Sleep took me gently this time.

  No forests.

  No glowing vines.

  No impossible creatures made of earth and light.

  I was home.

  Sun filtered through familiar curtains, warm and ordinary. The air smelled like laundry soap and something sweet baking downstairs. I was wrapped in my old blanket, the one with the frayed edge I refused to throw away—safe and heavy and real.

  Someone laughed in the other room.

  I smiled into the pillow.

  “This is the most beautiful dream,” I murmured, half-asleep, the words slurring together. “Don’t wake me up yet.”

  A knock followed.

  Soft at first.

  Then faster.

  Eager.

  I groaned and rolled over, the wool blanket tangled around my legs like seaweed. My hair had staged a mutiny. Everything hurt.

  “Mom,” I mumbled into the pillow. “It’s too early…”

  The knocking came again, louder this time. Insistent.

  I blinked, the warmth fading too quickly, the scent of home dissolving into cool stone and unfamiliar quiet. My chest tightened as reality rushed back in all at once.

  This wasn’t my room.

  This wasn’t my bed.

  A single tear slipped free before I could stop it, trailing silently into my hair as I pushed myself upright—confused, aching, and suddenly wide awake.

  The door creaked open, just enough for a mass of dark curls to peek through.

  “Are you ready?” Calista whispered, like it was the most exciting secret in the realm. “Oh stars, you’re not ready.”

  I stared at her.

  At the stone walls.

  The tall windows.

  The impossible light.

  Right.

  Elmaris.

  I scrubbed at my face quickly, hoping she hadn’t noticed. “It’s barely sunrise.”

  “That’s the best time for training,” she said, already slipping inside like a perfectly accessorized shadow. “Before anyone’s awake to witness your humiliation.”

  She paused, eyeing me with a thoughtful tilt of her head.

  “Normally you’d help in the mornings,” she added lightly, “but today? Training comes first.”

  A bundle of fabric dropped onto the bed.

  I stared at it. Then at her.

  “What… are these?”

  “Training clothes!” she announced, clapping once like she’d personally summoned the stars. “You’ll need them for swordsmanship.”

  I sat up slowly, lifting the outfit. A fitted tunic reinforced at the seams. Slim, dark pants. Tall boots that looked like they could survive a battle—and maybe start one.

  “This is… intense.”

  “You’ll be sparring with Elian and Farren,” Calista said brightly. Then she wiggled her eyebrows. “And Farren doesn’t spar. He hunts.”

  That woke me up.

  “Hunt?” I echoed. “What do you mean by hunt?”

  Calista just smirked, entirely unhelpful.

  “You’re about to train with the two strongest men in the entire realm,” she said, clearly enjoying this far too much.

  “Elian?” I asked.

  “Elian is…” She paused, making a face like she’d bitten into a lemon. “Kind. Charming. Physically incapable of shutting up. His whole aesthetic is dramatic sword poses and trying to make battle look romantic.”

  I smirked. “So he’s extra.”

  “Oh, please,” she scoffed. “He’s a poem someone set on fire and then tried to recite dramatically.”

  I snorted. “That sounds—”

  “Exhausting? Accurate? Painfully true?” She flopped back against the wall. “You’ll see.”

  Then her tone shifted.

  Not dramatically.

  Just… quieter.

  Her gaze flicked toward the window, where early sunlight spilled across the stone.

  “Still,” she murmured, “don’t take it too lightly.”

  I hesitated. “What do you mean?”

  “Elian with a sword,” she said, her smile fading. “When he fights for real, he’s not the charming man everyone laughs with.”

  My stomach tightened.

  “They call him the Sun Demon.”

  A shiver slid down my spine. “Demon?”

  Calista’s eyes lingered on the light creeping across the floor.

  “Because when he draws his blade,” she said softly, “the sun doesn’t just rise. It burns.”

  The words should have scared me.

  They didn’t.

  If anything, something else stirred—sharp and reckless and alive.

  Curiosity.

  A pull.

  I wanted to see it.

  To see him like that. Unmasked. Untouchable. Utterly himself.

  Calista tossed me a brush, pulling me out of my thoughts.

  “So… you three,” I said, narrowing my eyes. “Are you siblings or something?”

  She froze mid-stretch. “What?”

  “You act like it.”

  Calista looked offended on a molecular level. “Don’t curse me.”

  I gave her a look. She avoided answering, just motioned for me to sit while she pulled a ribbon from her wrist. Then she started brushing—quick, practiced strokes that somehow made even my tangles behave.

  I glared at her reflection. “Let’s talk about last night.”

  She smiled slowly. “Oh. That.”

  “That,” I muttered, “was not for sharing.”

  “Oh, darling.” She leaned close, eyes bright with mischief. “You asked about his… experience. I simply thought he deserved to know.”

  I groaned, burying my face in my hands. “You are evil.”

  “You’ll thank me later.”

  “I doubt that.”

  She tied off the last braid, patted my shoulder like a proud older sister, and added with a wink,

  “I just gave him a little nudge in your direction. Never underestimate the chaos of a well-timed truth bomb.”

  The guard escorting us wore an expression far too amused for someone leading me toward what was apparently my impending humiliation.

  Above us, birds flitted through the branches, their calls sharp and restless, hopping from limb to limb as if the forest itself were watching.

  When the guard handed me a wooden staff, his grin widened.

  “You’ll need this,” he said, like he knew something I didn’t.

  I stared at it. “Why do I feel like this is a prank?”

  “Because it probably is,” Calista replied breezily, already sweeping past him with a wink and zero concern.

  Before I could question her, a low voice cut across the yard like steel dragged through gravel.

  “She’s not going to need that.”

  Farren.

  He strode toward us from the far end of the yard—dark hair damp, jaw tight, sleeves shoved up to his elbows. His tunic was half unlaced, chest streaked with the faint shimmer of sweat. Steam clung to him like he’d fought a mountain and won.

  “She doesn’t even know how to hold it yet,” he added, glaring at the guard.

  The guard wisely backed away without a word.

  I stared at the staff in my hands like it might explode. “Do all guests get combat training, or is this a me thing?”

  “Just you,” Farren said, without a hint of apology.

  Great.

  I squinted. “Why?”

  Before he could answer, another voice—smug, honey-drenched, and far too cheerful for sunrise—drifted across the yard.

  “Because you’re special, obviously.”

  We turned.

  Elian strolled in like the sun was contractually obligated to follow him. His shirt hung loose, golden hair tied back haphazardly, and he was cradling a cup of something suspiciously purple.

  “Did you bring wine to training?” Farren asked flatly.

  “It’s fermented berries,” Elian replied. “Medicinal, technically.”

  “Technically, you’re insufferable.”

  “I try.”

  Calista groaned. “Please, it’s too early for this.”

  “I thought you liked seeing me in the mornings,” Elian said, mock-wounded.

  “I like seeing you leave in the mornings.”

  Elian gasped. “Freya, did you hear that? She wounds me.”

  “Not deep enough,” Calista muttered.

  I blinked between them. “Okay, but… you two are definitely siblings, right?”

  That earned me a synchronized look of horror.

  “Stars, no,” Calista said.

  “Please, no,” Elian echoed.

  I raised my hands in surrender. “Just checking.”

  Then Elian turned to me—too smooth, too sudden.

  And bowed.

  A full, elegant bow. One hand behind his back, the other extended like he was about to lead a waltz.

  “I forgot to properly introduce us when we found you,” he said, that golden grin curving like sunlight poured over wine. “May I?”

  Before I could answer, he took my hand.

  And kissed my knuckles.

  My brain simply stopped.

  I blinked at him. “Do people still do that?”

  “Only the ones who mean it,” he said with a wink.

  Somewhere inside my head, a carriage skidded off the road and burst into flames.

  Calista didn’t glare—she threw her hands into the air. “Saints, he’s doing it again!”

  “What?” Elian asked, all faux innocence. “She asked a question.”

  “No,” Calista snapped. “She didn’t.”

  Elian ignored her. Of course he did.

  “Freya,” he said, stepping back with a dramatic spin that absolutely did not need to exist, “allow me to introduce the Princes of Elmaris.”

  Princes.

  Plural.

  My stomach dropped somewhere near my feet.

  He gestured to the man who looked like he could break a mountain in half with nothing but silence.

  “Farren. First Prince of Storm and Steel. Heir to the throne. Commander of the royal guard. Brooding menace.” Elian waved a hand. “Favorite hobbies include glaring, judging, and not speaking.”

  My thoughts screamed all at once.

  Prince.

  Heir.

  Storm and steel.

  Oh.

  Oh no.

  My stomach dropped again as every word I’d thrown at him replayed in vivid, merciless detail.

  Brooding.

  Rude.

  Does he ever smile or is that illegal?

  You look like you’d rather wrestle a thunderstorm than have a conversation.

  I swallowed hard.

  Fantastic, Freya. Truly stellar first impression.

  Farren, for his part, said nothing.

  Obviously.

  Then Elian turned back to himself, grin widening as if the universe had just handed him his favorite toy. He bowed—unnecessarily low.

  “And me. Second Prince of Sun and Sass. Elian, if you please. No titles necessary, but compliments are always welcome.” He straightened. “I’m emotionally fragile.”

  Heat rushed to my face so fast I thought I might actually combust.

  Prince.

  That’s a prince.

  My brain helpfully supplied the rest.

  The one you slammed the door on.

  The one you questioned very confidently about his experience.

  The one Calista absolutely let you flirt with while knowing exactly who he was.

  I could feel Calista beside me, practically vibrating with glee.

  My thoughts derailed completely.

  Okay. Two princes. One insulted. One proposition-adjacent. I’m underdressed. I’m underqualified. I may not survive the morning. What do I call them? Your Highness? Your Majesty? Your Apology—

  “And,” Elian added, flashing a grin that had absolutely started wars, “I’m the fun one. Don’t let Captain Scowl fool you. I’m clearly the superior brother.”

  “Excuse me—” Calista snapped.

  “And you’ve already met Calista,” he continued smoothly, throwing her a wicked grin. “Not a prince. But she tries.”

  That was it.

  My brain slammed into a wall and bounced back with exactly one usable thought.

  Say something. Now. Before you pass out or scream.

  I tilted my head, studying him.

  “Do you rehearse this in front of a mirror,” I asked sweetly, “or does it just come naturally?”

  Elian blinked.

  Once.

  Then again.

  For a heartbeat, the grin didn’t come at all. His mouth parted slightly, like the words had lined up and then forgotten where they were supposed to go.

  That silence landed harder than any laugh.

  Then, slowly, his smile returned. Not his usual practiced smugness this time. It was warmer and sharper. Af if he was pleased.

  “Ah,” he said at last, voice a touch rougher than before. “She bites.”

  Farren muttered something low and dire—probably a prayer for patience. Calista rolled her eyes so hard I worried for her balance.

  “She’s going to eat you alive,” Calista said flatly.

  Elian turned back to me.

  The easy grin was gone now. In its place: intent. Golden eyes bright, focused, unmistakably awake.

  “Looking forward to it.”

  “Enough.”

  The word cracked through the air like a strike of thunder.

  Elian stopped mid-smirk. Even Calista went still.

  And me?

  I froze.

  Farren walked toward us, calm and deliberate—the kind of calm that made everything else want to hold its breath. He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to.

  “This isn’t a performance,” he said, his eyes fixed on Elian. “And she isn’t one of your court admirers.”

  Elian spread his hands in mock surrender. “Relax, brother. I’m only keeping her entertained.”

  “She doesn’t need entertainment.”

  Farren’s tone stayed even, but there was steel beneath it. “She needs training.”

  The space between them went utterly silent. Even the birds seemed to reconsider speaking.

  Then he turned to me.

  His expression didn’t soften, but something in his voice did. Less command. More warning.

  “Your world isn’t like ours,” he said. “Here, beauty and danger breathe the same air. The forest that let you in could just as easily decide not to let you out.”

  My breath caught.

  “The land doesn’t make choices lightly,” he went on. “If it opens for you, it’s because it wants something. And if it closes behind you…”

  He let the thought hang.

  “The garden you walk through might bloom for you,” he finished quietly, “or bite.”

  I swallowed, pulse racing. He wasn’t trying to frighten me—but the truth in his tone sank deep, heavy and unavoidable.

  “If you’re going to stay,” he continued, “even for a few weeks, you need to learn how to defend yourself. Elian and I cannot protect a mortal girl every moment of the day.”

  Mortal.

  The word slipped out before I could stop it. “Mortal?”

  Farren’s gaze sharpened. “Yes.”

  Elian shifted beside me, suddenly less amused. “The realm doesn’t care how brave you are,” he added. “Or how interesting. If the forest decides you belong to it, that decision has weight.”

  Farren nodded once. “Training gives you a chance.”

  His eyes dropped to the wooden staff still clenched in my hands.

  “You won’t master it overnight,” he said. “But you’ll learn how to move. How to listen. How to survive.”

  I tightened my grip.

  “So this isn’t optional.”

  His gaze locked onto mine. “Nothing here truly is,” he said quietly. “Not when the realm decides to keep you.”

  Elian exhaled beside me. “You’re scaring her.”

  Farren didn’t look away. “Good. Fear keeps people alive.”

  My chin lifted before I could stop it. “I don’t scare easily.”

  Something flickered behind those storm-gray eyes—approval, perhaps. Or challenge.

  “We’ll see,” he said.

  Then he turned toward the open field and gestured once. “Come. Let’s begin.”

  Elian lifted his cup. “I’ll be observing. With my medicinal drink.”

  “I hope you trip on your own ego,” Calista said sweetly.

  “I’d float anyway,” he replied with a wink.

  Farren stepped forward, eyes already sharp, and plucked the staff from my hands without hesitation. He tossed it aside like it was made of paper.

  “We’ll start with instincts.”

  My breath caught.

  Okay.

  This is just… an advanced gym class.

  Calista clapped her hands together like she was wrapping up a theatre performance. “Well. I’m done here.” She turned to me, positively glowing. “Freya, you’ve got this. Farren, try not to break her, will you?”

  Before I could respond, she leaned in and kissed his cheek.

  Casual.

  Familiar.

  Entirely unbothered.

  I blinked.

  Once.

  Twice.

  Okay. Pause. Rewind.

  He was joking earlier, right? Because sure—they were absurdly good-looking. But princes? Actual royalty? With swords and titles and… estates?

  And yet—

  They didn’t feel like strangers playing roles.

  They felt… familiar.

  Not I’ve-seen-you-before familiar.

  Deeper.

  Like my bones remembered them before my brain caught up. Like my body had been waiting for this moment without knowing why.

  And Calista?

  The wink.

  The kiss.

  The way she walked off like this was completely normal.

  They’re siblings, right?

  …Right?

  “Freya.”

  Farren’s voice snapped me back—sharp, commanding.

  “This isn’t the time to be lost in thought.”

  “Technically,” Elian drawled from the bench, “it is. If she’s thinking about me.”

  Farren exhaled slowly through his nose. “Shut up. If you’re just going to watch, then leave.”

  “Oh no,” Elian said, rising to his feet and strolling a few steps closer. “I’d like to see this. Not every day you train with a woman, brother.” His grin widened. “Better behave.”

  Farren muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like a threat to incinerate something expensive.

  Across the yard, Elian leaned back again—this time with a glass of wine in his hand. Wine. Like this was theatre and not the moment my reality was actively unraveling.

  Infuriatingly handsome.

  Completely at ease.

  Watching me like this was the most entertaining thing he’d seen all week.

  He caught my eye.

  Smiled.

  I immediately decided I hated him just a little.

  I rolled my eyes and squared my shoulders. “Okay. Instincts. Got it.” I gestured vaguely with my hands. “All the tree climbing I did growing up better count for something.”

  Farren’s gaze flicked to me—assessing, measuring, unreadable.

  “We’ll find out,” he said.

  And for the first time since I’d woken up in this bizarre, royal, possibly-delusional dream, my thoughts quieted.

  Whatever Elmaris was.

  Whatever they were.

  I wasn’t leaving this yard without proving I could stand on my own two feet.

  Even if the realm was watching.

  He moved.

  Fast.

  One heartbeat he was still. The next, a blur of motion.

  I barely registered the shift before he lunged.

  I dropped low, breath cutting sharp, twisting under his arm as it skimmed my shoulder. My feet moved on instinct—light, fast, reactive. I pivoted, swung wide, slipped past him before I even realized I’d done it.

  No blade.

  No armor.

  Just breath. Balance. Bone.

  And somehow, I was keeping up.

  I ducked. Spun. Slipped past again. His strikes came precise, deliberate, but my body knew how to move.

  Like muscle memory from another life.

  “You’re letting her dance circles around you,” Elian called lazily from the edge, sipping that cup that somehow still hadn’t spilled.

  “I’m testing her footing,” Farren snapped.

  But his jaw tightened.

  His next approach came sharper. Closer.

  Controlled. Deadly.

  I dodged, pivoted again. The air between us thickened, charged.

  And… god, it felt good.

  Like my body had been waiting for this. Like I wasn’t learning—I was remembering.

  He feinted left.

  I flinched—damn—and he spun in fast. His hand brushed my hip.

  Too close.

  I twisted away, hair whipping behind me. We locked eyes.

  For half a breath, something flickered there.

  Annoyance.

  Respect.

  Confusion.

  All tangled together.

  Elian let out a low whistle. “Wow, Farren. She’s showing you up.”

  He took another smug sip.

  “Take a break,” Farren said gruffly. His voice came low, a little rougher. “Catch your breath.”

  “I’m not tired,” I said, chin lifted.

  His brow twitched. “You were improvising.”

  I shrugged. “It’s working.”

  Elian raised his cup. “Personally, I’m impressed. Most people don’t dodge Farren’s first lunge. They usually just get flattened.”

  Farren shot him a glare but didn’t answer. His attention stayed on me—steady, unblinking.

  And there it was again.

  That pull.

  It was deeper. Familiar. Unnamed.

  He nodded once. “Again. After water.”

  Then he turned away, silent as thunder before the rain.

  And I stood there, lungs burning, hands steady—heart thundering like it had just remembered how to wake.

  She was fast. Unnervingly so.

  I gripped the waterskin tighter than necessary, jaw clenched as I watched her from the far edge of the yard.

  She was bent slightly, hands on her knees, catching her breath.

  She wasn't winded when she should’ve been.

  Instead, she looked like she belonged out here.

  Her movements weren’t textbook. No formal footwork. No guard or stance worth naming.

  But they flowed. Responsive. Natural.

  Every dodge, every pivot—it wasn’t luck.

  It was instinct.

  Like she knew where I’d strike before I moved.

  Like she’d always known.

  I turned away, letting the cool water burn down my throat.

  It felt like a dance.

  We had a perfect rhythm.

  She didn’t even reach my shoulders. Her frame was slight, new to our world.

  And yet she moved like we were evenly matched.

  Like her steps had been built to counter mine.

  To balance them.

  She stayed just out of reach.

  Never more than a breath away.

  Every time I came close, she slipped past me—graceful, unpredictable.

  Like wind cutting through armor.

  Like she’d trained with me every day of her life.

  But she hadn’t.

  This wasn’t training.

  Not yet.

  I wiped my mouth and lowered the flask, eyes still tracking her from a distance.

  Sunlight threaded through her hair, bronze tangled with bark and flame.

  Her skin glowed from exertion, her eyes still sharp.

  Still watching.

  And I felt it then, deep in the marrow—

  A pull I couldn’t explain.

  A current I couldn’t stop.

  She wasn’t just fast.

  She was meant for this.

  But not this round…

  I crossed the courtyard without a word, water clutched in one hand. My pace steady. Controlled.

  Calm on the surface, as always.

  But inside—

  the storm had started to stir.

  When Farren handed me the water, his fingers brushed mine.

  Only for a second,

  but the contact made the hairs on my arms rise.

  Like static.

  Like lightning waiting to choose.

  He didn’t speak. Just stepped back.

  Watching.

  Waiting.

  Testing.

  Elian—of course—was already walking toward me, drink still in hand, smirk firmly in place.

  “Again, impressive,” he murmured. “You’re quicker than most of the guards. And certainly better-looking.”

  I arched a brow. “That was your idea of a compliment?”

  He leaned in just enough for his breath to warm the air between us. “That was me holding back.”

  Before I could respond, Farren’s voice cut through the space between us.

  “Round two.”

  It wasn’t a question.

  The air changed. Sharpened.

  No more patience.

  No more practice.

  This time, he meant it.

  Farren moved like lightning bottled in flesh—precise, controlled, terrifying.

  And this time, he didn’t hold back.

  I barely dodged the first strike, stumbling as I twisted away. But he was already there, pressing closer with every motion.

  Each dodge pushed me toward the wall.

  Each pivot made my lungs burn.

  But my body remembered.

  Somewhere inside the chaos, I moved like I’d done this before.

  Like I knew him.

  Knew how he stepped, how he turned, how his weight shifted.

  Knew when to slip under, when to slide past.

  But—

  he was faster now.

  Stronger.

  My foot slipped.

  I slammed into the wall, breath tearing from my lungs as stone bit into my spine. And then Farren was there.

  One arm braced beside my head, the other cutting off any escape, his presence close enough to steal the air from my chest as he pinned me in place.

  His voice broke through the fog, low and rough, a growl that vibrated through my ribs.

  “Got you.”

  The words sank deeper than they should have.

  As if my pulse recognized them.

  I couldn’t breathe.

  Couldn’t look away.

  His eyes—stormy, unreadable. His chest rising and falling just inches from mine.

  And something… something old crackled between us.

  A current.

  Electric.

  Magnetic.

  Familiar.

  It raced down my spine, coiled in my stomach, hummed at my fingertips.

  The air around us thickened, drawn tight, tangled with his.

  And that growl…

  God, that growl.

  It shouldn’t have made my knees weak.

  But it did.

  A soft clink shattered the moment.

  Elian set his cup down.

  The sound wasn’t loud, but it sliced through the tension like a blade.

  His footsteps followed, measured and deliberate, every step radiating heat.

  Farren didn’t move.

  Elian didn’t speak.

  Not until he was beside us.

  And when he did, his voice was quiet.

  But final.

  “Farren,” he said, laying a hand on his brother’s shoulder, “you’re done now.”

  Farren’s jaw flexed. “No. We just started.”

  Elian’s hand didn’t tighten, but the air shifted with him—sunlight meeting thunderhead.

  “I said you’re done.”

  Farren exhaled through his nose, then stepped back, his eyes cutting to mine.

  Heat. Frustration. Something unnamed that made my skin prickle all over again.

  Then Elian turned to me.

  Hand outstretched.

  Palm up.

  Expression unreadable—except for the flame behind his eyes.

  Not playful.

  Not charming.

  Something else.

  Something ancient.

  “Shall we?” he asked.

  And even though I knew this was dangerous,

  I didn’t hesitate.

  I placed my hand in his.

  And the sun itself felt like it held me.

  The moment Farren stepped back, Elian was already circling.

  Gone was the lazy grin. Gone was the lounging prince with a glass in hand.

  This version of him was sharp, coiled, hungry.

  Like he’d been waiting all morning to be unleashed.

  “You ready for me, little thorn?” he asked, stretching his arms like this was nothing.

  Like it wasn’t a fight,

  but a seduction.

  “I don’t think I have a choice.”

  He smirked. “You always have a choice. You just keep choosing me.”

  My stomach twisted.

  Oh no.

  He was smug. He was lethal. And worst of all—he was fast.

  Farren fought like a storm: unforgiving, relentless.

  But Elian?

  Elian fought like fire.

  Unpredictable.

  Dazzling.

  Too bright to look at straight on.

  We circled each other, slow at first. Every movement deliberate.

  The heat between us thickened.

  Then, without warning, he struck.

  I ducked. Spun. His fingers grazed my hip, sending sparks up my spine.

  “You’re not even trying to win,” I said, panting.

  “Oh, I’m trying,” he murmured. “Just savoring.”

  He lunged again. I twisted beneath his arm and shoved him back with my shoulder.

  He stumbled, laughing.

  “So you want to know about my experience with women?” he teased.

  I narrowed my eyes. “Are you seriously bringing that up now?”

  He grinned.

  My face burned. “You’re unbelievable.”

  “I’m curious!” he said, circling. “Is that what you think makes me confident? Practice?”

  I didn’t answer.

  “Because if you really wanted to know—” He darted forward; I barely dodged. “—you could’ve just asked me.”

  “Maybe I didn’t want to know!” I hissed.

  “Oh, I think you did.”

  I charged.

  He deflected—barely.

  We collided again, chests brushing, heat rising.

  He dipped close, voice molten at my ear.

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  “Do I seem practiced, Freya? Or do I seem like I’m saving my firsts for something that might actually matter?”

  My knees nearly gave out.

  “You’re loud,” I muttered.

  “I prefer memorable.”

  I saw it. A flicker of imbalance.

  Perfect.

  I needed him distracted.

  “Always this fluffy?” I asked, flicking my gaze to his hair. “Or is that just a personality thing?”

  He blinked. Wounded pride.

  Perfect.

  I smirked. “You’re easier to read than you think.”

  “Oh?” he murmured. “Then read this.”

  He surged.

  I dropped low, spun hard, swept his legs from under him.

  Thud.

  He hit the ground.

  And before he could blink, I was on him.

  Knees braced on his waist.

  Hands pressed to his chest.

  Breath ragged. Skin flushed.

  He stared up at me, mouth parted, chest rising fast.

  Golden hair fanned beneath him like sunlight spilled on stone.

  “You always this easy to knock down?” I asked sweetly.

  “Careful,” he growled. “That was almost cruel.”

  I tilted my head, leaned closer. My lips curved.

  “Maybe I like seeing the sun kneel.”

  His pupils widened. The air shifted. Something old pulsed between us.

  “Seems like you’re the one with experience,” he said, voice suddenly low. Dark. Dangerous.

  I leaned in more, slow, deliberate. My mouth brushed his ear.

  “No,” I whispered. “I’m waiting for the one that means everything.”

  His breath caught, then turned into a laugh. Rough. Wicked.

  His hands slid to my waist.

  And suddenly—

  I was airborne.

  “What the—?!”

  The world dropped away beneath me. His grip still firm, lifting me higher, wind tearing through my hair.

  “Elian!”

  Behind him, stretching wide and blinding—

  Wings.

  Radiant. Gold. Arcing from his back like molten light.

  “You tricked me!” he said.

  “You liked it!” I shouted back.

  His grin blazed. “Oh, I loved it.”

  We were rising, fast. The palace shrinking to a speck below.

  Wind roared in my ears, my stomach flipping.

  “You’re insane!” I gasped.

  “I’m me.” His voice softened, velvet edged with danger. “And, Freya—”

  He looked at me like the sun itself had a heartbeat.

  “—you’re really not ready for me.”

  The sky burned.

  The light swelled.

  And panic bloomed.

  “Oh God—oh, what is—Elian!”

  The wind howled. The sky spun.

  My pulse roared in my ears, and then—

  Everything went black.

  Okay.

  Okay, okay, so—

  She pinned me.

  That’s what happened. That’s where it started.

  She pinned me. Knee on my side. Eyes wild. Smirk on her lips.

  And I—

  I blacked out a little. Emotionally.

  My brain short-circuited. My instincts went rogue.

  And then—

  Wings.

  Flaring. Feral. Alive.

  Next thing I knew, we were forty feet in the air.

  And she was in my arms. Breathless. Warm. Soft.

  And then she screamed.

  And then she fainted.

  And now I’m flying with an unconscious woman in my arms, spiraling through the morning sky, wings twitching like they’re trying to confess to a crime.

  Gods.

  Did I… get a wing boner?

  “Oh gods,” I muttered, panic rising. “Oh no. No no no. What is wrong with you, Elian?!”

  I couldn’t even look at her. Not without remembering the feeling of her pressed against me. The sound she made when she flipped me. That tiny gasp of victory.

  That smirk.

  My wings twitched again.

  “Stop that,” I hissed. “You are made of light and restraint. You are not… that.”

  I descended fast, boots slamming into the ground harder than intended.

  My arms tightened around her instinctively.

  She was still out cold.

  Breathing steady. No burns. No bruises.

  Just… limp. And warm. And glowing like the sun kissed her for fun.

  Farren was already striding toward us.

  Walking like a war waiting to happen.

  He didn’t say a word.

  But his eyes—

  Gods.

  Like the world had tilted.

  Like the storm inside him had found a single, fraying thread to wrap around.

  I cleared my throat.

  “I… uh… may have gone too far.”

  Farren just stared.

  “No shit, idiot,” he snapped. “What happened to letting her realize things slowly?”

  “I was!” I shouted. “I tried! She just—she pinned me, Farren!”

  He blinked. Slowly. Deliberately.

  “I didn’t mean to go feral!” I gestured wildly with my elbow, still holding her like she was made of starlight and porcelain. “She was so close and I just—my body betrayed me!”

  “Get your hormones in check.”

  I gawked at him.

  “You want to talk hormones? You growled. I heard it! When you had her against the wall? That wasn’t testing reflexes, Farren. That was a mating display.”

  His jaw clenched. Hard.

  “And don’t think I didn’t catch the look on your face when I landed,” I said, voice rising. “You looked like you were dying inside. Just absolutely imploding.”

  A pause.

  I tilted my head.

  “Don’t deny it.”

  He said nothing.

  Didn’t have to.

  The warmth drained from my voice.

  What was left shimmered gold.

  “But brother…”

  My eyes burned brighter.

  “She’s mine. So you better back off.”

  The air changed.

  A quiet warning.

  A ripple of pressure, like the promise of lightning before it hits.

  Farren didn’t blink.

  He stepped one inch closer.

  Voice low. Lethal.

  “Idiot.”

  “Let Calista help you with her,” I said, voice low.

  Elian didn’t argue.

  He just held Freya closer, like she was something sacred, and turned.

  His wings brushed the walls as he carried her out.

  I watched them go.

  Waited until they were gone.

  Then exhaled.

  Long. Slow. Unsteady.

  Silence pressed in.

  I turned without a word and went to the only place that still made sense: my office.

  The door clicked shut behind me. I didn’t light a lamp.

  I simply braced my palms on the edge of the strategy table and stared at the map that had anchored my world for years.

  Borders. Armies. Defenses. Structure.

  Order.

  Things I could predict.

  Control.

  But today—

  I’d done something that wasn’t planned.

  I growled.

  Gods.

  I growled.

  It wasn’t command. It wasn’t precision.

  It was wild.

  I’d had her pinned. Just enough to end the match. Enough to test her instinct.

  And she froze.

  Only for a breath.

  She looked at me like she recognized something. Like she saw me.

  And that was worse.

  Because in that heartbeat, my feathers shifted.

  My control faltered.

  My body reacted before my mind could catch up.

  I’ve trained hundreds over the years.

  Soldiers twice my size.

  Women quicker than lightning.

  Veterans who’d spent a lifetime learning when to strike and when to yield.

  But never—

  Never someone like this.

  No one has ever learned this fast.

  Her footing adjusted before I corrected it.

  Her balance recovered before she should’ve known it was off.

  Her speed wasn’t trained. It was listening.

  This wasn’t experience.

  It was instinct.

  Her first day in the ring.

  Our first fight.

  The first time her skin met mine in motion. Breath for breath. Pulse for pulse.

  And still, she felt familiar.

  And I felt undone.

  I sank into the nearest chair, elbows on my knees, staring at nothing.

  She collapsed minutes later.

  Body limp. Head slumped against Elian’s chest like her thread had been cut.

  And when I saw her like that—

  Something in me shattered.

  I don’t know why.

  It’s only been a few days.

  A handful of glances.

  Her voice, always steady when it should tremble.

  Always challenging when she should yield.

  Like she’s made of contradictions.

  But when she fell, it felt like the ground gave out beneath me.

  Like I’d lost something I was never meant to keep.

  Why her?

  Why now?

  I’ve carried the weight of this kingdom since I was old enough to walk in formation.

  I’ve known what comes next every day of my life.

  And yet—

  Now I feel the wind changing.

  I feel magic prickling under my skin.

  I feel her hands on mine like an echo I haven’t earned.

  And for the first time in my life—

  I don’t know what comes next.

  And gods help me…

  That terrifies me.

  Frantic footsteps echoed down the corridor.

  I sighed.

  Only one person in this entire palace sounded that dramatic before breakfast.

  “Elian,” I muttered, already bracing myself.

  Sure enough, there he was.

  Golden chaos incarnate.

  Wings out. Eyes wild. Shirt half-buttoned.

  And in his arms—

  “Oh, for the love of—”

  “Calista!” he called, breathless.

  Freya.

  Unconscious. Limp. Head resting against his chest. Like someone who’d pushed herself past every sensible limit and paid the price for it.

  And his wings, still blazing, stretching wide enough to scrape the sconces.

  I blinked once.

  Then grinned.

  “Well,” I said sweetly, “what did the charming Sun Prince do this time to knock a stubborn, reckless woman clear out of her own body?”

  Elian winced. “It’s not what it looks like.”

  “It never is,” I said, examining him from head to toe. “But considering your wings are out, and you swore you’d wait to reveal that particular family secret, I’m going to assume this is going to be good.”

  He groaned, shifting Freya carefully in his arms. “It just… happened. She pinned me and then—”

  “Oh, pinned you?” I interrupted, one brow arching. “How scandalous.”

  “Calista.”

  “Fine, fine.” I waved a hand. “Go on.”

  “She fainted,” he said quickly. “I think it was too much magic too fast. I didn’t mean to—”

  “—sprout radiant wings and haul her into the stratosphere?” I finished for him. “Yes, I imagine that was a lot to process.”

  He shot me a glare. “She’s breathing. She’s fine. I just… don’t know what to do with her.”

  I tapped my chin, pretending to think.

  “Bring her to your chambers.”

  His head jerked up. “What? No. That’s—no.”

  I smiled. “It’ll be easier for you to keep an eye on her. And frankly, I don’t trust half the healers not to gossip the moment they see those wings.”

  He hesitated. Then sighed. “You’re sure?”

  “Would I ever lead you astray?”

  He muttered something unflattering under his breath, but followed.

  We reached his chambers in silence. Well, mostly silence. His feathers kept brushing the walls, scattering light like shards of gold. Show-off.

  I opened the door for him with a flourish. “After you, radiant disaster.”

  He shot me a look but carried her in, laying her gently on the bed.

  Freya looked peaceful. Too peaceful. Her hair spilled across the pillow like dark silk, and even unconscious, her mouth still held that faint curve of stubbornness.

  “She’s beautiful,” I murmured before I could stop myself.

  Elian exhaled. “I know.”

  I busied myself checking her pulse, her breathing. Anything to avoid the flicker of emotion in his tone.

  “She’ll wake soon,” I said, composing myself. “She just needs rest.”

  From my satchel, I drew a small vial of pale golden oil. The scent of herbs and moonroot drifted through the air as I set it beside a folded note on the table.

  Elian frowned. “What is that?”

  “Something to make her feel better,” I said lightly, smoothing a curl from Freya’s temple. “The note’s just a little encouragement.”

  He eyed me suspiciously. “Encouragement?”

  I smiled. “Of course. I’m not entirely heartless.”

  Then I straightened, brushing invisible dust from my skirts.

  “You,” I said, pointing at Elian, “are going to take a bath. You smell like bad decisions and regret.”

  The door clicked shut behind her.

  The room went quiet.

  Too quiet.

  Freya lay in my bed, still and pale against the pillows, lashes resting against her cheeks, breathing slow and even. Exhaustion had finally claimed her. For a moment, I just stood there, hands on my hips, staring at the ceiling like it might offer guidance.

  It did not.

  I looked back at her.

  She didn’t stir.

  She wouldn’t stir.

  She couldn’t stir.

  I told myself that three times, because apparently that was the number it took for my brain to even consider believing it.

  “Saints,” I muttered.

  I smelled like sweat, dust, and a full afternoon of bad decisions. Calista wasn’t wrong. And the idea of crawling into bed like this, into my bed, with her in it, felt like crossing a line I wasn’t even sure existed yet.

  But leaving her alone in my chambers?

  Also a bad idea.

  Everything about today had been a bad idea.

  I dragged a hand through my hair and turned toward the adjoining room.

  The dressing chamber lay beyond: wardrobe, mirrors, towels, and the door that led to the bathing alcove. I stopped in the threshold, arguing with myself like a lunatic.

  You can’t just go bathe while she’s asleep ten feet away.

  You also can’t smell like a battlefield and regret.

  She’s unconscious. It’s practical.

  This is how men end up stabbed.

  I glanced back at the bed.

  No movement.

  Not even a twitch.

  She was out.

  Completely.

  I exhaled slowly.

  “I’m overthinking this,” I told the empty room. “I always overthink this.”

  Which was, historically, a lie.

  I grabbed a towel and went into the bathing alcove.

  I didn’t linger.

  No soaking. No rituals. No staring into the steam and contemplating my life choices. Just water, heat, and a very determined attempt to wash the day off my skin, and the image of Freya pinning me to the ground, out of my head.

  It did not work.

  By the time I stepped out and wrapped the towel around my waist, my thoughts were still firmly, annoyingly occupied.

  Her stubborn chin.

  The way she listened to the world without realizing she was doing it.

  The way she looked at me like I was a puzzle she hadn’t decided whether to solve or throw out a window.

  And the fact that she had, somehow, rendered me speechless twice in two days.

  That was new.

  I went back into the dressing chamber, already planning to pull on a robe and collapse into the nearest chair.

  I woke up in a bed that wasn’t mine.

  Silk sheets. Sunlight. An ache in every limb like I’d climbed a mountain backward. In heels. While on fire.

  “What the hell…”

  My voice came out raspier than expected. Small. Suspicious. Like it didn’t trust the situation either.

  I tried to sit up.

  Instant regret.

  My entire body protested, muscles howling like I’d fought a bear. Or two. Or Farren and Elian.

  Oh. Right.

  Training.

  Was that… yesterday? Or a fever dream? Because I distinctly remembered wings. Wings.

  The air. Elian’s hands on my waist. That wind-whipped grin like he’d just invented mischief.

  Nope. Nope. That had to be a hallucination. A trauma response. Something I made up to cope with the fact that I was, apparently, now a full-time sparring dummy for two aggressively pretty princes.

  Beside the bed sat a small glass bottle and a folded note.

  This oil is to soothe sore muscles. Pour it into the bath and your body will feel better.

  XOXO, Calista

  P.S. There might be something else in the room that’ll help, too.

  God, she was sweet. Unhinged, but sweet.

  Something else?

  I glanced around.

  Maybe she meant the silk robe hanging dramatically on the wall like it was waiting for a musical number. Or the basket of glowing stones beside the tub. Because those were normal. Obviously.

  I ran the bath slowly, steam curling over the marble rim. The oil turned the water gold, shimmering streaks of light like someone had bottled a sunset and poured it into the tub.

  I eased in.

  And melted.

  The heat wrapped around me like a prayer. The ache in my bones dulled to a hum. Muscles I didn’t even know existed sighed.

  This? This was heaven.

  My eyes fluttered closed as I sank deeper, letting the scent of honey and herbs wrap around me like a lullaby.

  Until I remembered something.

  This wasn’t the same room I’d woken up in earlier.

  It was quieter here. Warmer. Lived in.

  There was a divider between the bath and the rest of the chamber, lace-thin and sheer enough that I could make out shapes beyond it.

  A soft golden glow filtered in through the fabric.

  I squinted through the veil.

  Big bed. Sheets in chaos. Boots kicked near the hearth. A jacket tossed over a chair.

  A very familiar jacket.

  Wait.

  Oh no.

  Oh hell no.

  I stood in the dressing chamber, towel slung low around my waist, staring into the wardrobe like it had personally betrayed me.

  Shirt? No.

  Robe? Absolutely not.

  Another tunic? Also no. That one smelled like smoke and regret.

  I exhaled and dragged a hand through my damp hair.

  Just get dressed. Sit down. Don’t think about the woman asleep in your bed who pinned you to the ground earlier today.

  Simple.

  I reached for a clean shirt—

  And froze.

  Water.

  Running.

  I stilled completely, listening.

  No voices.

  No movement.

  Just the steady sound of water filling a tub.

  That didn’t make sense.

  The bath had been silent when I left it.

  I turned toward the door and pulled it open.

  The door creaked.

  Steam drifted in from beyond, warm and unmistakable.

  Relief came first.

  She was still asleep.

  The water must have been left running.

  Freya was asleep. Completely out. Calista had been very clear about that.

  “She wouldn’t,” I murmured.

  I stepped inside, bare feet quiet against the stone as I crossed into the bathing alcove.

  “Still out cold,” I said casually to the empty room, more to reassure myself than anything else.

  A crooked smile tugged at my mouth. “Good.”

  I reached for the sheer divider—

  The door creaked open.

  I froze.

  Steam curled around me, thick and warm, as every muscle in my body locked. I didn’t dare move. Didn’t dare breathe. The water lapped softly against the tub, far too loud in the sudden stillness.

  Soft, barefoot steps padded across the stone floor.

  A low sigh.

  “Still out cold,” came Elian’s voice. Casual. Oblivious. Entirely too pleased with himself. “Good.”

  Excuse me?

  Good??

  I squeezed my eyes shut so hard little stars burst behind my lids.

  Please. Please just leave. Please turn around. Please decide you forgot something. Please let this be a misunderstanding, a hallucination, a weird side effect of moonroot oil.

  The steps stopped.

  There was the faint whisper of fabric shifting.

  A pause.

  And then, softly. Confused. Unmistakable.

  “Freya?”

  Oh no.

  My heart slammed against my ribs like it was trying to escape first.

  I opened my eyes.

  And there he was.

  Shirtless.

  Only a towel around his waist.

  Still wet.

  Looking directly at me.

  I stared at him.

  He stared at me.

  Neither of us moved.

  I was naked. In his bath.

  He was half-naked. In front of me.

  My brain flatlined.

  His definitely did not.

  It detonated.

  Golden wings exploded from his back like they were announcing a royal scandal. One of them slammed into a nearby stand and sent an entire stack of towels crashing across the floor.

  “DAMMIT,” he groaned, flinching like his body had betrayed him in front of the gods. “I didn’t realize you were awake!”

  “What the hell?! This is your room?!” I shrieked, yanking my knees to my chest and wrapping my arms around them like I could hide from the entire situation.

  He stumbled backward, panicked. “I—Calista—she said it’d be easier for me to watch over you! Not in a creepy way! You passed out and—”

  His heel caught the edge of the towel.

  The towel slipped.

  “Oh no. No. NO—”

  THUD.

  The towel hit the floor.

  So did my sanity.

  I slapped both hands over my eyes. “OH MY GOD!”

  He gasped and scrambled behind the couch with the reflexes of divine humiliation. His wings flared wider, scattering light everywhere, which did not help.

  I was blinded. Betrayed by light. Scarred for life.

  “WHY WAS I IN YOUR BED?!” I shouted, sinking lower in the water like maybe the bath would swallow me out of mercy.

  “Because Calista had me put you there!” he shouted back from behind the couch. “I SWEAR!”

  “I am never trusting her again! CALISTA IS DEAD TO ME!”

  “I DIDN’T SEE ANYTHING!”

  “YOU SAW EVERYTHING!”

  “I’M SORRY!” he shouted, voice cracking. “THIS ISN’T HOW I ENVISIONED OUR NEXT CONVERSATION!”

  “NEITHER DID I! AND NOW I’LL NEVER SLEEP AGAIN!”

  Silence.

  Him behind the couch, wings twitching.

  Me in the bath, drowning in mortification.

  Then I laughed.

  A full-body, soul-leaving-my-body, absolutely unhinged laugh. It echoed off the marble, shook my ribs, made the water ripple.

  Elian, gods bless his chaos, forgot everything.

  Including the fact that he was completely, utterly naked.

  He sprang out from behind the couch like I’d fainted again. “Wait—what?! What’s wrong?! Are you okay?!”

  “Elian!!” I shrieked, pointing wildly. “YOU ARE NAKED!”

  He froze.

  Looked down.

  “GODS,” he gasped, immediately trying to cover himself with both hands, which did absolutely nothing.

  Then he spun around so fast his wings knocked over a vase and possibly his dignity.

  “RIGHT! TOWEL! I NEED—WAIT—YOU NEED—WHO NEEDS ONE MORE?!”

  He scrambled blindly, hands flailing, wings knocking into furniture.

  “There are literally towels everywhere!” I shouted, clutching my legs and trying not to die of secondhand embarrassment.

  “I KNOW THERE ARE MORE. JUST—TAKE IT!”

  He grabbed the nearest heavy fabric from a hook without looking, yanked it free with a ripping sound, and flung it over his shoulder toward me.

  “TAKE IT! I’M NOT LOOKING! I CAN’T SEE ANYTHING, I SWEAR!”

  I caught it midair.

  Did not look at it.

  Wrapped it around myself like armor and bolted out of the bath to the nearest chair, dripping and breathless.

  Elian crouched behind the couch again, wings twitching like even they were embarrassed.

  He peeked over the edge, hair a wet mess, eyes wide like a guilty saint.

  “You can look now,” I managed between breaths.

  He turned slowly. Cautiously. Like I might throw something.

  His face was flushed. His jaw tight. And the way he looked at me, like I had just short-circuited his entire brain, did not help.

  “…You’re laughing,” he said, dazed.

  “I am,” I whispered, still grinning. “You fell into your own trap.”

  He blinked. “I was the trap.”

  I looked at him. Really looked.

  At the shimmer of wings folding behind him.

  At the pink flush across his chest.

  At the pure, chaotic panic carved across his perfect, stupid face.

  And I felt it.

  Joy.

  “I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” I said, the smile lingering. “I just… feel happy.”

  His wings twitched again.

  Like maybe they felt it too.

  “That’s not the reaction I expected,” he admitted softly.

  “Me neither.”

  “Should I… go?” he asked.

  “Yes,” I said, then added, “But maybe with pants this time.”

  He groaned into his hands. “Calista’s dead to both of us, right?”

  “Absolutely.”

  He nodded solemnly, then, still shielding himself, backed away toward the dressing chamber, wings scraping the frame.

  “I’m just going to put on clothes,” he said. “Several layers of them.”

  “Excellent plan.”

  He disappeared and pulled the doors shut behind him with great care, muttering something about diplomatic incidents and divine humiliation.

  The latch clicked.

  I was alone.

  I collapsed back into the chair, heart still pounding, laughter bubbling out of me all over again.

  Whatever this place was.

  Whatever he was.

  I felt… just alive.

  I exhaled, letting the warmth fade from my skin, steam curling around me like a secret.

  Then I cracked one eye open.

  The towel around me?

  Not a towel.

  A curtain.

  Embroidered.

  Velvet.

  And possibly royal.

  “…Elian,” I muttered to the empty room, half-laughing, “what the hell.”

  I closed the door behind me and leaned back against it like it was the only thing keeping me upright.

  Okay.

  Okay.

  That happened.

  She was naked. In my tub.

  I was naked. Fully. Briefly. Mortifyingly.

  There were wings.

  There was screaming.

  There was laughter.

  Gods, she laughed.

  And it broke something in me.

  The way her shoulders shook. The way her eyes sparked while she tried to sink through the water and into the afterlife. The way she looked at me like I wasn’t a disaster of feathers and shame.

  What in the hells was I supposed to do with that?

  I stood there breathing, trying to will the wings away. Trying to will my dignity back from wherever it had gone to die.

  The wings refused.

  Of course they did.

  Traitors.

  “Okay,” I muttered. “You’re fine. You’re normal. You’re not in love with someone who tackled you, laughed at your naked panic, and watched your towel fall like it was judgment day.”

  I dragged a hand through my hair.

  No good.

  I still felt her eyes on me.

  I needed air.

  I needed distance.

  I needed—

  Calista.

  Before I could overthink it again, I grabbed the nearest trousers. Missed the first leg. Swore. Fixed it. Yanked them up.

  Boots were somewhere. I ignored them.

  My towel hit the floor like a verdict and I pretended not to hear it.

  Shirt. Inside out.

  Didn’t care.

  I shoved my arms through it, didn’t bother with buttons, and grabbed the nearest robe. My hands were shaking. Traitors. All of them.

  I did not look back.

  That was the first rule.

  The second rule was: move.

  I kept my eyes on the wall. On the door. On literally anything that was not the bath and the woman in it.

  “Sorry,” I said, far too loudly. “I’m… sorry. This is… my fault. I should have… sorry.”

  I had no idea what I was apologizing for anymore.

  I yanked the door open and fled into the corridor, barefoot. My heart tried to escape my chest, pulse outpacing logic, heat crawling up my neck with every step.

  I didn’t slow down.

  Didn’t think.

  Just stormed down the hall until I found the door I wanted.

  Three sharp knocks.

  The door opened half a heartbeat later.

  She was already smirking. Like she knew.

  “Elian,” she purred. “Can I help you?”

  “You’re enjoying this,” I said flatly.

  She blinked, all false innocence. “Enjoying what?”

  “Don’t play dumb.”

  “Oh no,” she said sweetly. “I never play dumb.”

  “The bed. The bath. The robe. The note. The oil. The trap.”

  Calista tilted her head, mock-offended. “Trap? Is that what we’re calling hospitality now?”

  “My towel fell off.”

  She gasped, hand to chest. “Oh no. Did the Sun Prince flash someone?”

  I gave her the flattest stare in recorded history.

  She leaned in, whisper-soft and wicked. “She didn’t scream, though. She laughed.”

  My wings twitched.

  Calista’s smile sharpened.

  “You don’t scare her,” she murmured. “That’s why you’re spiraling.”

  “I’m not spiraling.”

  “You’re standing in my hallway. Wet. Barefoot. With wings.”

  I glanced over my shoulder.

  Still glowing. Still up.

  Calista stepped closer, voice lowering to that razor-edge calm.

  “Sun Prince doesn’t know what to do with someone who sees all his fire and still smiles like it won’t burn her.”

  A beat.

  “And not just someone,” she added, eyes gleaming. “A woman.”

  Then one final step. One final dagger.

  “Careful, Elian. You keep circling her like that… you’re bound to get scorched.”

  She smiled, sweet and cruel. “Goodnight, your majesty.”

  The door shut in my face.

  I stood there for ten full seconds. Motionless. Wordless. Spiraling.

  “The note. The oil. The robe,” I muttered. “Saints. You planned this.”

  Gods.

  I dragged both hands down my face.

  “She saw my wings,” I whispered. “Again.”

  She was probably already dressed.

  Already gone.

  Already hiding from me out of pure, well-earned mortification.

  I turned and padded barefoot back down the corridor, avoiding every guard, servant, and reflective surface like the sun itself might rat me out.

  My chamber door creaked open like it knew I didn’t deserve silence.

  I must have dozed.

  There was no other explanation.

  Somewhere between the steam, the warmth, and the way my heartbeat had finally slowed, sleep crept in and took me without asking. The chair beside the bath wasn’t comfortable, but it was warm. And for the first time since arriving here…

  I felt safe.

  Safe.

  And… happy.

  The kind of happy that hums under your skin. That makes the world feel softer.

  In my half-dream, my thoughts betrayed me.

  Elian.

  His ridiculous smile. His wings. That impossible light in his eyes. The way he’d looked at me like I was something remembered.

  God. What was wrong with me?

  My mind drifted, traitorously, back to the bath. To the panic. To the… situation.

  That body.

  Like a god had carved him out of sunlight and terrible decisions. Shoulders broad enough to block a doorway. Arms that looked like they could carry entire kingdoms.

  And his chest.

  And—

  Oh no.

  No. Stop. Stop thinking about it.

  But the thought slipped free anyway, half-asleep and unguarded, barely more than a whisper.

  “…Elian, you’re beautiful.”

  Silence.

  My eyes snapped open.

  Oh no.

  Oh no, no, no.

  I was still in his room.

  Still wrapped in a stolen curtain.

  Still very much not dressed.

  I sat up too fast, the fabric slipping from my shoulders and pooling around my waist. “Brilliant, Freya,” I muttered. “Absolutely thriving.”

  I stood, carefully, peeled myself out of the damp curtain, and looked around for the robe Calista had mentioned.

  There.

  Draped over a chair by the far wall.

  Perfect. Robe. Dignity. Escape.

  I took one step.

  Then froze.

  The door.

  The handle moved.

  Panic detonated in my chest.

  He’s back.

  I dove behind the couch on pure instinct, snatching the robe with me and clutching it to my chest like it might save my life.

  The door creaked open.

  I didn’t breathe.

  Footsteps crossed the room.

  Elian’s voice followed, low and muttered to himself.

  “Okay. Okay okay okay… pull yourself together. You are a prince. You are composed. You do not… glow at people.”

  I squeezed my eyes shut.

  He was here. In the room. Five steps away.

  “I do not lose control,” he went on, pacing. “I do not panic. I do not… gods, I panicked.”

  A pause.

  “I mean, she laughed. She laughed and I nearly blacked out. That’s not normal.”

  He stopped.

  “She saw everything.”

  My face caught fire.

  My soul left my body.

  He exhaled.

  “But still.”

  I pressed my forehead to the couch.

  Please let me evaporate.

  He paced again.

  “Was she laughing at me… or because of me?” he muttered. “Because those are not the same thing. One is humiliating. The other is—”

  He stopped.

  Didn’t finish the sentence.

  The room went quiet.

  I risked a glance.

  He was standing near the hearth, hair still damp, fingers tangled in the back of his shirt, staring at the wall like it might explain his entire life.

  I had to leave.

  Now.

  While he was distracted.

  Slowly. Carefully. I shifted, easing toward the door in a crouch, robe clutched to my chest, every step measured.

  One more step.

  Then—

  “Freya?”

  I yelped.

  Nearly tripped over the couch.

  He spun.

  We froze.

  Stared at each other.

  I was half-dressed. He was fully dressed. We were both emotionally unwell.

  “…I—” I started.

  “You—” he said at the same time.

  We stopped.

  I cleared my throat. “I was just… leaving.”

  “Yes,” he said quickly. “Good. That’s… good. You should… yes.”

  We stood there, neither of us moving.

  His ears were red.

  My entire soul was red.

  “I’m sorry,” we said together.

  He blinked. “You first.”

  “I fell asleep,” I said weakly. “The oil. And then I woke up and… panicked.”

  He nodded. “Reasonable.”

  A beat.

  “…Did you hear anything I said?” he asked.

  “No,” I lied.

  He did not believe me.

  “…Right,” he said.

  Silence again.

  Then he stepped aside, gesturing to the door. “I’ll… give you the room.”

  “Thank you,” I said.

  We passed each other with about three feet of unnecessary space.

  I reached the door.

  Paused.

  “…Elian?”

  “Yes?”

  “…I really am sorry.”

  He looked at me for a second.

  Then his mouth curved into that crooked, dangerous smile.

  “Well,” he said lightly, “if it helps, I’m fairly certain I’ll be thinking about this moment for the rest of my immortal life.”

  My face caught fire.

  “And,” he added, eyes glinting, “next time we share any… firsts, I’d prefer they involve fewer towels, considerably less panic, and significantly more… admiring.”

  I stared at him.

  “…Goodnight, Elian,” I said, and fled before my entire soul turned into steam.

  Behind me, I heard him laugh.

  I was glowing.

  Again.

  I stood in the center of my chamber, fully dressed, entirely decent, and radiating like some sort of divine warning beacon.

  My wings were still out.

  Of course they were.

  Because apparently humiliation now came with a visual component.

  I dragged both hands down my face and exhaled slowly. “Fine,” I muttered. “This is fine. You accidentally walk in on a woman bathing, panic like a feral idiot, and now your body decides to broadcast it to the realm.”

  My wings twitched.

  “Do not,” I warned them.

  They did not listen.

  “She was behind the couch,” I went on, pacing. “Silent. Still. Watching me unravel like I’d never seen a naked person in my life.”

  I groaned and scrubbed my hands down my face again.

  “I panicked,” I said, quieter. “Like I’ve never lost control before.”

  Because I hadn’t. Completely. Catastrophically.

  “I wasn’t ready,” I admitted.

  That was the truth of it.

  “She stood there,” I muttered, turning in another slow circle. “Half-dressed. Calm. Apologizing.”

  My wings flared just slightly.

  “Traitors,” I told them.

  I stopped pacing.

  “Gods,” I whispered.

  Because that was the problem.

  I hadn’t known.

  I’d read stories. Heard jokes. Absorbed enough sideways comments to wear confidence like armor. But none of it, none of it, had prepared me for the reality of a woman standing in my chamber, skin still warm from the bath, steam clinging to her like she belonged in it.

  I pressed my palm to my chest.

  “I’ve never seen anyone before,” I admitted to the empty room. “Not like that.”

  The realization hit harder than the panic had.

  Freya hadn’t just been naked.

  She had been… beautiful.

  Not in the polished, distant way of paintings or statues or the carefully imagined shapes of myth, but real. Soft and solid and breathing. Like the gods had taken their time with her. Like they’d made her and then stood back and said, Yes. That one.

  I swallowed.

  “And I panicked,” I said quietly.

  Because what else was I supposed to do when faced with something that felt sacred?

  My wings shifted, restless.

  “She laughed,” I murmured.

  A pause.

  “She laughed like it was… joy.”

  That was the part that undid me.

  Not the nudity, proximity, or even my own humiliating loss of control.

  But the fact that she hadn’t looked at me like I was dangerous.

  Just… human.

  I dragged a hand through my hair. “I didn’t know what to do,” I said simply. “So I did everything wrong.”

  I glanced toward the ceiling.

  “Gods,” I muttered. “Smite me. Smite me with your holy lightning.”

  Nothing.

  Of course.

  My wings rustled again, betraying me.

  I exhaled slowly.

  “I need to tell someone.”

  My wings flared.

  I slapped them. “Not you two.”

  That left only one option.

  I closed my eyes.

  “Farren,” I muttered.

  My wings twitched again.

  Because if there was one person who wouldn’t laugh, wouldn’t tease, wouldn’t turn this into a spectacle…

  It was him.

  “He is going to murder me.”

  And if I didn’t say it out loud soon, I was fairly certain I was going to combust.

  I crossed the room and stopped at the door, hand on the latch.

  “I am absolutely ruined,” I muttered.

  Then I squared my shoulders, forced my wings to fold tight against my back, and stepped into the corridor. My heart was still racing, my mind still spinning, and I knew one thing with terrifying certainty:

  Nothing about Freya felt accidental.

  And whatever the gods were doing…

  They had started it with her.

  The candle on my desk flickered.

  Then it flickered again.

  I froze.

  Something had shifted.

  A ripple in the air. A pressure beneath the stone.

  Like heat. Like sunlight striking water.

  I stood slowly, every muscle tightening.

  She was fine. I knew she was fine.

  And yet something inside me had gone suddenly, sharply alert.

  A pull I didn’t understand.

  I took one step toward the door.

  It slammed open.

  “Elian—”

  He burst in like a disaster.

  Breath ragged. Hair wild. Shirt half-buttoned. Wings half-retracted and twitching like they were trying to escape his own body.

  He looked like he’d been struck by lightning.

  Or humiliation.

  Possibly both.

  He staggered to the chair across from me, collapsed into it, bent forward, and buried his face in his hands.

  “I hate my life,” he groaned. “Why am I like this?”

  I crossed my arms. “That depends. What did you break?”

  “My dignity.”

  “Again.”

  He looked up. “I put Freya in my bed.”

  I stared at him.

  “…You’re going to need to add several sentences to that.”

  “I mean—when she passed out!” he said quickly. “She needed rest. Calista said it would be easier to monitor her there. Healing. Or something. Then she left. I bathed. Came back and—”

  He dragged a hand down his face.

  “She was in the tub.”

  I didn’t blink.

  “And I was in a towel.”

  I closed my eyes.

  “And we just stood there. Staring.”

  “Dear gods,” I muttered. “Why do you insist on bringing these things to me?”

  “And then,” Elian went on, waving one hand like a general recounting a doomed campaign, “my wings did it again.”

  “You truly have no control over your body.”

  “Farren, I am twenty-five years old. This is unacceptable.”

  “Most people solve this problem in their teens.”

  “That is not helping.”

  He took a breath.

  “Then I stepped on the towel.”

  I opened one eye. “Of course you did.”

  “And it fell off.”

  “Of course it did.”

  “All of it.”

  He looked faint.

  “I was just there. And she was there. And then she started laughing.”

  I paused.

  “…Laughing.”

  “Yes,” he said, wounded. “Like she’d just witnessed a divine tragedy.”

  “And you?”

  “I panicked. Turned too fast. Knocked over a vase. A stack of towels. Possibly a chair. Then I tried to throw her a towel without looking and grabbed a curtain instead.”

  “…A curtain.”

  “A curtain, Farren.”

  I tried.

  I really did.

  But a short, unworthy sound escaped me.

  He looked personally betrayed. “You’re enjoying this.”

  “I am surviving this.”

  “This is not funny.”

  “From the outside,” I said, “it is extremely funny.”

  “I was naked,” he said. “She was naked. There was steam. And yelling. And then she said—”

  He stopped.

  “…She said she felt happy.”

  That made me look at him.

  Really look.

  “She looked at me,” he said, quieter now. “After all that. And she smiled.”

  Something in his voice shifted.

  “I’ve never seen anyone like that,” he said. “And she just stood there. Like I wasn’t something to be afraid of.”

  He laughed once. Breathless.

  “My wings won’t go down.”

  They flared behind him again for emphasis.

  “You saw a naked woman for the first time,” I said flatly, “and now you’re having a spiritual crisis.”

  “I saw the most beautiful thing the gods ever made!” he snapped.

  “Lower your voice.”

  “How am I supposed to look at her now without remembering—”

  “Stop.”

  He did.

  Immediately.

  His face went scarlet.

  “…Right. Sorry. Gods.”

  He slumped.

  “And she said I make her happy.”

  He stared at his hands.

  “She called Calista dead to her.”

  “She’s not wrong.”

  “I can’t sleep in that bed anymore,” he muttered. “It’s haunted. By steam. And curtains. And shame.”

  “Go.”

  Elian sank back into the chair, rubbing his face.

  “She doesn’t fear me,” he said. “She laughs at me. She sasses me. While naked, Farren.”

  “That’s because she doesn’t know you,” I said flatly.

  “I love her.”

  I looked at him.

  Slowly.

  Carefully.

  “You do not love her.”

  He blinked. “I might.”

  “No.”

  “I want to protect her.”

  “Congratulations. You’re a male with a pulse.”

  “She smells like flowers and danger—”

  “Elian.”

  “—and she looked at me like I was the answer to a question she didn’t know she was asking—”

  “Elian.”

  “—and then she said I make her happy, and now my wings won’t go down.”

  I stared at him.

  “You need to leave.”

  He looked wounded. “That feels harsh.”

  “That is mercy.”

  He stood, still faintly glowing, still a mess, and shuffled toward the door.

  Then he stopped.

  Turned back.

  “…Also,” he said. “It was definitely Calista. The oil. The note. The robe. The whole thing was a trap.”

  “I know.”

  He nodded, satisfied.

  Then left.

  The room went quiet.

  The candle flickered.

  I reached for my cup, then stopped.

  The air shifted.

  Soft.

  Barely there.

  And then a whisper:

  She’s home.

  My breath caught.

  I turned slowly.

  Nothing.

  No one.

  Just air.

  Just silence.

  But something inside me moved.

  A soundless crack across the stone of my control.

  My magic stirred, low and slow, like thunder behind a sealed door.

  My wings unfurled.

  Unbidden.

  Like they knew.

  Like they had been waiting.

  My jaw tightened. My breath stilled.

  Heat coiled in my chest like a promise I never made.

  I closed my eyes.

  “…Dammit.”

  I curled into my bed like the blankets might smother the memory out of me.

  They didn’t.

  My body still tingled. My skin still felt too warm. My thoughts refused to settle.

  “I almost died of embarrassment,” I muttered into my pillow. “In a palace. Naked. With wings.”

  A strangled sound escaped me, half laugh and half groan, as I buried my face deeper into the sheets.

  What was happening to me?

  I wasn’t like this.

  I didn’t get flustered.

  I didn’t spiral.

  I didn’t lie awake replaying moments and voices and the way someone had looked at me like—

  I groaned and flipped onto my back, staring at the ceiling.

  The robe Calista had left was draped over the chair like it was judging me. The sheets smelled faintly of lavender and sun-warmed stone and trouble. My whole body felt too awake, too aware, like the moment hadn’t ended when I left his room.

  “Absolutely not,” I told the empty space. “We are not doing this.”

  My pulse did not listen.

  Eventually, exhaustion won.

  And when sleep came…

  It wasn’t merciful.

  At first, it was soft.

  Warm.

  Golden.

  Light spilled through everything like sunrise through water. The world felt gentle. Weightless.

  Elian was there.

  He wasn’t panicking or glowing like a disaster. Just… calm.

  His hands rested at my waist like they belonged there.

  His wings curved around us, sheltering, like a canopy of living light.

  He leaned close, his forehead brushing mine, his voice low and warm and steady.

  “You make the world brighter,” he murmured. “You don’t even know you do.”

  His presence felt like heat without burning. Like standing too close to a hearth in winter.

  Safe.

  Wanted.

  His fingers traced my back, slow and reverent, like he was memorizing something precious.

  And when he smiled at me…

  When he looked at me like that…

  My breath caught.

  I leaned toward him—

  And woke up gasping.

  Heart racing.

  Face hot.

  Sheets twisted around my legs.

  For a moment I just lay there, staring at the ceiling, trying to remember where I was.

  Then it all came rushing back.

  The bath.

  The curtain.

  The wings.

  The screaming.

  The laughing.

  “Oh no,” I whispered. “Absolutely not.”

  “NOPE,” I croaked at the ceiling. “We are not dreaming about that man.”

  I rolled out of bed and face-planted onto the rug.

  Then just lay there.

  Defeated.

  Mortified.

  And very, very aware that my brain had officially betrayed me.

  “This is not happening,” I told the floor.

  The floor did not argue.

  I curled into the windowsill like a moonlynx, silk robe slipping off one knee, wine glass tilted toward the moonlight.

  Somewhere beneath me, a door slammed.

  I smirked.

  Another dramatic exit, no doubt.

  Honestly, I hadn’t planned it.

  Well. Not all of it.

  The oil had been for Freya’s muscles. The robe was for comfort. The room? That was a gentle push.

  But the rest?

  Elian tripping over his own towel. Wings flaring in sheer emotional panic. Freya’s scream echoing off marble like a damn opera?

  Art.

  I took a slow sip, smiling as chaos rippled through the air like music only I could hear.

  They’d thank me later.

  …Probably.

  Maybe after the war.

  Or the wedding.

  Whichever came first.

  Then—

  A knock.

  I didn’t answer.

  The door opened anyway.

  Farren stepped inside, quiet and slow. Always watching. Always deciding.

  “Evening,” I purred, not turning.

  He closed the door behind him. “You planned that.”

  I raised my glass. “You’ll have to be more specific, darling. I plan many things.”

  His voice was dry. “You put her in his room.”

  “No,” I said calmly. “I put her near a bath. With very good lighting.”

  His jaw flexed.

  “He tripped, Cal.”

  “Yes,” I sighed dreamily, finally turning to face him. “Wasn’t it stunning? Like fate. Or divine comedy.”

  He stared. “He was naked.”

  I grinned. “A fact he made everyone painfully aware of.”

  Farren moved closer. Slow. Deliberate. The way he always did when he wasn’t sure whether he wanted to strangle me or kiss me.

  I watched the tension in his shoulders. The way his fingers curled like they remembered something. Wanted something.

  “I know that look,” I said, swirling my wine again. “You’re pretending to be angry, but deep down you enjoyed every second of his spiraling.”

  He didn’t answer.

  Just stopped a few feet away and crossed his arms.

  Silence stretched between us.

  The candle flickered.

  The wind shifted.

  “I should be furious with you,” he said at last, voice low.

  “And yet,” I murmured, “here you are.”

  I rose from the windowsill, slow and fluid, closing the distance between us until only breath remained. The air between us crackled.

  “He had it coming,” I said. “Smug little bastard needed to be knocked down a peg.”

  His lips twitched.

  Almost a smile.

  Almost.

  “Dangerous, what you’re playing with,” he said, eyes darkening.

  “Darling,” I whispered, brushing a hand down his chest, “I am the danger.”

  He caught my wrist. Gently. But held it just a little too long. His thumb grazed my pulse.

  Felt it.

  Let it race beneath his skin.

  “I should leave,” he murmured, voice rough.

  “But you won’t.”

  He didn’t.

  We stood there, caught between fury and something far older.

  The space between us pulsed.

  Then I tilted my head, lips ghosting near his ear. “You know… you were the same way, once.”

  He frowned. “What?”

  “All wings and no clue,” I said. “Tripping over yourself every time I so much as looked your way.”

  He scoffed. “I’d just gotten my wings.”

  “Elian’s had his for nearly a decade. What’s his excuse?”

  He looked away. Then back.

  “You still made me nervous,” he said quietly.

  I stepped closer, wine forgotten, fingers grazing over the fabric at his chest, right above where his heart began to race.

  “You used to blush,” I murmured.

  “I still do.”

  “You used to say you didn’t want to ruin me.”

  His eyes searched mine.

  “I still don’t.”

  That stilled us both.

  For a moment, neither of us breathed.

  Then, slowly, he lifted his hand to brush the edge of my jaw. Just a graze. Just enough to make me ache.

  “And you,” he said, voice like thunder waiting to break, “used to say I’d never touch you unless I meant it.”

  “I remember,” I whispered. “I still do.”

  I leaned up and kissed his cheek. Slow. Deliberate.

  Not soft.

  Not innocent.

  Known.

  “You’re welcome,” I whispered.

  He exhaled through his nose. Stepped back. Barely.

  The air between us still burned.

  At the door, he paused.

  “Cal.”

  “Yes?”

  “Next time…”

  He glanced over his shoulder, eyes flicking to where the silk robe still hung loose over one shoulder.

  “…use fewer towels.”

  The door shut behind him.

  I grinned into my wine.

  “To poor impulse control,” I toasted softly, “and men with wings and no clue what to do with them.”