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His glossy raven hair tumbles like a waterfall to his shoulders, a stark contrast to the all-white mourning attire he wears. The fitted, long-sleeved shirt does nothing to hide the rippling muscles in his arms and chest. Trying for nonchalance, I tilt my head up as my gaze sweeps over his face. Bronze skin. Strong features. High cheekbones, square jaw, full lips.

Beautiful. This man is downright beautiful. The image of a god.

When he still doesn’t answer, I reach for him, tracing the faint scar on the hairline of his jaw. He sucks in a breath.

“I’m not…this isn’t me.” He makes another sweeping gesture, encompassing the grandeur of the suddenly visible room. “I’ve been trained to serve my kingdom by following orders. To fight. To survive.”

His gaze drifts as if he’s haunted by ghosts of a past spent in enemy lands, searching for me on his brother’s command.

“And now you must lead.” My heart aches for him. “Despite what you say, you’re good at leading. The people love and respect you. And you’re not alone in this.”

“No?” His eyes seek an answer in mine, emphasizing the specter of doubt in the back of his mind.

“Never.” I cup his cheek, willing him to believe it. Jasper’s last words claw at my mind—Marry Lark—but I shove them aside. This isn’t the time for prophecy or politics. It’s a moment for comfort, for human connection.

A knock fractures the quiet. Once, twice, three times.

“Your Highness? The masses pine for their beloved prince. Shall I tell them you’re attending to a matter that requires your very personal assistance, and you’ll be with themshortlyonce you’ve finishedfulfillingthose responsibilities?”

Agnar’s mirth-drenched voice seeps through the wood.

Sterling snorts at the obvious innuendos. “Why do I feel like you just insulted your beloved prince’s endurance?”

“Why, I’m sure I don’t know, oh exalted one,” Agnar quips.

Giggling, I finish straightening my gown and extend my wings. “Come in, Agnar.”

Guess our alone time is over.

ChapterThree

Agnar Kerrin opens the door with his fingers spread over his eyes like a blindfold. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”

The sight of the big, broad-shouldered soldier with a battle-scarred face hiding behind his hands is nothing short of ridiculous.

I snort while Sterling’s lips twitch, a reluctant smile blooming across his face. “Duty calls?”

He straightens his attire with brisk efficiency. Massive wings, the feathers streaked with silver, burst into view before folding neatly along his back like an elegant cloak.

“Indeed, it does.” The voice of Blair Jameson chimes in from the hallway, the tease clear even through the barrier between us. “Unless you’ve taken up residence in dusty sitting rooms now?”

“Only the most luxurious sitting rooms for our prince.” I can almost hear the smirk in Agnar’s words.

Despite his initial distrust, Agnar and I have managed to become friends. We’ve grown even closer since he was assigned as my food taster following an attempted poisoning incident involving a strawberry pastry. Sharing daily meals with the man without growing fond of him seems like a challenge most would fail.

That poisoning attempt was weeks ago, before Aclaris and Tirene called for a temporary truce. So much has changed since the drachen appeared and embarked on a ravenous rampage.

Sterling’s face screws into a scowl that would have sent me running when he was my instructor at Flighthaven.

“Get in here, you two. We’re discussing the recent rumors.” If I can distract them, there’s a small chance they won’t tease us about acting like randy teens sneaking off in the middle of the ceremony.

Blair pushes Agnar through the doorway.

Stumbling, Agnar catches his balance, then glances up at the chandelier hanging above where we sit. “You’re getting really good at throwing fire.”

I shrug, secretly pleased he’s noticed.

“What rumors are we talking about?” Blair steps in, closing the door behind him. The man loves gossip as much as he loves hooking up with the maids—or any unattached woman, for that matter—which is quite a lot.