Displaced

Challenged

“You took it easy on me.” Lark accuses me as we reach the palace compound. 

Cookie Crisp, my King Charles Spaniel, frolics around my legs when I turn onto the main hallway. I ordered her to wait here while we went for a jog. If I let her come, she practically keels over about a mile into the warm up. I crouch down and pet Cookie’s ears to buy some time for Lark’s heart rate to come down.

“Chancery,” she hisses. “If this is going to work, you can’t do that. You can’t act a hair different than before.” 

I nod infinitesimally. “Fine. Now shut up.” 

She grins. “Good. That’s back to normal.” 

“I’ve got to meet Mom for breakfast soon. So if you want to do this, we better go right now.” 

At her nod, I head for the Security office. When it comes into view and I notice the tall, broad-shouldered guy sitting in the front, I pull up short. “Actually, maybe after breakfast is better. I should go shower right now. I stink.” 

“You barely broke a sweat, you freak of nature.” Lark’s eyes follow mine and her mouth breaks into a grin that nearly cracks her jaw. “You’re such a chicken.” 

She’s the only person on Ni’ihau who knows how hot I think Edam is, and now I regret telling her.

My cheeks flush, but before I can invent a more believable excuse than needing to shower, Lark pushes past me toward the office. I hear voices coming toward us from the opposite direction, voices I recognize. Kegan and Voron are in Lark’s class. This is the perfect opportunity, which means I can’t duck out no matter how badly I want to. I nearly swear under my breath, but Mom’s injunction rises to my mind, like always. Profanity is the crutch of the ignorant. Gah. 

“Chancy.” Voron stops in front of me and offers a half bow. 

“How many times do I have to tell you guys to quit with the bowing?” I hate it. 

“At least one more time, your highness,” Kegan says, offering a half bow of her own.

“I guess Lark doesn’t bow anymore?” Voron asks.

“Anymore?” I ask. “She never bowed. Unless you count the times she did it mockingly.” 

“You’ll miss having one person around who never bows,” Lark says. 

“I’m pretending you aren’t leaving,” I say.

“Since we’re being placed next week, you can’t pretend much longer,” Lark says. “What are you two requesting?” 

Voron groans. “Political liaison. Dad insists it’s a perfect fit for me.” 

More like perfect for his schmoozy father. Voron’s going to hate it. 

“How about you?” Kegan asks Lark. “I heard you wanted Security.” 

Lark shrugs. “Yeah, but I don’t want guard duty or attack force, which is the problem, so my family’s pushing me to apprentice for Uncle Maxmillian.” 

“I’d love an exciting assignment like intelligence too,” Kegan says. “But as a fifteenth gen, I’ve got less than no chance.” 

Lark sighs, but before she can say anything, I cut her off. “You could challenge someone,” I say. 

“But who?” Kegan asks. “I’d have to defeat someone top level for it to help, and I’m mediocre at personal combat.” 

“If you beat me, you’d be placed first,” I say. 

Kegan shakes her head. “And get carved up like a turkey for my efforts? No thanks.” 

“She’s not that tough,” Lark says. “Hardly ever trains.”

A surreptitious glance shows me Edam’s listening from around the corner. Perfect. 

“I’m not tough, huh?” I ask. “You couldn’t take me.” 

“How would anyone know? No one’s ever seen either of you fight.” Voron crosses his arms. “I’d pay to see that match. I bet a lot of us would.” 

I arch one eyebrow. “You’d pay to watch me stab my friend? You’re sadistic.” 

He grins. “Guilty.” 

“Well I don’t know about Kegan, but I could take you for sure,” Lark says.

“Oh please.” I cross my arms. “You couldn’t take me with one hand tied behind my back.” 

Lark raises one eyebrow. “I train every morning, and you watch television every chance you get. Which one of these things makes it likely you’ll defeat me?” 

That’s actually not a lie. Heat rises in my cheeks again, maybe because I know Edam’s listening. “Even so, I’m third in line for the throne. I’d destroy you.” 

Lark throws a hand up on her hip. “Destroy me, huh? Or maybe you wouldn’t. And if I beat you, maybe you’ll spend less time watching television and more time training. Your mom might thank me.” 

“You sound just like her,” I say. 

“Judica would gloat if she pummeled you,” Lark says, “but, I’d only do it to teach you a lesson.” 

“Pummeling me?” I raise one eyebrow in irritation. “Ha.” 

“Fine. I’ll do it.” Lark’s eyes flash and she lifts her chin. 

“You’ll do what?” I ask. 

“Chancery Divinity Alamecha, I challenge you,” Lark says.