While the rest of them had been breathing heavily during the endurance test, straining to hover in the air as weights were incrementally dropped into a bag between their hands, he seemed unbothered. Lyana secretly wondered if he was cheating a little bit, sending some healing magic into his sore muscles to keep them steady while everyone else’s strength sapped away, but she kept her lips sealed. In fact, she smiled when the last holdout—the owl prince with his expansive wings and lifelong practice of shuffling heaps of books from room to room—dropped from the sky, proclaiming Lysander the male victor.
Some of the kings and queens frowned.
Some widened their eyes curiously.
The princesses glanced at him with a new sparkle of interest. A possessive knot formed at the pit of Lyana’s stomach, coiling more and more tightly with each not-so-low whisper from the girls around her. She kept her gaze resolutely on the center of the arena as the guards prepared for the next trial, the one she’d been eagerly awaiting—dagger throwing.
The stands in the outskirts of the room grew quiet as large slingshots were wheeled around the ovular area, creaking slightly over the stone floor. There were eight daises—one for each royal family, decorated in their colors, and one for the committee, two elected officials from each house acting as impartial judges. Between the platforms there were rows of seats, filled with as many doves and visitors as could fit. The gentle hum of voices carried through the silence. In the background, the constant rustle of feathers could be heard as the people wriggled, searching for one more inch of space in the packed stadium, where none was to be found.
Lyana shifted her weight from one foot to the other, grip tightening on the dagger at her waist, itching to throw. But while all the heirs participated in each trial, they were separated into a boys’ heat and a girls’ heat, and the princes were going first. She watched, blood pumping, nerves tingling, body aching for action.
Her brother was most gifted with a sword, but he was still proficient with daggers, having been forced into practice because of her. He hit all but two of the wooden discs launched into the air. The two princes of the House of Paradise went next, hitting about half of the targets. Poor prince Nico from the House of Wisdom nearly missed them all, despite his sharp owl’s vision. Lyana's favored mate, Damien, narrowly lost to her brother when his final dagger missed its target by less than an inch, leaving him with three targets unstruck. His younger brother performed in a similar way, though a few of his hits seemed to surprise even him. And finally, it was Lysander’s turn. The raven prince tied for first place, missing only two targets, just like her brother.
Not bad, Lyana thought, watching him return to his dais. But not enough to beat me.
Because she was going to hit every target—every target but one. Oh, if she wanted to, she’d be able to hit them all. Of that, Lyana was positive. But she had something else up her sleeve. Something to force Lysander to finally take notice. Something she’d learned from her mother.
Luka eyed her through the holes of his mask, curious in a wary way. “What’s that mischievous expression on your face?”
His own expression reminded her of Cassi's before they’d parted ways that morning—the look she was probably still wearing somewhere in the monstrous crowd. Only members of the royal family were permitted on the platforms, a fact for which she was grateful as she fought to ignore her brother and the nervous flurries his scrutiny brought to her stomach.
Just stick to the plan.
It’ll work.
It’ll be amazing.
With a deep breath, she reached for the belt of daggers presented by one of the guards. Twenty newly sharpened blades, same as all the other participants, were being offered to her. She tugged them free of the display and tucked them safely into her clothes—six into the belt already cinched around her waist, four into the holster across her chest, four on the back of her shoulders, one at each wrist strap, and two into each thigh band. Her hunting leathers had been specially designed to hold daggers, and Lyana had no problem letting everyone in the room guess her skill level while she prepared, taking her time, feeling the weight of each blade, not paying attention as the other princesses took their turns.
“Stop showing off,” Luka murmured, but his tone was playful.
Lyana glanced at him as she snapped the last buckle into place. “Now, why would I do that?”
“Because the Princess of the House of Prey just hit every target but one,” he whispered, nodding toward the center ring, where Thea had finished a steep landing. She snapped her eagle wings closed, a broad smile visible under her mask, and walked proudly back to her family.
Lyana frowned and shrugged, trying to play it cool. “There’s winning, Luka. And then there’s winning.”
He narrowed his eyes. “What does that mean?”
“You’ll see,” she said vaguely, stepping forward as the focus of the room subtly shifted toward her—a thousand pairs of eyes, a thousand silent questions, a thousand people watching, but all she saw was one.
One man with his gaze on the ground.
One prince pointedly studying his toes.
One raven who would ignore her no longer.
Because there was winning a trial, and winning a heart.
Lyana knew exactly which victory she was after as she pumped her wings, rising from the family dais and floating casually to the center of the room, pulse not thunderous as she’d expected but eerily calm. Her feet softly found stone. She swallowed, wrapping her fingers around the first dagger she intended to throw, the one at the far-left side of her waist, and pulling it free. Then she waited. Blinking once. Twice. Bending her knees. Using her thumb to twirl the hilt, making sure the muscles in her hand didn’t grow stiff.
A bell chimed.
Lyana launched into the air at the same moment the first wooden disc soared free, forgetting the room, forgetting the princes, forgetting everything but instinct. She released her dagger, not bothering to watch, smiling as a thunk made its way to her ear. But by then, the second disc had been thrown, the slight whistle hinting at its location over her shoulder. She dove toward the ground, flipping in midair and releasing her dagger as she rolled, before swerving to the opposite side where a third target raced by, then a fourth. Lyana reached with both hands, grabbing the daggers behind her shoulders and throwing at the same time.
Thunk.
Thunk.
She spared a glance at the raven prince, whose attention was still on the ground, and growled beneath her breath. But there was no time to be annoyed as the fifth, then sixth, then seventh targets danced through the air. She twirled, using her wings to propel her in a wide arc as she hit all three. A few of the doves in the crowd cheered. Lyana held her focus, finding an eighth and a ninth target, then hovered in midair as the arena seemed to pause.
All four slingshots were released at once, two targets shooting toward the center of the ring and two in opposite directions. Lyana hit the disc closest to her first, before racing through the center of the arena, turning for one, then the other. The final disc hit its peak and began dropping toward the floor, faster and faster. Her arm strength alone wouldn’t be enough to reach it, so she snapped her wings, dropped to the floor, and landed in a roll before jumping to her feet, using the momentum and the muscles in her legs for the extra push needed to reach the target.
Thunk.