Except they aren’t complete. They have me stuck on like a parasitic growth, I think—just before the rest of Autumn’s words penetrate. My head snaps toward River, my eyes widening. “Wait. Prince? You are the crown prince of Slait?”
River’s gaze catches mine and then drops to the floor.
Prince. The title echoes in my mind. Not just any immortal fae warrior, River is also the bloody prince of one of the three courts. His words and actions of the past few days reshuffle, clicking into place. The aura of unyielding command, the coin to spare, the certainties about Slait thrown about with no explanation. I knew River was concealing something—I just never imagined it would be this large. This vital. I realize Autumn is still talking only when River shushes her, his attention fully on me.
Commanding gray eyes flinch. Lower.
“River—” Autumn starts.
“Later.” The snap of command in River’s voice has me on my feet and backing toward the door.
Prince. Prince. Prince. That’s what he so carefully didn’t tell me. My mouth dries, the words weighing a hundred tons each. “Is this a palace?”
“Yes,” says River.
I nod. “And were you always intending to bring us here?”
“No.” River runs his fingers through his hair. “I had decided we wouldn’t come here at all. Autumn got the jump on me.”
I nod again. Slowly. Carefully. River lied. Because he thought he might get away with it. Because he felt he could lie to me. Because lying to a lowborn mortal girl is all right.
“You didn’t tell her?” Autumn’s hands are fisted at her hips. “Get out of my room, River.”
“Leralynn.” River extends a hand toward me.
I shake my head and back away, the sudden need to hit something overpowering my thoughts. I don’t even care if that something hits back. I know exactly what I need. “Where is Coal?”
“Still on his way here with Tye, Shade, and the horses,” River says quietly.
“I’ll wait for him in the stable, then.” I take a step toward the door. “You have a stable, right?” I ask Autumn. “Or . . . if there are several, just tell me where to go and I’ll wait there.”
“I’ll take you,” Autumn offers, moving her slender body between River and me. Slipping her arm through mine, the female guides me out of her room, firmly shutting the door before River can follow. “River can be a thoughtless ass,” she tells me as we step into the corridor—which alone shouts to the royalty of this place. The long passage could be a receiving room for its plush green rug, dangling candelabras, and frescoes of fae in love, life, and war decorating the walls.
“Would it be all right if we called on the seamstress first?” Autumn asks. She is just a bit taller than I am, which probably makes her tiny for a fae female, and glides with the same preternatural grace as her brother does.
“I don’t need anything,” I say quickly. I can’t pay for a handkerchief in this place, much less clothing.
Autumn snorts. “You need everything. Moreover, I can guarantee that River is already placing the order, because he probably thinks measurements are a frilly extra.” She stops, turning to touch my shoulder, her lower lip caught between her teeth. “I know you’ve no reason to care about those four, much less risk your life to defend Lunos against Mors’s darkness, and I’ve no right to beg it of you, but . . . please just consider them.”
“Has there ever been a quint with a mortal in it?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “And there has only ever been one other gender-mixed one—the Elders Council. Most are all male or all female. There is something very special about you, Lera. I know it makes no sense, but I think the quint has been waiting for you for a very long time.”
19
Leralynn
The measurements take half an hour, and I’m waiting at the stable when Coal, Tye, and Shade canter in. Coal’s gaze goes to mine mid-stride and he dismounts before the horse is fully stopped, landing a pace away from me.
I open my mouth to make my request, but Coal is already holding a callused hand out to me. “Come, mortal,” he says quietly. “I know where to go.”
I follow in silence as Coal leads me behind the stables to a sand-filled training yard, where several guards are practicing with wooden blades. The guards’ inquisitive stares upon seeing me dissolve into smoke the instant they notice Coal, who simply crosses his arms and surveys the training court. Within a moment the sand is empty, the males bowing low and scattering, even those who were plainly in the middle of a sparring match when we arrived.
“Are you a prince of something too?” I ask, biting the ends of my words.
“I am a warrior of the quint,” Coal says shortly. Picking up two small leather targets, Coal straps them onto his hands. “The same as you.”
I snort. “The great warrior that is me, yes.”
Coal weighs me with his gaze, his face tense. Turning on his heels, he removes the hand targets and takes three practice blades from the rack. Blades in hand, the male strides over to a training post, a larger version of the rope-covered pillar in the inn’s paddock. Coal tosses two of the training swords to the sand and swings the third one through the air, his whole body a blur.
The crack of wood as the blade shatters takes my breath.
Discarding the now-useless stick, Coal picks up the next sword, his muscles cording into a smooth arc as he shatters the blade in a single blow. With the third blade, Coal cracks the training pillar itself.
“That’s impossible,” I whisper, blinking at the debris.
“You make it possible,” Coal replies shortly. A gentle wind billows his loose black shirt, the fabric on one side outlining his cut abdominals. “We can only draw full power when the quint is complete.” He kicks the wood away. “You may not feel like a great warrior. Yet. But you are essential to our unit as a whole. We cannot function fully without you—nor you without us.”
I take this in silently, anger still sizzling in my mind.
“But in answer to your first question,” Coal continues, “no, River is the only royal among us. And yes, he should have told you earlier.”
“He isn’t the only one who can speak,” I snap. The words escape before I can catch them, but Coal doesn’t flinch.
“It was his story to tell, not ours.” Reclaiming the leather targets, Coal puts them on his hands again and holds them out before me. “Punches. Use what passes for body weight on you.”
I need no further invitation. My hands curl desperately into fists and I sink one into a leather pad, the impact echoing through my arm and making my knuckles sing. I strike again. Again. As if my fists can erase the lies, can reclaim my shreds of dignity.
Weak. Lowborn. Mortal. I punch the pad with each stinging thought.
The fae warrior towering before me starts moving, making me dance for the pleasure of striking the pad, until my breath comes in short gasps and sweat beads at the roots of my stupidly thick hair. His blue eyes glow, his beautiful face placid but for a small smile at the corners of his lips.
River is a prince and I am peasant muck. He never wanted me to step foot in his palace. I was to be his dirty little secret until the Citadel corrected the magic’s mistake.
Strike. Strike. Strike. My knuckles bleed as I pound them into the pads. The sweat coating my skin now soaks my hair, running in thick drops down my face. Strike. Duck. Turn. Whatever I do, however I move or hit, Coal has a new target waiting for me each time.
I am not a toy, my mind suddenly shouts at the pads, my bloody fists slamming into the leather. I am not a pet. Lying to me isn’t all right. Another punch, this one jolting my shoulder and sending a branch of pain through my arm. I . . . Bile rises up my throat. Because this isn’t just about the lies. It’s worse. It’s about the truth.
I slam both my hands into the targets at the same time, not caring how ineffective it is, because the dark fear inside my chest is now tumbling out, forcing itself into words. “I don’t belong,” I shout at the blo
odied leather. “Not here. Not anywhere. I. Don’t. Belong.”
“I know,” says Coal, and I realize the pads are gone from his hands, his palms clamping hard around my fists. “I don’t either. But here we both are.”
I stare at the male, my chest heaving with gasping breaths. Tiny drops of blood escape our desperate grip. His pale eyes’ purple tinge shines in the setting sun, the muscles of his square jaw so tight they tremble. His scent is musky and male and harsh like steel.
My vision blurs, the stinging in my eyes betraying tears. I want to turn my head, but Coal’s gaze won’t let me move. No pity. There is never pity in Coal’s eyes. But something more. Deeper.
Coal’s face hovers above me, so close I can feel him inhale my scent. Feel the warm tickle of air when he releases his breath. His mouth is stern, his lips holding the promise of velvet. Coal lowers our joined hands, stretching my fists to my sides.
“But here we both are,” I whisper, echoing him.
“Yes.” He swallows and steps back sharply, releasing his grip on me as if suddenly realizing he held molten steel. His voice is rough when he speaks again. Commanding. “Come,” he says, jerking his chin toward a small wooden shack at the sand’s edge.
Following Coal inside, I find a wooden table and several benches, all surrounded by racks and walls covered with training equipment and glinting steel. The air smells of sharpening stones, sweat, and sand. Leaving me to drop gracelessly onto a bench, Coal steps away to rummage through a trunk by the far wall.
I can’t help watching him. The way each movement is precise and flowing, the way muscle shifts beneath his shirt, the way he crouches smoothly to open the heavy lid. A panther. Gorgeous and dangerous. Deadly. There is no hesitation in anything Coal does either. Not when he walked us onto the sand; not now, when he’s rummaging around in an old trunk. I wonder whether he knows the palace as well as he knows this training ground. And then I’m certain I know the answer.
Coal returns with a small box, removing bandages and a pungent green salve from inside. “You are angry at River for not telling you he is the Slait crown prince, yes,” Coal says quietly, leaning muscled forearms against the table. “But you are angrier because you think we all led you on, dangling an invitation to a group you can never be part of. Peasant, slave, indentured servant—whatever you call yourself, you don’t belong among royals and you know it. You aren’t good enough. You never can be.”
Each of Coal’s words pierces my soul, striking its target truer than my fists ever did. “Are you going to claim that none of that is true?” I say, a challenge in my voice.
Coal’s eyes hold mine with infuriating, icy calm. “I won’t. I’m not in the habit of wasting my breath.” Reaching across the table, he draws my left hand toward him. My hand looks absurdly small in his palm, his thumb and forefinger capable of encircling my whole arm. Taking the edge of a bandage, Coal gently dabs the blood from my skinned knuckles, examining the cuts beneath. “You have to discover the truth for yourself, mortal. You won’t believe it otherwise. Not truly.”
Reaching into the salve, Coal smears a small glob of it onto my knuckles. The damn goop stings as horridly as it smells, and I hiss, jerking my arm away.
Coal tightens his grip. “Next time, wrap your hands first and strike with your first two knuckles here.” He traces a gentle finger across the tops of my fingers, making me shiver.
“A bit late for the sage advice,” I say through clenched teeth, reluctantly letting him take hold of my second arm.
Coal’s gaze flickers up to me. “Like I said, I don’t like to waste my breath. You weren’t ready to hear it earlier. You needed to hit the pads first.” Finishing with the cuts, Coal wraps a clean cloth around my knuckles, paying more attention than necessary to tucking in the stray ends. “I can’t draw the sting away,” he says, his voice aimed at the bandage. “But I am very familiar with the sensation.”
I swallow, my heart pounding as my free hand reaches forward to touch Coal’s forearm. River is from Slait. Tye from Blaze. Shade and Kai from Flurry. “What court are you from, Coal?” I ask, hoping he’ll answer me this time.
Coal tenses, his eyes now on the tabletop. “I’m not,” he says quietly. “I’m from Mors.”
20
Leralynn
I’m from Mors. Coal’s words echo in my head as a servant, who introduces herself as Mika, ushers me from the training yard to a palace room that she says has been assigned to me. My eyes trail the now-familiar frescoes and candelabras to a door beside Autumn’s own suite. “This can’t be right,” I tell Mika. “The royals’ rooms are here.”
“I’m quite certain,” the female replies, her voice light and musical. “Prince River had an order of clothes sent here for you, and then Princess Autumn had that order cancelled and reordered in different sizes. And then the prince had a bathtub and hot water brought in, but Master Shade refused to move from where the tub was supposed to go, and it took some time to make other arrangements for it.”
I wince. “I’m so sorry for all the trouble.”
“Don’t you dare be sorry,” Mika says, holding the door open for me. “It’s been a very long time since we saw River fuss over a female. It’s . . . it’s a better homecoming than we’ve had in centuries.”
“River isn’t fussing—” I cut off as my room’s sweeping ceiling spins my world. The chamber is even grander than Autumn’s, if that’s possible, though it’s more likely that actually being able to see the floor skews my perception. The bed, large enough to sleep a family of seven, is covered with an airy sky-blue duvet, while matching silk curtains frame the floor-to-ceiling windows and a dangling candelabra bathes the room in starlight. A small dais in the other corner of the room holds . . .
“Out, Shade!” I yell at the wolf lounging on a platform plainly designed for the tub, which now sits on the plush rug instead. “You can’t possibly even be comfortable up there, and there’s no chance in hell that I’m bathing with you watching, be you wolf or worm.”
The wolf rises lazily, making sure to take his time stretching each and every limb before stepping down. For a lightning-quick predator, the furry beast can be slow as molasses. Finally, with all four paws on the rug, Shade lifts his tail into the air and demonstratively trots past Mika and me into the corridor.
“Sorry about that,” I tell Mika. “Shade’s wolf has worse manners than a soup-bound hen.” I say this part loudly enough to reach into the corridor, and I grin at the echoing growl.
“Let’s get you bathed for dinner, my lady,” the fae female says, as if evicting wolves from sleeping chambers were an everyday occurrence and not meant to distract one from more important tasks. Opening up the armoire, Mika removes a flowing dress of red silk, with luscious skirts and a tight bodice that ties in the back, leaving the shoulders bare. “I think the red dress here might suit you best for tonight. Might you step into the tub?”
Three quarters of an hour later, Mika has tousled me into the ruby-red dress, cleverly clipping flowing silk to my wrists, which makes the garment appear to have wings. The light material cascades off my hips, except for a slit along one thigh that should make me feel exposed but is tastefully sensual instead. Coal’s hard work on the bandages has been abandoned, and my untamable auburn hair has been braided on one side and left loose on the other so it cascades over my shoulder like a shining waterfall.
I twist tentatively before the mirror. “Stars,” I breathe finally, blinking at the flowing cloth, which manages to accent both the curves of my hips and the round swells of my breasts. “I’ve never worn anything this perfect.” I almost don’t recognize my face either, with black kohl accentuating my eyes and a light red paint making my lips look soft and full.
“It does suit you well,” River says from the doorway. The male is dressed in black flowing pants that taper to wrap snugly around his taut waist. His cream shirt is simple but perfectly tailored, with an open V collar that shows his muscled chest.
My pulse stutters
and I have to remind myself that I’m still angry with him.
River’s gray eyes flow over the folds of my gown, grazing the bend of my hips and chest. The gaze stops for a heartbeat on my mouth before finally slipping to my eyes, his own widening. For a moment, his face almost looks pained, but then it clears just as quickly.
“Is something wrong?” I ask.
“Everything.” River’s voice is husky, and he shakes himself in a way that makes me think of Shade. Stars. The quint brothers are so different and yet perfectly connected. Matching. River’s hand dips into his pocket, pulling out a gold chain with a jeweled flower pendant weighing down the precious metal. “I thought it might go well with the dress,” River says quietly.
“I thought another female would go with the dress even better,” I say, returning River’s gaze with a raised eyebrow. “Someone royal. Or at least noble.”
River swallows, raises his chin. “I deserved that.” He stares uncomfortably at the priceless chain, then lays it with care on my dresser. “If you ever change your mind, it will be here,” he says and bows formally over his arm. “For now, may I have the pleasure of escorting you to dinner?”
My stomach tightens. I thought I could do this, but now, seeing River as the prince he is . . . “I don’t know how to do this, River,” I say, stepping back from him. “If you wanted me to bow or curtsy or whatever it is nobles here do, you could have explained it earlier.”
“I don’t want you to do anything but be you, Leralynn.” River steps forward, catching my elbows in his hands. His voice is low. Confident. “We could toss the entire dinner into a basket, spread a blanket in the hayloft, and eat there if you’d like. Autumn might be a bit annoyed if her chocolate cake gets smashed, but we’ll be careful with that part. These clothes, the jewels, they are for pleasure, not pressure. Stars, we’ll be fortunate if Coal even changes out of his riding leathers for dinner—and remember that for the past ten years, Shade has taken his meals from a dish on the floor.”