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I scowl dramatically, shifting in the saddle to glare at him.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” I shout over the sound of hooves and wind, pitching my voice loud enough to carry because subtlety has never been my thing. “Could you look a little less like a tragic, brooding god right now? You’re making the rest of us look bad.”

Caspian doesn’t even glance at me. Which makes it worse. He just sits there, effortless and devastating, like the world owes him something.

I lean toward Luna conspiratorially, lowering my voice but keeping it stage-whisper loud enough that he can hear every word.

“Look at him,” I say dramatically. “That hair. That jaw. I mean, I get it, he’s Lust—but leave some for the rest of us, Cas.”

Caspian finally glances sideways, the corner of his mouth twitching like he’s fighting a smile.

“Jealousy doesn’t suit you, Silas,” he says lazily, voice all velvet and knives.

I slap a hand to my chest, gasping like he’s just stabbed me.

“Jealous?” I shout. “Baby, I’m the whole package. I’m the main event. The glitter and the chaos. The tragic backstory and the punchline.”

I glance over at Luna then, tilting my head back just enough to catch her eye.

“Isn’t that right, love? Tell him I’m the prettiest.”

She groans, burying her face in my shoulder like she can’t believe she’s stuck with me. I’m basking in my moment—Lunalaughing behind me, Caspian pretending not to be offended by my glitter-fueled glory—when I feel a familiar chill prickle along my spine.

Which can only mean one thing.

Ambrose.

I glance over—and there he is. Coming up on my right like some sinister prophecy in motion. Effortless. Elegant. Barely even touching the unicorn beneath him, and the creature is somehow gliding like it was born for war and opera.

He looks like he belongs in some forbidden text no one should’ve opened, and the worst part?He knows it.His coat’s billowing. His sleeves are rolled. His hair’s catching just enough wind to make him look windswept and deadly. Meanwhile, I’ve got glitter in my mouth and half a leaf stuck in my hair from when my unicorn did a celebratory twirl after jumping a boulder.

And Ambrose?

Not evencreased.

I hate him.

“Look at this smug bastard,” I mutter loud enough for Luna to hear, and she laughs softly against my back. Encouragement. Dangerous.

Ambrose spares me a single sideways glance. “You’re drooling,” he says mildly.

“I’mfoamingwith rage,” I shoot back.

His unicorn picks up pace, almost mockingly, and he doesn’t even react. Just shifts his weight a hair and the thing accelerates like he’s whispering sweet nothings into its ear in ancient hell-speak.

I narrow my eyes.

“This is war,” I announce.

Luna mutters something like, “You’ve already declared war on three people today.”

“Ambrose is all three of them,” I hiss.

Because he is. He’s the rival. The arch nemesis. The dramatic foil to my glitter-coated chaos. He’s been stealing my favorite mugs from the house and replacing them with enchanted ones that whisper terrible truths. Last week he spelled my boots to squeak like mice. And sure, I made all his shirts sing sea shanties for two days straight, but that was justice.

I nudge my unicorn forward.

“I see what you’re doing,” I call across to him. “Trying to out-seduce me on the murder horse. Trying to show off. Trying to impress her.”