“They say the ocean has turned to a sea of molten flame,” he suggested. “To go near it would mean certain death.”
“Certain?” She joined the fun. “I doubt it would be anything a little snow couldn’t soothe. Worth a bit of pain, surely, to see beneath the mist, to know what waits there.”
“You’re not afraid?” he asked, surprised. “Of the fire god’s wrath? Of his dragons?”
“Other things scare me more,” she told him, voice so soft it was nearly drowned out by the wind whipping over the edge, pressing into their chests, making the blanket snap loudly, though she didn’t seem to notice.
What?
What scares you more than that?
Xander ached to know what could make her afraid, this princess who had won the trials, who had bested all her peers, who had defied tradition, maybe even the gods, by her actions. What could she possibly fear?
“Why did you choose me?” he asked, instead. Because they were little more than strangers, and he didn’t think he’d earned the answers to his other questions. Not yet, at least.
“I didn’t, not exactly.” The princess finally turned toward him, the barest hint of a smile on her lips.
He couldn’t tell if she was teasing, but he thought maybe, for a moment, she was. Yet, despite being delivered in a light tone, the words stung. Xander tried not to cringe. “My brother, then. Why did you pick him?”
“I didn’t pick him, trust me.” A frown passed over her forehead, etched deep with frustration. “He’s rude and somewhat of a grouch. And I just— I—”
The princess paused. Her words had released a knot in his chest, and Xander couldn’t stop a small grin from flittering over his lips at her rather apt description of Rafe. But then she sighed as she unweaved whatever tangled mess was in her unreadable mind. “What would you have done? I had four princes to choose from, all of whom were little more than strangers. My father matched me with Damien, and I’m sure he would’ve made a good mate, but if I’d followed along, then my whole life would have been decided for me. And I wanted a say. Maybe that makes me the typical spoiled princess who doesn’t realize how lucky she is. Maybe it just makes me human. I’m not really sure. All I know is that I chose the last mate anyone thought I would, and it gave me the slightest bit of pleasure to shock them all.”
Xander nodded.
He understood the binds of royalty. He understood the weight, the restrictions, the sacrifices. But unlike her, he embraced them. All Xander wanted to be was a good prince, a great king for his people. Everything he’d ever done was for them—to erase the mistakes of the past, to ensure them a better future. In every decision he placed them first, over his honor, his desires, and even his pride.
“Why did you say yes?” Lyana asked.
“Because,” he started, and then paused. He could lie and say it was her beauty or her brashness, that he’d been swept away in the moment. But it wasn’t the truth. In his heart, he’d gone there expecting someone else, wanting someone else, mind full of a dream that would never come true—the silly dream of a boy, the sort of dream an heir wasn’t allowed to follow. And his mate deserved honesty. “Because you’re the daughter of Aethios.”
Lyana nodded, a series of unsurprised rises and falls, before she let her lips spread into a wry smile. “Then I guess we both got what we wanted.” She stood, ending the moment, whatever it was. “Thank you for the blanket, but the sun is nearly down, so we should probably go inside.”
The princess held out the fur to him, and he took it. Their fingers brushed and they both hastily retreated, letting go at the same time. A gust of wind snatched the blanket, lifting it into the sky so it looked like a living thing as it wriggled in the air, then dropped beneath the edge, fluttering as though it had wings. Either one of them could have raced to retrieve it, but they didn’t. They stayed there, watching it disappear.
“Lysander,” she murmured. The word rolled from her lips, dipped in honey, tantalizing and smooth, as though his name were something precious, as though it held power. The sound sent a tingling down his spine.
He looked at her.
But she’d already turned around. Before he could ask why she’d said his name, her luminescent ivory wings flapped, leaving nothing but a plume of snow in her wake.
32
Rafe
Rafe must have paced the length of his room a hundred times in a row—walking to the door, pausing, shaking his head, returning to the bed, stopping just shy of lying down, turning, marching back to the door, over and over and over, until his mind was dizzy.
He had to talk to her one last time—but he shouldn’t.
He wanted to explain—but what would he say?
It would be for Xander. At least, that was what he told himself. That he’d be going there for Xander, to praise his brother, to ease her fears, to give the two of them a better shot at getting to know each other.
For Xander, he thought, standing before the door, hand hovering over the knob but not quite touching it. For Xander. For Xander. For—
The door shot open.
Rafe recoiled, narrowly avoiding a plank of wood to the face as he jumped away. The princess marched in, silently shut the door behind her, and whipped around to face him, features charged.
“Your name,” she ordered, not a question. Her ivory wings were wide. Her arms were crossed. Her hip was cocked to the side. Everything about her oozed superiority and ire. Her haughty airs immediately set him on edge.
“No.”
Her eyes flashed like lightning in a storm. “No?”
Rafe shrugged. “No.”
“Tell me your name,” she commanded, somewhere between disbelief and indignation.
He could have given in.
He should have given in—gotten it over quickly, told her what she wanted to know and then forced her to leave before any of the sleeping ravens around them woke up.
But he didn’t.
And he really didn’t care to linger on the reasoning.
“Why?” he asked instead, unable to stop the smile rising to his lips.
Hers curled. “Are you really refusing to tell me your name?”
“No,” he said lightly. “If you tell me why you want to know so badly that you barged into my room in the middle of the night, I’ll tell you what it is.”
“I could just ask the prince,” she countered, narrowing her eyes.
“You could.”
“Or anyone else.”
“So why didn’t you?”
Her nose wrinkled in annoyance. Something about the gesture was undeniably endearing. He looked away from her, toward the curtains he’d drawn earlier that night, as though he’d somehow known something would happen that he didn’t want the outside world to witness.
“Please. I only know you as Lysander, but now he’s Lysander, and…” She trailed off as her wings dipped low enough for her primaries to slouch against the floor. Her features fell with them. And when she spoke again, her voice was hardly an echo of the vivacious girl he’d grown used to. “Just please.”
He ached to cross the room, to press his hand to her cheek, to bring a smile back to her lips.