The Island (The Madion War Trilogy #1)

Chapter One, Part II - Galian

"We will send the second wave in the Birgdorn formation, attacking their right flank. The first wave will then target the armory."

I blinked as my father's general droned on about his great military strategy. I was sure it was well thought-out and considered, but I just didn't care. My uniform was itchy and uncomfortable, and the monotone voice was putting me to sleep. But I resisted the strong urge to sigh, as my father's beady eyes were trained on me. Especially now, based on how he'd opened this meeting of his most senior military leadership.

"You will take part in this battle, son," he'd said.

My father rarely called me son in front of his generals. My mother said it was to avoid calling attention to our relationship, but I doubted there was a person alive in Kylae who didn't know my face. I was the third son of King Grieg and Queen Korina. My older brother, Rhys, was well on his way to taking the throne whenever His Highness died (because retirement was not an option), and my second older brother, Digory, had already given his life in service to our country.

Which was why I was now sitting in this room full of generals, being instructed on how to execute a surprise attack on Rave.

We always called it a "surprise," but I doubt that Rave would have been able to do much even if we sent them a courtesy message of, "Hey, we're coming to bomb you tomorrow."

Rave was our colony, the site of a fifty-year rebellion that we were still fighting to quash. They'd built a sham government during that time, elected a few dozen corrupt officials and had conscripted millions of their citizens to fight in the senseless war. I personally thought my father should've just let them go off and be their own country, as his rule wasn't much better, but I didn't dare voice that opinion. The Kylaen war machine was our biggest industry, putting hundreds of thousands of our citizens to work every year, and the backbone of our thriving economy.

My place, up until last year, had been in our prestigious hospital. I'd just begun my residency after spending four grueling years as a medical student. I'd been in the middle of assisting in my first surgery when I learned that my older brother, Digory, had been shot down in the ocean.

We'd had a huge funeral procession for him, flags at half-staff for weeks, big speeches about the importance of our cause and Kylaen pride and blah, blah, blah. It wasn't two days after we'd gotten the news, that my father began to not-so-subtly hint that it was time for me to trade in my stethoscope for a pilot's helmet. Which was how I'd ended up a captain or something ridiculously unearned, in my father's military. I'd finally mastered the art of getting the plane in the air, and getting it back on the ground, and now they were sending me into battle.

I probably should've been paying attention to what the general was saying as little Kylaen planes buzzed across the screen, showing different attack formations, but I just couldn't. Ever since I had started flying, every single instructor had said the same thing:

Act normal.

Stay out of trouble.

Fly away if they find out it's you.

I wondered if they'd said the same thing to Digory, but knowing my late brother, he'd probably told them to go to hell. Which was how he'd ended up a floating corpse in the Madion Sea. Idiot.

It may sound like I didn't grieve my brother. I did, but he'd been a real asshole and I didn't miss the way he'd terrorized me.

My ears perked up when chairs scraped on the ground, and people rose to their feet. Elijah Kader, the head of my personal bodyguard contingent, was already tapping his foot impatiently when I walked out of the conference room.

"Sire, are you ready to leave?" He even managed to say it without the usual acidic tone. Ever since he'd shown up to drive me one day instead of my usual palace guards, he had made it clear that protecting the spare to heir prince was somewhat of a demotion for him.

"Yeah, I'm ready." Dread swam in the bottom of my stomach at the thought of bombing and killing innocent civilians—even if they were Ravens.

"Sarge, there's a group of 'em waiting outside already." Dave Martin was a two-striper a couple years younger than me. He was one of the only guys who didn't seem to hate being assigned to watch over a prince.

"Did you tell anyone you were coming here?" Kader growled at me.

I glared at him. "Because I love being hounded by those assholes. No."

Kader muttered colorful curses under his breath and cracked open the door to the hanger where my official car was parked. There was a crowd of people, most of whom had cameras hanging around their necks.

The Kylaen tabloids. Perfect.

Since nobody in Kylae was interested in a fifty year war anymore, the media delighted in telling stories about the royal family. I had almost outgrown my reputation as a carefree party boy by the time I'd finished medical school, but now my new title was "Dashing Pilot," and the media were back in their incessant stalking of me. There was a media blackout on my actual missions—for my safety, of course—but they loved catching a photo of me in uniform. At least it was better than the stories about my partying and womanizing, which were woefully overblown.

I steeled myself and put on the most stoic face I could muster as I nodded to Kader. The moment the door opened, the flashes began, as did the questions.

"Prince Galian!"

"Sire, over here!"

"Sire, is it true you're dating Olivia Collins?"

I sniffed at that last one; I had no idea who that girl was, and I sure as hell wasn't dating her. But the tabloids did love to concoct stories when I didn't have any to tell.

Kader pushed a photographer aside to open my door and I slid in, thankful for the tinted windows and the privacy of my car.

"To the castle?" Kader asked, sounding as if he would have rather told me to go somewhere else.

"Actually," I said, looking at the hanger again, where in a few short hours I would be taking off to bring death and destruction to Rave, "let's pop by the hospital."

Kader made a noise, but his military training wouldn't let him disagree with me. He put the car in drive and we left the crowd of photographers behind, although I was sure some of them would follow us. They always did.