Lyana let out a breath and again flicked her gaze around the room. Luka watched her with a proud grin on his lips. The hummingbird prince had a hungry sort of expression in his eyes. The raven was still fascinated by his shoes.
A crack drew her attention as another disc was released. Then two more.
Thunk.
Thunk.
Thunk.
Lyana patted her clothes. Two daggers at her chest. One at her wrist. One more at her thigh. Four targets left, but she only planned to hit three.
Thunk.
Thunk.
Lyana tugged the final two blades free from her chest, weighing them in her hands, waiting in the center of the arena as the final two slingshots were quietly loaded. She breathed, in and out, in and out, and the room seemed to breathe with her, inhaling and exhaling at the same time she did, all doves hoping their princess would do what they knew she could—win the test.
The targets were released.
She hit the first one without hesitation and flapped her wings, rising higher and higher, above the crowd, above the remaining target, which was making a rapid descent for the floor, all the way to the apex of the dome. And only when she was as far away as possible did she stretch back her arm, not even facing the final disc, and let go.
Thunk.
A collective gasp filled the room.
Lysander didn’t flinch as the blade landed squarely between his feet.
But he did, at long last, look up.
25
Rafe
He wished she hadn’t done that.
He really, really wished she hadn’t done that. For starters, two inches to the left or right and he could be missing a toe right now. But that wasn’t his main issue. No. While a self-satisfied spark lit her eyes, Rafe couldn’t help but notice two other sets of eyes turn toward him, fueled by something far more dangerous—loathing.
He dropped his gaze to the floor, silently cursing that he’d given in to her tantrum when he promised himself not to pay attention to the princess. All that mattered were the tests, the games. All that mattered was proving his house’s worth. All that mattered was winning, for Xander’s sake. Because the heir with the most victories won first official pick of mate on the final day of the trials. Of course, the matches were truly made during backroom conversations and through secret messages passed from one house to the other, actions far more political than these tests of strength. But it was easy to say no in writing. Saying no out loud, surrounded by a crowd of a thousand people, that was something else entirely. And if Rafe won first pick for his brother, even if no princess was technically supposed to match with Xander, he was hoping that the pressure of the moment and the honor of being the first mate selected would make her a little less inclined to say no. It was rare for an heir to subvert whatever decision had been made behind closed doors—rare, but not unheard of. Which was why he had to win. There was no other option.
Three, Rafe thought. Tying with the dove prince marked his third top placement of the day for the male trials. First archery, then endurance, now daggers.
He ran through the calculations in his head. Damien, the hummingbird prince, had two victories. Luka, the dove prince, had one. Unfortunately for him, heading into the final test of the day, those just happened to be the two people attempting to burn holes through his skull—one provoked by protective fury, the other by jealous ire.
Rafe sighed. I really wish she hadn’t done that.
He kicked at the dagger still lodged in the wood beneath his feet, but the damn thing wouldn’t budge. He refused to kneel and pick it up. He refused to acknowledge its existence any longer. So instead, he took two steps forward. Out of sight, out of mind…
If only life were so easy.
Acting of their own volition, his eyes ever so slowly shifted up, up, up, finding the dove princess one more time.
Ana didn’t look away.
Neither did Rafe.
They held gazes across the arena, not blinking, hardly breathing, as the center of the floor was cleared for the next test.
The bell chimed again.
Ana broke their stare, turning aside to accept the sword her brother offered, sliding the polished blade free of its sheath as she tested its weight in her hand and whipped it in a single wide arc, movements graceful and lethal. She looked to find him still watching and widened her smile.
Oh, she was dangerous.
In far more ways than one.
Rafe frowned as the princesses from each house stepped off their platforms and flew toward the center ring. New calculations occupied his mind—not of his victories, but of hers. Thea, the eagle, had won the archery trial for the girls and had tied for the lead with the daggers. She was at the head of the pack. The princess of the House of Paradise had won the speed race. The princess from the House of Wisdom had won the test of endurance. But Lyana had tied for the win with the daggers—the obvious victor if she hadn’t pulled that stunt—and a worried knot was coiling at the pit of his stomach as he watched her land in a confident stride, sword far too comfortable in her hand, and begin the last assessment of the day—hand-to-hand combat.
Again, he returned his gaze to the floor, studying the wavy paths of woodgrain in the boards beneath his feet, counting the rings, each one a different story, a different age, a different year. No matter how he tried to distract himself, the sinking feeling just grew, as though the platform had begun to melt, sucking him down and down and down so deep that the air was stifling.
But he wouldn’t look up.
Couldn’t look up.
Refused—
The room erupted in a deafening roar of cheers.
Rafe’s shoulders caved in, and he looked up.
Ana stood in the center ring, her sword at the Princess of the House of Prey’s neck, wings pearlescent in the rays shining down the center of the arched dome. The winner. Tied for overall first place for the girls.
With that, he knew she was thinking the same thing as he—that, if put on the spot, her choice of mate wouldn’t have the gall to say no, not to the daughter of Aethios, the most prized match he could ever hope to make.
And she was right.
Xander would never say no to the offer.
Xander, the Crown Prince of the House of Whispers, who would walk up to his new mate and slide off his mask to reveal his face on the final day of the courtship trials.
Xander, not Rafe.
A fist clenched his insides and tore everything out of place, leaving him off-kilter as he followed the other princes to the center of the floor. Rafe shook his head, trying to clear his brain as he slid his twin blades from the scabbards on his back. Nothing had ever felt more comfortable or more natural in his hands than those worn leather hilts, and yet his fingers were numb and his arms heavy as he waited for his first opponent.
An easy match.
Yuri, the second son of the House of Paradise.
Rafe lucked out, because if he’d started with anyone else, he wasn’t sure his muddled instincts would have been up to the task. But by the end of that first fight, his focus had returned. Because this wasn’t about a willful princess, it was about Xander. And that was whom Rafe kept at the forefront of his thoughts as he turned to face his next foe—the hummingbird prince.
Xander, who needed a mate.
Xander, who needed a win.
Xander, who deserved to be happy.
Xander, who was relying on him.