“Yes, sir!”

“Do you give up everything you own, everything you are, and swear to protect Elisa né Riqueza de Vega, Queen of Joya d’Arena and Empress of the United Joyan Empire, along with her family and her interests—even unto death?”

“YES, SIR!”

I am prepared to speak the real Guard’s Oath. It is poetic and powerful, and I have already memorized it. But the true oath will have to wait; we aren’t allowed to swear that until we’ve successfully completed our training and formally joined the Guard.

“Then let me be the first to welcome you to Royal Guard recruitment training,” DeLuca finishes. He re-sheathes his sword, slamming it home in his scabbard. He beckons to a Guard standing near the portcullis, who hurries over.

“Guardsman Bruno will be your nursemaid for the remainder of the day. He’ll get you situated with bunks and show you around. You’ll obey his orders as though they come from the empress herself, or risk being dismissed. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir!”

Guardsman Bruno steps forward. He’s an intense fellow, with eyebrows like caterpillars hovering over a magnificently broken nose.

Looking down that crooked nose at us, he says, “This way to quarters. Follow in an orderly fashion.”

We do as asked. It’s such a relief to pass under the portcullis and leave the sun-scorched arena for the cool dark of the barracks. The heat has always been a challenge for me. It will be one of my greatest disadvantages.

“Your face is really red,” Aldo says as we file through the stone tunnel toward our quarters.

“She is aptly named,” Valentino says.

“You Inviernos,” someone says at my back, and I turn to find Iván frowning at me. “With your light skin and light eyes; too soft for this desert. It’s a wonder your people were worthy foes for so long.”

“I’m not an Invierno,” I snap.

“You’re not Joyan either,” he says with a shrug.

“At least I’m not a traitor,” I say, which is cruel, but he struck first.

The effect is immediate. Iván’s eyes have so much fire I feel like he wants to burn me alive. “I am not my father,” he says in a low, dangerous voice. His older brother uttered the exact same words a few days ago in the Quorum chamber.

I round on him and stick a finger in his chest. “I’m not my father either, you ridiculous goat,” I say.

He stares down at me, then at my finger, which I quickly remove. Provoking him was foolish. He’s twice my height and carries at least as much rage. Everyone around us is silent and still with anticipation, waiting—maybe hoping—for us to come to blows.

I can’t back away now. “I’m a loyal Joyan,” I say, “and I would protect Eli . . . the empress with my life. Would you?”

Guardsman Bruno senses that the recruits are not at his heels and turns around, but he does not call us to task. Maybe he’s as curious as everyone else to see what happens.