Soul of Ice (Chronicles of Dawn)

Chapter Ten

Distractedly twisting a throwing knife between two fingers, Runa chuckled as the sunlight reflected right off the blade and into the eyes of a human who was walking past. He grumbled under his breath, and then the knife was snatched from her hold, a feminine voice of displeasure following suit.

“You aren’t permitted to carry weapons within the palace. I won’t tell you again, girra .”

Runa sat up from her reclined position on a plush bench within the western wing, shooting a vehement glare at her new keeper—courtesy of General Castmont. They had yet to find the murderer of the halfling, and since she was the only mortal housed in the east wing, and a foreign princess, the general insisted she have an escort.

The soldier rarely spoke, not that Runa minded, but it took almost a full day to even get her name—Nadia. She didn’t really care for Calaechians, it seemed, and Runa didn’t really care to be called... whatever girra meant.

“Where do you keep finding these anyway?” Nadia inquired.

Runa only shrugged, returning to her fingertips, where she willed blazing tendrils to rise, twining into a minuscule torrent of flame.

“Magic isn’t permitted indoors either, unless it serves a purpose,” Nadia muttered, blowing air from her mouth to put out the flame like a candle.

Biting down on her tongue, Runa gave a strained smile. “The purpose is to keep me from dying of boredom, so unless you have any ideas, I’d like my knife back.”

Holding out her hand, she matched her guard’s narrowing brown eyes, which were almost as dark as her own.

Nadia snorted a laugh, looking her up and down before crossing her arms and returning to survey their surroundings. “I’m not here to ensure you’re entertained. Just breathing.”

Her sandy-brown skin brought out the strange, gilded markings which veiled much of her flesh—the parts that weren’t covered by her steel and leather armor anyway. Delicate whorls of gold laced her fingers, traveling up and peeking out of the cut of her breastplate, where the markings climbed her neck and the underside of her jaw, stopping at the chin.

“What are those marks on your skin?” Runa hadn’t bothered to ask about them the past two days, not caring enough to, but with Lucius and Fynn off roaming the grounds with their newfound freedom extended by the king, she had nothing better to do. Honestly, why bother bringing her to Thesia if they planned on pretending she didn’t exist? She expected as much from Lucius, but Fynn?

Nadia didn’t answer her question, remaining silent as her head swiveled to either side of the west corridor, her long, dark-brown braid swaying with every movement.

“Oh, come on. You’re stuck with me until the Solstice. Or until they find the killer, whichever comes first.” Runa sighed, falling back against the cushions of the bench, which wasn’t very proper for a princess, but she didn’t care. “My bet is on the Solstice, though. What about you?”

“They’re tattoos.” Nadia grumbled her reply, side-eyeing Runa’s unladylike display. “An honorary adornment where I’m from.”

Tattoos . They looked like they were painted on but were permanently etched into her flesh. “So you’re not Thesian?”

Come to think of it, she didn’t really look Thesian—she also didn’t look like a warrior, apart from the attire. Far too pretty to be a soldier, Runa thought when they first met. The way her eyes restlessly scanned the perimeter, though, there was no mistaking her for anything but.

Nadia brought her scowl back down to Runa. “I was born in Phaetris.”

That explained the slight accent, and the many times she’d muttered incoherently under her breath—it must be a language from Phaetris, the desert continent.

Now that her interest was piqued, she sat back up to face her guard completely. “Which part of Phaetris? And why choose to live in Thesia of all places?”

Nadia only scoffed, brushing off Runa’s queries with a shake of her head. “I think that’s enough questions, girra .”

Runa had plenty more at the ready—like what did girra mean—but the growling whispers of two golden-haired royals caught her attention, and she leapt from her spot. Even Nadia tensed, though her stare went beyond the Fairlight siblings, to the guard at the rear. It was Surina’s guard, who shared a twinkling smile with Nadia.

She might not originate from Thesia, but she certainly wore her heart on her sleeve like a Thesian.

Noted , Runa mused, glancing between the two before the king spotted her.

“Princess Runa,” King Cyril said, his brows pinching together in confusion as he stopped in front of her bow. “Are you not joining your father and brother on their tour around the palace grounds?”

Runa smiled, clasping her hands together in front of her skirts. “Unfortunately, I’m feeling unwell today, Your Majesty. I was afraid the autumn winds might make matters worse, so I insisted they go without me.” A complete lie, but he seemed to believe it well enough.

Nadia shifted anxiously beside her, though she didn’t call her out on the deception.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said kindly, the gesture making her feel some semblance of guilt for lying. It was sickening how genuine the Thesians were—so unlike what she was accustomed to.

“We were just heading to breakfast,” Surina piped up from beside her brother.

Runa could have sworn there was a flash of mischief in that prissy smile of hers, which vanished in the seconds she looked between the king and Runa. “You should join us.”

The Fairlight king didn’t seem to appreciate the invitation in the slightest, putting on a tight-lipped grin. “Surina, if the princess doesn’t feel well—”

“I would love to.” Runa beamed, thinking it the perfect opportunity to get back at Fynn for leaving her behind this morning. If he liked the posh brat so much, she’d love to see how well he did when Surina learned of his many affairs from back home.

“Well, in that case…” The king nodded in the direction they’d been heading.

Surina’s haughty smirk made Runa wonder if she was the one being used.

As they entered the grand banquet hall, Nadia remained outside with Surina’s guard, who Runa just now recalled was another of the Castmont kin. How many of their brood were roaming these halls? she wondered, seeming to speak too soon, as her stare fell on another—Lady Dahlia Castmont.

Elated to see Surina, Lady Castmont rose to embrace the princess, whispering sweet little praises about how happy she was to see her outside of her rooms after everything that happened.

Barf .

When the king’s consort glanced up from Surina, her delight faltered. Not long enough for most to notice, but Runa did. She’d been trained to spot subtle changes in the features of others, as no one could be trusted in Calaechia. Not when so many wished to see another on the throne after a millennium of Blackwell rule.

“Princess Runa will be joining us for breakfast.” The king’s tone was careful, his eyes sending a warning to his wife that must have been along the lines of “ behave ” because her features immediately brightened.

Did it bother Dahlia to have the daughter of her father’s once-betrothed within their very home? And here she thought both parties had long since moved on.

“I’m happy you could join us, princess.” Dahlia spoke cordially, gesturing for everyone to take their seats. “I hope all of the chaos of such a tragedy hasn’t ruined your stay here.”

“No, not at all. In fact—” Runa paused to gesture at the doors, where Nadia would be waiting on the other side, “—I’m grateful for your father’s attentiveness to my safety, permitting me one of his soldiers as an escort. It is very kind of him.”

Dahlia grinned, a slight twitch in her lips. “Nadia is like family, and an excellent warrior, but we can always arrange a room in the western wing, if you would be more comfortable there?”

“That won’t be necessary. King Ezra has assured me that someone will always keep watch outside of my room,” she murmured sweetly, the sound of her own voice almost making her cringe.

Surina’s head noticeably perked up with the mention of the Nightwood king.

King Cyril nodded as breakfast was brought to their table by a male halfling, who appeared right around Runa’s age, with pretty, light green eyes that flicked over to her spot at the table.

“Speaking of Ezra,” Cyril began, snatching Runa’s attention from the male. “Surina, you are to have dinner with the king tonight. He wishes to hear of your successes in training.”

The crystal goblet Surina held froze at the edge of her lips, and a venomous scowl replaced her passive reservations. “Then I’ll write him a letter or something,” she grumbled, drawing a sip of water.

“You’re going. I’ve already accepted on your behalf.”

Surina slammed the glass down with such force, it rocked the china and silverware on the table. “Why? You don’t even like him.”

“He is your king, and despite what you may believe, it’s important that our families get along, so drop it ,” he ground out through clenched teeth.

Runa chewed on the inside of her cheek to stop her lips from showing just how much she was enjoying this.

Though the Fairlight princess didn’t utter another word, the flush along her cheeks and ears bloomed into a full mask of heated red.

Really ? Runa could think of worse things than dining with Ezra Nightwood.

They remained in a seemingly unending silence, only the taps and scrapes of silverware on porcelain filling the void, until the halfling returned to their table to whisper into the ear of the king.

“I’m sorry to do this, but we must go. Please, finish without us. And Surina,” the king peered over at his sister as he rose from the table with Lady Castmont. “Make an effort to be on time tonight.”

Surina didn’t acknowledge his command, nor the somberness of his mood, as he appeared to have more that he wished to say, but couldn’t with Runa present. Surina only pushed the same mound of eggs around her plate until he departed.

With the king and his wife now gone, Runa slouched over the edge of the table, leaning the weight of her head against a propped-up fist. Snapping her fingers, the candles lining the center of the table sparked to life. “So, what do you normally do for fun here?” she muttered, reluctant to strike up a conversation.

Ignoring her question, Surina glowered at the flames before she finally spoke. “In Thesia, it’s ill-mannered to use magic so trivially in public.”

Runa whirled a finger, the motion igniting a flower within the plush bouquet centered on the table. “You Thesians and your rules. How do you even make it out of your bedroom in the morning without breaking a law?”

“As opposed to your kingdom of unruly brutes?” Surina snuffed out Runa’s flame with a whisk of air, saving the rest of the flowers from a fiery demise.

Two affinities weren’t enough to mask Surina’s insecurities, and it definitely wasn’t enough to warrant the affections of Fynn, so why ? What could he possibly see in her? Because she was a princess ? Or was it because their mother spoke so highly of the Fairlights?

They were nothing but a coddled bloodline of spineless royals—even Surina’s father had been so afraid of war with the dragons that he’d turned his head to obvious deceit. He died because he’d rather bow to the dragons than fight them.

“What would you know of Calaechia, or anything outside of these walls, for that matter? You’re as dull as this keep, and once Fynn realizes it, he’ll move on to the next girl that catches his eye, as he’s always done.”

Surina shoved up from her seat, her scowl fixated on Runa, who couldn’t help but feel triumphant in her endeavor to piss off the princess. It was too easy.

“You don’t know the first thing about me,” Surina seethed, a thrash of wind passing over their table, blowing out every candle.

Sitting back in her chair, Runa crossed her arms as she lifted her chin higher. “I know the only interesting thing about you is that you were almost killed by a dragon. Like father, like daughter.” She sneered, and just like that, Runa had her.

A charged breeze rushed by, the same skin-tickling energy as the other night at dinner. Runa had first thought it was the princess’s affinity for the element, as some wind users could manipulate the pressure in the air to generate a degree of static, but this felt different. It was like a current was being drawn in, pooling into a weighted cloud around Surina.

Before Runa could open her mouth to question the strange presence, Surina stormed out of the banquet hall, the weight receding along with her furious steps. Nadia’s vexation was apparent when she peered through the door after noting the princess’s temperament.

Like earlier, Runa shrugged off her guard’s opinionated glare, returning to finish her breakfast with a gloating smile.

Her hand paused mid-reach when she took in the sight of the bouquet, where one charred bloom remained, but the rest… the rest fell limp against the vase, withered and drained of life, as if they’d been left unattended for weeks.

Earth magic ? But she knew Surina had air and water. Having three affinities was unheard of, and even if it wasn’t, no fae in existence could take from the elements like that. Conjuration and manipulation, sure, but stealing life? There had to be some other explanation—maybe a trick with water.

As she lifted a wilted bloom into her palm, the moisture still remained. It was like any flower that had seen the end of its days, but just seconds ago, they had been lively and full of color.

◆◆◆

It was simple enough to get her father to seek permission from the king to allow the Blackwell princes to leave their rooms during the day. Although Leirie did feel a little guilty for playing a part in their exception to the law, especially after Frasier’s murder. Though no evidence pointed to a fae as the killer, the mortals within the Court of the Sun had already made up their minds.

Her mood quickly declined as a nearby human family caught sight of the Calaechian royals, their eyes widening with disbelief, only to glaze over with stark fear. She watched as they frantically changed their course in an effort to avoid crossing paths with the two fae. Even with Leirie and her father accompanying the princes, the mortal onlookers seemed uneasy.

Soon, it will be you they flee from , she thought to herself. You they fear .

Her father had won the hearts of the Court of the Sun eons ago, along with the Castmonts, when they’d fought in the war against Calaechia before the alliance. Her father had killed and done terrible things in his past, but because he did it for them—for humans—he was a hero.

When her time came, she would have to prove her loyalty, too, in other ways, and it would take years before she could be trusted around humans once the curse manifested with her transition.

Quick to fall into Fynn’s charm during their walk of the grounds, Leirie had been able to forget her slip-up this morning in Surina’s room…until now. She hadn’t planned on staying for long, but she hadn’t seen Surina like that in years. That wild light of hers seemed to fade a little over the past few days, and she’d hardly left her room after finding Frasier.

She’d come to brighten Surina’s spirits after the past few nights, but good intentions or not, it was time for Leirie to face the truth—her body was changing. Morphing into the immortal she was destined since birth to become, as all fae were. Leirie didn’t know how long her transition would last—no one did—which meant she couldn’t trust herself around Surina anymore. Or anyone, for that matter. The king was right to ask her to leave, being one of the very few who knew of the onset of her transition. He was only protecting his sister from what was to come.

“Everything alright? You’ve been pretty quiet.” Fynn brushed against her arm, the act a simple way to get her attention, but it set her heart into a whirling mess.

“Sorry,” she breathed, dragging out a smile to soothe the pinch of his brow. “I have a lot on my mind.”

“I understand,” he murmured, dipping his chin down and lowering his voice. “I appreciate the lengths you went through with your king, but maybe this was a mistake.”

“Why do you say that?” She was a little surprised by the admission.

Fynn laughed softly, a beautiful sound that made Leirie shudder. “Come now, I know you’ve seen the way the mortals have been avoiding us. They don’t like us out during the day.”

“They’re just not used to it, is all.” Leirie didn’t bother trying to convince Fynn otherwise, but she made an attempt to excuse their crude glares. It wasn’t fair for guests of the crown to be treated in such a way, regardless of race or kingdom affiliation.

Fynn didn’t seem to believe her, snorting his disagreement as he eyed another group of humans, who turned their backs on them as they neared. “They hate our kind, Leirie, and they always will. They may use the curse as an excuse, but it’s what the fae represent that they truly despise.”

Leirie gaped, thrown off by the blatancy of his words—she didn’t really believe that the humans in Thesia hated the fae, but they’d grown accustomed to the laws separating the two races. Their safety relied heavily on its enforcement.

“And what do we represent?”

He looked her over, a steady calm settling the fire in his bottomless brown eyes. “Everlasting life, eternal beauty, power—take your pick. Things that they’ll never have, because it was the fae who were made in the image of the divines, and they hate us for it.”

“But the divines made them too,” she countered.

“Lesser versions of their first creations. The fae built this world with the power given to them by the divines, and yet we restrict ourselves for them . Why? So they can look down on us? Blame us for every misfortune or dark deed?”

As Fynn shoved his hands in his pockets, their eyes landed on the next group of humans they passed on the walkway, their glares just as poisonous as the rest.

Leirie thought back to the Court of the Sun yesterday and the mortals voicing their mistrust of the Nightwood king heading the investigations for Frasier’s death. They thought because her father and the king were far enough away, that they couldn’t be heard, but Leirie’s hearing had been fickle lately, uncontrollably homing in on various conversations and sounds. They wouldn’t accept anything but a fae as the killer, evidence be damned.

Fynn continued, and this time, she listened. “They outnumber us, and if it wasn’t for their fear of the dragons, nothing would stop them from turning on us. Just look at the human empire.”

It was true, the Britonian Empire to the north had long since pushed out the fae. Thesia wasn’t at war with the empire, and often times engaged in trade with them, but fae weren’t allowed within their lands without invitation from the emperor himself.

“Sorry. I don’t mean to sound like some fanatic. I only worry for my sister. She shouldn’t have too much longer before her transition begins and, well, I’m sure you already know how humans look at you during the beginning stages of the change. They check you off as a monster before you’ve even had your first taste of blood.”

His brows knotted when she slowed her steps, coming to a frozen halt.

Leirie only blinked, not sure if she heard him correctly. “How would I know that?”

The prince turned to face her completely, their fathers continuing along the path. He scratched the back of his head as his gaze grazed their surroundings, leaning in close enough for her to inhale the woodsy smell of him. “You are transitioning, are you not?” Fynn murmured, a curious tilt to his head.

Frenzied heat crashed through her body. “Only recently, but I—how do you know that?”

“Hey.” Fynn slipped a hand beneath her woolen shawl to grasp hers, and it felt like she was breathing for the first time, struggling to draw in air, until he pacified her shortened pants with a tight squeeze of her fingers. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of, Leirie, and as for how I know… it’s the scent. It changes the closer you are to immortality. Other fae will eventually be able to pick up on it too.”

She hadn’t known that. Were others aware of her change then? Waiting on her to lash out like an animal? That meant Galen would know too. Surina would be devastated when she found out, not because she would see Leirie any differently as an immortal, but because Leirie had been lying about going to Cillica for only a few months. It would be more like a few years . Until she could live safely among mortals again. Either that, or she’d have to be locked up in the palace during the day—in the east wing.

A sharp wind cut through them, and Leirie curled the shawl around her arms with her free hand, though the cold wasn’t half as intrusive as it used to be—another part of the transition was a tolerance for inclement weather.

“Please don’t say anything to Surina. I haven’t found a good a way to tell her yet.”

Fynn shook his head, releasing her hand as his eyes narrowed with a questioning glare. “Where I’m from, it is revered when one enters immortality. Honored. It’s a beautiful thing, to grow into your true self,” he said assuredly.

“It’s different here. If I hurt someone, my father’s spot in the Court of the Sun would be at risk. He could be stripped of his title.” She spoke quickly, glancing past the prince to find both Lucius and her father had stopped and were now staring back in their direction. “Please, Your Highness,” she pleaded, keeping her voice below a whisper.

The prince sighed, rolling his eyes with a humorous flare. “I won’t say anything, if that’s all you’re worried about, though I don’t think it’s something you should feel the need to hide. And I already told you, call me Fynn.” He smiled, stepping to the side of the path he was blocking.

Leirie released a heavy exhale, and once her heart stilled, she returned his smile. “Thank you… Fynn ,” she added, liking the sound of his name on her tongue. Her heart fluttered as he nodded his approval, and they fell back into step together.

“Speaking of Surina, though, I heard she was the one to find the halfling. How is she?” Fynn asked quietly, anxiously awaiting her response with a keen stare.

Leirie hated that she couldn’t fight the pang of jealousy rushing through her blood with him asking about Surina. It was unfounded, and she wanted to be able to blame it on the primal parts of herself that were awakening with the beginnings of the transition, but it was more than that.

“She’s…” Leirie looked away, taking in the crisp morning air before her reply. “I think she’ll feel better once the monster who killed Frasier is found.”

Fynn murmured his agreement, silently studying a mortal who made his way over to Lucius with a piece of parchment in hand, cautiously handing it over with a swift bow.

“If you’ll excuse me for a moment,” Fynn said politely, leaving her side to join his father, who was opening what must have been a letter.

Allowing them some privacy, Leirie stepped off the path to survey the tulips, which were maybe a week from blooming, and growing in nicely—all flowers on the keep grounds did, considering the royal gardeners had an abundance of enchantments placed on the palace to keep it lively and vibrant year-round. It was cheating, in her opinion, but that didn’t make their work any less stunning.

The unopened blooms reminded her of Suri, how her impatience usually won out in the end, using her earth affinity to force the flower to blossom so she could see what lie within. Her curiosity was what always got her into trouble, but it was also the part of her that Leirie loved the most.

If not for Suri’s interest in the unknown, they would have never been friends. It was Surina who sought her out in the halls of the keep the first year Leirie visited the palace with her father. Suri’s fascination with Cillica was a simple, but unexpected, bridge that instantly led to friendship.

Now, here she was, withholding such a deadly secret from Surina—from her best friend. That wasn’t even the only secret, either. Because as long as she’d known Surina, Leirie had been hiding something that would turn her friend from her forever. It was something that had grown more demanding with Leirie’s nearness to the change—an inkling of power that had been passed on from her mom to her, like any affinity would. Instead of getting her mother’s affinity for earth, though, she’d gotten something else instead.

“Is something the matter, butterfly?” The low resonance of her father’s voice saved her from the sinking bleakness of her thoughts.

Butterfly . Her mom had given her that nickname. Fitting, for a little girl who followed her mother through the gardens, desperate to watch her nurse the flowers back to good health with earth magic, wondering why she couldn’t do the same.

See these butterflies, Leirie? How they flit to each bloom? They don’t have magic either, but the flowers still need them. Just like I need you, my little butterfly.

“If it’s too much being around all of these people…” he continued through her silence, a somber gaze showing all that was weighing on him—more than the usual weight of his title.

While Lucius was right to think Leirie looked like her mother, she’d inherited her warm, sepia skin from her father, though his was of a darker shade, and it brought out the earthy notes of his brown eyes, which were much darker than Leirie’s.

“I’m okay, Papa. Just a little tired after the funeral this morning,” she replied with a smile, which was difficult to force when it had come so easily with Fynn these past couple days.

“The king told me of your visit with the princess afterwards.” He said it so casually no one else would have ever guessed a warning rested within it, but she knew.

Leirie looked back at the tulip buds—a lovely shade that almost matched Suri’s irises. “You saw her at the funeral, she needed me.”

“There are more eyes on you now than ever before, Leirie,” he pressed, and then leaned closer to ensure not a single soul could hear his next words. “Your other… gift should be used as a last resort, should you find your back against a wall. Not to cheer up your friends. Your mother could go years without using it, and it’s time you strive to do the same.”

“Am I in trouble?” she asked, the slight croak in her throat threatening to give way to a stream of tears. The worst part of the transition, by far—uncontrollable mood swings.

“ No ,” he assured her, cupping her hand between both of his. “Of course not, butterfly. You were only trying to help her, I know that.”

Leirie waited for the “but” that was certain to follow, and then a strange chill swept over her spine—the same as the one from the other night. For a moment, she thought her father might have felt the same thing when his hands tensed around her, but he never voiced any complaint, continuing as if it were just an autumn breeze slipping by.

“The king knows of your transition and nothing more. I only wish for it to remain that way. If others were to learn of what you can do, it would complicate things. Your transition will only make it harder for you to resist your magic’s pull—a natural tendency, I know—but lean on your affinity for water whenever you have urges.”

If only he knew how little she felt compelled to reach for her water magic—the magic she’d inherited from him.

“I think it would be in our family’s best interest if you left for Cillica earlier than anticipated.”

“ What ?” She knew her departure from the palace was inevitable, but this just wasn’t fair. All because she went to see her friend? “When will I leave?”

“Next week. I’ve already arranged for all of your things to be shipped ahead so—”

A hand pressed into the small of her back, and a smooth, sweet voice arose to cut off her father. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” Fynn said, his gaze dropping to Leirie when she turned around.

Quickly, she amended the pinch of her brow, and the warm sting of tears that had almost escaped with her father’s news.

“Not at all, Your Highness.” Her father was respectful, but by the terse cut of his jaw, she imagined he wasn’t too pleased.

“It seems Lucius needs to return to the palace. My grandfather is rather impatient when it comes to returning correspondence and is expecting a raven immediately,” Fynn said drolly.

“I hope all is well back home,” her father replied.

The prince only nodded, dejection swallowing the humor of his upturned lips. “It’s a shame. I was hoping to see the gardens before we had to return.”

“I’d be happy to show you the gardens.” Leirie edged into the conversation, a bright swell of excitement bubbling in her chest, until she caught sight of her father’s displeasure. “If—if that’s alright with you, Papa. The prince would need an escort, after all.”

“He would, though it is not entirely appropriate for a lady to be without her own escort.” By the gleam in his eye, he was daring her to contest the annoyingly ancient custom.

She understood his hesitation, as Fynn was a newly changed fae, but with the transition, her blood would be far less alluring to a fae’s senses, and eventually, it wouldn’t provide any sustenance at all.

Regardless, she began to nod her solemn agreement, only for Fynn to interject.

“Lady Windspire is an aspiring ambassador, is she not? Escorting representatives of various courts isn’t uncommon for such a position, and I have no doubt the kings would approve of the courteous gesture.”

Leirie shifted on her feet between the two males, the brewing fury only growing as Fynn not only matched her father’s glare but challenged it with a wry grin.

“It’s okay,” she murmured to her father, tightening her hold on his hand as the sensation of magic exited through her voice.

Within seconds his body relaxed, and so did hers when the ferocity finally left his frown. This would absolutely come up later, but what did it matter when she was already going to be shut away for years. Now much earlier than she’d thought.

“Very well,” her father said plainly.

With a raised brow, the prince glanced confusedly between the two of them. Leirie didn’t idle long, not sure when her father would return to his senses.

“Thank you, Papa!” she rushed out, feet already set into motion. “To the gardens then?” she called to Fynn from over her shoulder.

A faint laugh brushed through his lips, but as quick as lightning across the sky, the prince was at her side.

She wasn’t sure when that icy phantom had dispersed—or maybe it hadn’t—and Leirie just couldn’t focus on anything except how striking his hair was in the sun’s rays. It wasn’t fair that such a color should be restricted to the dull light of the moon.

With every glimmer that caught her eye from those coppery waves, her guilt grew lighter and lighter, as did the fear of whatever consequences she would surely meet tonight.