Sweat dripped into Antonia's eyes, the salt stinging. As much as it bothered her, she pushed past her discomfort. Just in time, too, for Maron, her dueling partner for the afternoon, chose then to change his kick attack mid-strike.

As Maron's foot came at her knee, Antonia jumped. She cleared his kicking radius, and at the same moment struck him in the stomach with her own kick. Maron groaned, guttural and pathetic, and stumbled. Concern swept over Antonia as she landed on the ground in a low crouch.

She opened her mouth to question his condition, but the sharp sound of a cane being struck against the nearby patio tiles stopped her. Steel determination silenced her worry. Inquiry would come once she defeated her opponent.

With little struggle from Maron, Antonia had him on his back a few seconds later. He smacked the ground twice with an open palm—the designated sign of surrender.

Antonia bent over him. "Anything ruptured?"

Maron had an arm slung over his face, which muffled his, "God, probably."

Antonia winced. "Will you live?"

"Only because I was put on this earth to suffer."

Despite her guilt, Antonia smiled. If Maron could joke, then he wouldn't die soon because of what she'd done.

"Should I call for the doctor?"

Maron waved away her question. "Let me rest a few minutes and I'll be able to take you on again."

"Today's sparring has ended," a raspy growl of a voice said from behind Antonia.

"Damn," Antonia breathed and stood.

She faced the one in control of the tapping cane; her mentor Mr. Ignotus.

Since her tenth birthday, Mr. Ignotus had been Antonia's fighting instructor. Why her father decided she'd train while her older sisters wouldn't, Antonia had never asked. She'd feared her father would fire Mr. Ignotus if she did.

At first, Antonia had thought her father would have her join the military. She'd be an example to Tesoro women and encourage them to step outside their docile roles and aim for other aspirations, much like the United States had done in the World Wars.

That idea had died when she'd turned seventeen, the legal age to enlist, and her father had forbidden the action.

Since then, Antonia had believed Mr. Ignotus could have offered to teach her how to make toucans sing, and if his rates were reasonable, her father would have agreed. Keeping Antonia out of sight had been her father's goal for as long as she could remember, and he went to great lengths to accomplish it. Most times it benefited Antonia, as she had more freedom than either of her sisters, though at what price?

Mr. Ignotus studied Antonia head to toe; narrowed his dark amber-colored eyes that glowed a deep red when he was furious or when the sun hit them. His gaze took in Maron, and his thick, always chapped lips pursed.

Disappointment gripped Antonia. While she'd won the spar-ring match, she hadn't impressed Mr. Ignotus. More than her momentary pause before finishing Maron must have upset him. She thought through what she'd done, but she'd executed each kick, punch, somersault, jump, and dodge perfectly.

Where had she gone wrong?

Mr. Ignotus' weight shifted from his good leg to his bad one as he readjusted his donkey-headed cane. A fleeting grimace crossed his haggard, bearded face, and a pang of kindness shot through Antonia. Though Mr. Ignotus wasn't the easiest man to like, he never seemed an unemotional automaton like her father. He allowed a flash of his humanness to peak through his gruff exterior occasionally.

"You both were slow today," Mr. Ignotus said, his brief show of pain gone.

Maron hadn't moved, but said, "Late night with the missus."

Fighting or loving making? Maron didn't elaborate. Both scenarios were equally likely.

Mr. Ignotus grunted, and Antonia swore a flash of sympathy softened his intense, hooded gaze. "Not a valid excuse."

Maron's shrug was his response.

Mr. Ignotus didn't press the issue.

A jolt of jealousy made Antonia stand taller. Mr. Ignotus was always more lenient on Maron. Maybe he feared pushing the elite guard too far and upsetting Antonia's father. Mr. Ignotus did every-thing he could to avoid drawing too much of her father's attention.

Antonia understood the politics behind Mr. Ignotus' actions, but it didn't help ease the sting of his outward favoritism. At twenty-three, she shouldn't be envious, yet it always cut like the first time.

Mr. Ignotus looked at Antonia. "What is your excuse?"

"I... didn't think—I believe I performed well," Antonia said, her tone measured. Mr. Ignotus would tear her apart if he sensed her irrational thoughts.

"Only because Maron wasn't in peak condition. If he had been, you'd be in his position right now."

Antonia doubted that. Maron wasn't her sole sparring partner amongst the elite guard, but he was the one she'd had the longest. She knew his actions inside and out. He was one of her father's best and most loyal guardsmen, yet he was as predictable as the rising and setting of the sun. Antonia could beat him blindfolded and had on two occasions.

Today Antonia was in no mood to kowtow. "I disagree." Her voice was steady and strong; so powerful, not unlike her father's.

"Oh, you do?"

The corner of Mr. Ignotus' mouth twitched, and she realized what his aim had been all along.

Mr. Ignotus often stressed a steel constitution along with a well-crafted body. Without both, a fighter was a few agitated nerves away from worthless.

Though it hadn't been his place, Mr. Ignotus had gone over countless examples from history. Some he'd spoken about as if he'd known them, but that had been wishful, childish thinking on Antonia's part. Mr. Ignotus could have interacted with those from the two world wars, but Antonia doubted it. Mr. Ignotus didn't seem the type to hang around rulers or soldiers.

"Yes."

Mr. Ignotus stared Antonia down; made his misshaped face a terror to behold. Yet it did not shake Antonia, and she met his challenge with a calm, solid one of her own. They stayed like that for a long, tense minute.

Finally, Mr. Ignotus grinned.

The genuine expression crinkled the fine wrinkles around his eyes and brought much-needed smoothness to the hard planes of his features. Antonia wished he smiled more, for when he did, his happiness overrode the less than desirable qualities of his appearance. If he smiled more, maybe he could find a good wife that to mend his broken heart (Mr. Ignotus never discussed his romantic dealings, but he didn't need to for her to see how badly love had burned him).

Antonia smiled.

A wicked glint lit up Mr. Ignotus' eyes. "You still owe me ten laps."

Antonia sighed. "For hesitating?"

"Aye."

Of all her training, Antonia hated doing laps the most. Not because of the running but because Mr. Ignotus forced her to run around the outskirts of her father's property, so dozens of eyes watched her. It was a way to humble her, she knew, but she often asked him when she'd achieve peak humility. He never answered her.

It was pointless to argue, so Antonia bowed to Mr. Ignotus. She checked her tennis shoes, wished Maron well, and took off for the nearest part of the high marble wall that enclosed her property. Within a few moments, more sweat drenched her forehead and back.

She clenched her jaw and told herself it wouldn't be long until she finished and could go for a dip in the pool. The thought whisked away enough of her discomfort that she'd complete her laps without internally whining the whole time.

Once at the wall, Antonia turned north and jogged toward the front of the decent-sized mansion she called home. She passed many groundskeepers tending to the many shaped hedges and gardens meant to make the property, and thus her father, more approachable, but the illusion never held for long. Antonia often wondered if her home's warmth had died with her mother, but she'd never dared aired the thought out loud.

Many of the groundskeepers watched her pass, hands over their eyes to block out the unforgivable mid-morning sun to get a better look at her. None hollered at her like the men in the neighboring village did when she visited the vast market there that operated from early spring to late summer.

Lucky for them they didn't. Her father didn't like her, and she often doubted if he even loved her, but no one harassed the President's daughter. Not even the one he wished hadn't been born.

Antonia ignored their stares and relished the beauty of this corner of the island. The jungle that took up most of Tesoro was past the wall, beautiful to behold but dangerous. Wild cats and poisonous insects the size of Antonia's head lurked in its depths. Flowers in breath-taking colors beckoned but killed when touched or their scents too-closely inhaled. A rumor spoke of a tribe of insane cannibals that roamed the jungle, though no proof backed up the claims.

The island offered better plots of property Antonia's father could have built his home on, places more hospitable to a larger mansion, but Antonia was glad he hadn't. What this area lacked in size, it made up for in splendor.

At the front of the mansion, Antonia stumbled across a flurry of activity. Servants raced about two cars, stuffing them with lug-gage.

Antonia stared at the cars, baffled at first. Who was leaving? Had one of her sisters visited, not received the welcoming she'd expected, and was departing in a whirlwind of dramatics?

If so, why wasn't she informed? She could never prepare for her sisters, but a bit of a warning would at least allow her to brace herself for the on-coming storm. It would minimize the destruction they left in their wake.

But then a yellow and blue flag dangling off the first car's antenna caught Antonia's attention. She sighed with relief.

Neither of her sisters had come home. It was the delegate from Tesoro's closest neighbor, Orana.

Antonia squinted. Why was the delegate leaving? He'd arrived last night, and his business with her father couldn't have concluded yet.

Trade talks must have turned sour quickly. Antonia groaned. She didn't know the ins-and-outs of the President's political dealings, but she had enough knowledge to know that Tesoro couldn't afford to upset any of their allies. The world wars had left too many festering wounds. It did no good to agitate what was already sore, especially if someone decided that two wars weren't enough.

Two men, one shorter than the other, burst from the front doors. The tall man led the charge, his broad face scrunched up with his boiling rage. He looked like an oversized newborn about to throw a fit.

The second man's demeanor was a sharp contrast to the first man's behavior. If Antonia hadn't experienced her father's con-trolled fury firsthand, she wouldn't have known he was anything more than unamused by the delegate's actions.

He followed the other man, a massive shadow the delegate couldn't shake. From a distance, her father appeared fat, but that was because he dressed in many layers despite Tesoro's sweltering heat. He was as thick and healthy as a mule and twice as ornery.

"This is rash," Antonia heard her father say, his tone cool; borderline condescending.

The delegate shooed a servant away from the trunk of the first car and inspected their work. "We have nothing further to dis-cuss," he said without looking back at her father.

"I don't think—"

At that moment, the delegate jerked like he'd received an electric shock, though he had touched nothing. In one fluid movement, he turned and stared at Antonia. Stunned disbelief swept away his anger.

"Who's that?"

Antonia's father stepped around the delegate. Once his gaze settled on her, his dark eyes became almost black. Antonia swallowed hard. Her father might encourage her unusual activities, but he hated seeing her disheveled, especially if anyone important saw her, too. What she did was an embarrassment, and it made her wonder, for the thousandth time, why her father allowed her to do it even though he despised it.

"She's my youngest, Antonia," her father responded, his broad jaw clenched.

The delegate waved at Antonia to approach.

She glanced at her father and he gave the smallest of nods. Antonia swallowed hard and walked over to the pair. She wanted to run, but her father would explode if she dared humiliate him further.

When Antonia stood in front of the delegate, she curtsied despite knowing how unusual she looked with her tennis shoes, sweat-drenched face, sloppy braid, and sweat suit borrowed from the elite guards' training gear. Her father's thin mouth tightened, but the delegate looked thrilled.

The man (younger than Antonia had first thought) took her hand and brought it to his lips. "My, you've become a vision."

Antonia studied the delegate. He knew her? How? When had they ever—?

Those nut-brown eyes, the sloped nose, and wavy black hair. Now Antonia figured out why it all seemed so familiar. The delegate had been Antonia's companion for a few summers in their youth.

"Arron!"

Arron grinned. "Your memory is dodgy in your old age."

Antonia rolled her eyes. "Oh, I'm the old one, am I?"

"By three hours."

Antonia and Arron chuckled at the old joke. They'd been born on the same day, two years apart, but their times of birth were three hours apart. Somehow, Arron had convinced Antonia that be-cause she was born earlier in the day, that meant she was older, despite the years that separated them.

Antonia had gotten excellent marks in her schooling, but she had been gullible as a child. A trait her sisters had exploited.

Once their laughter died, Arron asked, "How have you been?"

Antonia spotted a slight shift in her father's stance and an emotion akin to hope flashed in his eyes. She sported her best grin. "Why don't you join me for lunch? We can catch up."

Arron's glee dimmed. "I don't know..." He glanced at the cars. "I was going to—Oh, not the face!"

Antonia had adopted a wide-eyed, desperate puppy look. Though it'd been fourteen years since they'd spent time together, her pathetic act still worked.

Arron sighed. "Fine. But just lunch, you understand."

"I'll tell the kitchen," Antonia's father said. He flicked his harsh gaze over Antonia. "Look presentable for our guest."

Heat rose in Antonia's cheeks. She inclined her head, first to Arron, then her father. "I won't be long."

She sprinted to the front door.