and exhales. "General LeFur to the likes of you."

Images of the Stigian flood my head, just as they did all night. Despite my less than comfortable sleeping arrangements, the mystery of General LeFur is what made it difficult to fall back to sleep. I couldn't fathom what possessed my father to choose him as his second in command. The risk of letting a Stigian into the folds of our army is terrifying. How did he know Kyron LeFur wasn't a spy? And more importantly, what guarantee did my father have that this man wouldn't siphon the dormant gifts of the Cyffred soldiers? My head was swimming in unanswered questions, and I wouldn't find true rest until I got some answers.

I wrap my arms around my waist and shiver as I meander away from Greer.

"Move!" she orders.

I jerk with fear and my heart races, each beat so strong I feel it in my throat. Clenching my cloak to my chest, I run toward the stables.

Soldiers line the dirt street, tending to wounds and unpacking gear. There aren't nearly as many people as I saw yesterday, and I pray the others are still alive in the throes of battle or have retreated to the rooms to rest. As I pass, some soldiers laugh, amused by my drenched appearance and how my legs bow from sitting on a horse for hours the day before. I brush off their snickers, happy I can give them some comic relief after the night they've had.

I round the last corner and stop abruptly, stumbling forward to keep my balance.

Kyron...General LeFur leans against the wooden wall next to the stable's entrance with his arms crossed. He scratches beneath his nose with his thumb and looks up at the sky. "I told you dawn; you're late."

"I know, but I couldn't find a place to sleep last night, and everyone was so loud. And have you ever slept outside with no cover? I swear something was eyeing me as its next meal."

He pushes off the wall and walks around me. My stomach executes an acrobatic move that leaves me lightheaded. I'm always aware of a Khiros' power. The pulsating rays of light from a Soltera, or the chill of a Glacio, or the sizzling energy from an Electro. But the vibes from Kyron's gift, I can't pinpoint. It closes in on me, blurring the edges of my vision, heating my skin, and brushing against my conscious like a feline. And it tugs at me the closer he gets. Never has someone's gift made me feel like it wants to surround me, pull me under, suffocate me.

Kyron flicks a strand of my wet hair with his index finger, and a jolt races through me. I want to smack his hand away, or even better, run. But I do neither. I straighten my back and pretend like he isn't there. It takes more will power than it should. I've spent the better part of my life learning how to handle uncomfortable situations, but this is different.

He muddles my senses, intriguing and terrifying me at the same time. Until Esmeray, I'd never been this close to a Stigian. I always thought they wouldn't hesitate to siphon if they got close. I'm not sure how it works, if he just needs to touch me or is he powerful enough to will my gift to him? The way my gut flips in his presence tells me that this man is stronger than anyone I've ever encountered. And I've met my fair share of powerful Khiros.

I sharply inhale when we are face to face again, his nose almost touching mine. "And didn't I tell you to find something else to wear?"

"I–I know, but no one told me—"

Kyron raises his hand, and I clamp my mouth shut, watching his palm and waiting for it to crash down on me. His jaw twitches as he curls his fingers and waves the first two. Over the general's shoulder, the bald, red-bearded man from his office steps out of the stables.

Kyron's voice is a low rumble as he says, "I expect you to follow my commands or return to where you came from. I don't have time for games, princess."

My face reddens, and for a split second, I consider going home. One night in this place and it's clear I'm not cut out for the life of a soldier. This place is do or die, and I've never experienced anything without some form of guidance. It didn't matter if it came from Borin, my family, or Leif. I've never been on my own. My first orders were basic commands, and I couldn't find a way to follow them.

No. I won't go home before my first day has truly started. I've gone against the king to be here, and my siblings are counting on me. More importantly, my father needs me to be rescue him sooner rather than later. I will finish what I started.

"Yes, sir," I say with a sure tone that doesn't match my turmoil on the inside.

"Put her to work, Ulric." Kyron turns on his heels, leaving cinnamon and pine lingering in the air.

Once he has stalked out of sight, Ulric jerks his head to the side. "Well, let's get to it, prince–"

"Please, don't call me that. I'll do whatever you need me to do, just don't call me princess or little lady."

"All right, what should I call you?" he asks with the thick brogue of the western farming communities.

I pause for a moment and weigh my options; I don't want to use my given name. If news reaches Basecamp about the missing princess, Raelle will be a dead giveaway. I need to do whatever I can to prolong my time at Basecamp and win the trust of my father's soldiers. I also know that if I make something up, I likely won't answer to it. I settle for my common nickname in the hopes of it giving me some anonymity.

"Elle. My friends and family call me Elle," I say, extending my hand.

Ulric tightens his fingers around mine with a firm shake. "It's a pleasure to meet you. Major Ulric Fraser, but we forgo the formalities around here."

"Could have fooled me," I mumble, Kyron's orders replaying in my head. He uttered them with unwavering authority, and they felt very formal to me. The man had no problem exercising the power that comes with his position. He intimidated me in a way that very few do.

I spend my morning brushing a half a dozen horses until their coats are perfectly smooth. The redundancy of the work does little to halt my thoughts. I think about my siblings consoling my mother when she finds I'm missing, Micah and Borin discovering I disobeyed, rescuing my father, and I spare far too many thoughts for Kyron.

I've spent mere minutes with the man and can tell something isn't right. And not just because he's a Stigian; something about his power is dark, luring, invasive. And even if he didn't rattle me when he was near, he's too young—mid-twenties at the oldest. How is someone who has served the Lucent army for seven years, at best, qualified to lead all its soldiers? Nothing about Kyron LeFur taking my father's place adds up.

I can't shake the thought that my father didn't leave him in charge. My father is a trusting man, but he is also cautious. Overseeing Lucent's army is his pride and joy, and one of the most important positions under the king. He wouldn't risk it. The only way a Stigian became general is if he took the rank. But that doesn't explain why all these men and women follow him. I've can't recall anything baffling me the way this situation does.

Ten minutes into eating my first meal of the day, Ulric returns with his friend in tow—the one with a friendly smile. From my place on a bale of hay, I look up at them and pop a slice of apple into my mouth.

"Elle, Terro. Terro, Elle," Ulric says.

I nod, chewing my food, and hold out my hand to the young man. He curls his lip and offers his fist instead. With furrowed brows, I glance at my filthy palm. It's a smart move on his part; I wouldn't want to touch it either. We bump fists, and I wipe my hand on my shirt before continuing my sparse meal.

"Ready for your next task?" Terro asks.

"Am I going to actually train?" I shove the rest of my bread into my mouth and the half-eaten apple into my pocket.

"What do you mean? We all had to work our way up. You're learning to follow orders."

Ulric vehemently nods.

I curl my lips between my teeth and stand. If only they knew just how trained I am in taking orders, then they would understand this is the last thing I need to be doing. Or maybe they would push me harder if they knew the truth. They wouldn't be the first to think I'm a pampered princess who doesn't get her hands dirty. I'm better off keeping quiet and appeasing them so I can earn their respect and accomplish what I came to do.

"So now what? Do I have to braid the horses' manes?" I ask.

The two men exchange smirks, and Ulric says, "Hardly. You need to pick up their shit."

I stare down the aisle of stalls; there must be at least two dozen with more on the outside of the building. "All of them?"

"All of them," Terro says.

Ulric steps to the side, blocking my only way out. "That was Kyron's orders."

"The boss-man has spoken, so it's time to get to work." Terro nods to the tools hanging from the wall and opens the gate to the last stall.

Taking a shovel and a bucket from the ground, I step inside with the hefty brown and black horse. The steed rears his head with a boisterous neigh and kicks his back leg. I jump out of the way, and its hoof lands on the bucket, flinging it from my grip.

"Watch yourself, Elle," Ulric says, stepping up next to Terro and resting his arms on the top of the fence.

"Should be entertaining to watch me get my teeth knocked out," I grumble, righting the bucket and digging into the hay with the shovel.

"Or a chunk taken out of your ass. Samson's a biter." Terro gives me a wink.

The horse bristles as I move around him with cautious steps. I've spent my fair share of time in our family stables and had a mishap or two with a horse. One nasty horse isn't going to scare me away.

"Easy boy," I say, holding out my hand to keep him at arm's length.

Samson nips at my fingers, barely missing them, and the men laugh.

I dig the end of the shovel into the ground, place a hand on my hip, and with a stern tone say, "Seriously, is that necessary?"

The horse snorts.

"You know you're being an old grouch for nothing." I continue to move around Samson, cleaning his stall as he follows me with a skeptical gaze. "I'll tell you what, you let me do what I need to do," I scoop up the last of his mess and reach into my pocket, "And I'll reward you with a treat."

The horse dives for the half-eaten apple in my hand, and I pull it back.

"Be a gentleman about it, will you?" I offer him the fruit again and this time, he gently takes it from me. "Good boy."

Terro and Ulric stare at me with slack jaws as I step out of the stall. I swing the shovel over my shoulder with more confidence than I truly feel. Without turning to look at them, I say, "I guess I have a way with disagreeable men."

They don't answer back, and I take that as a good sign as I enter the next stall. I hope they return to their general and tell him that I wasn't easily dissuaded today. And I won't be stopped tomorrow or the days after.