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‘One of us.’The High Prince's voice echoed from a few hours before.

Adorned in nothing but a long, crimson night-tunic and underthings, Alora stood, scanning her trunk full of clothing. She wouldn’t need to become a soldier of war just yet. Breakfast first, then the colors of the Dragons could cover her.

Legs aching, Alora moved toward the trunk when she glimpsed her reflection in the mirror hanging from a wooden post holding the tent upright.

Alora’s eyes widened, stumbling across the tent until she was inches from her reflection.

Her neck…

A fresh, reddened cut in the center.

And a blade hadn’t wounded her while training with Thalon.

The bastard.

An icy chill ruthlessly scratched down her spine. As much as she wished to keep last night a distant memory, the evidence remained on her pale skin.

Perfect!A frustrated groan vibrated from her throat as she ran her fingers over the mark. How would she explain this?

Alora knelt at the trunk, throwing the lid open with agitated force to her awaiting garments. Clothing given to her by numerous females in camp when she first arrived, since she had nothing but what she rode in with.

Desperately looking for something that could cover her well enough to deter troublesome conversation, her eyes fell upon a red button-up tunic with a raised collar that rested halfway up the neck. Faded gold stitching on the fabric ran down the two sides of the collar to the abdomen, with longer sleeves that were sheer, exposing her arms and death mark. Not her usual wear for camp, but it would have to do. She didn’t have much of a choice.

Alora quickly swapped her night shirt for the tunic and buttoned up the shirt as far as it would go and braided hervoluminous hair to that side, leaving wisps hanging out on the other. Semi-covering the lingering mark from the High Prince’s challenge last night.

Stars burn me.Alora inhaled a long, deep breath as she shook her head and emerged from the tent, allowing warmth from the sun to sink into her trembling skin.

A scan of the roaring fire revealed Garrik sat in his usual position, relaxed on the dirt beside Thalon, who preferred the stump. Eldacar and Jade sat shoulder to shoulder on the fallen log. None of them wore battle leathers, maybe just as inclined to enjoy one last normal morning as she was.

It had taken her a slightly longer time to reach the fire. Carefully considering how her collar moved against her neck, mindful of the fabric concealing her wound. And when she leaned over to grab her awaiting plate beside Eldacar, his usual timid smile peeked up at her as she filled it with steaming bacon, pan fried potatoes in garlic butter, and perfectly cooked eggs—soft enough in the yolk to dip toast into.

“Good morning.” Garrik’s voice was quiet as enchanting silver beamed in the morning light, looking up at her.

Alora quietly cleared her throat, trying not to draw attention. Her eyes shifted to everyone around the fire, but meticulously avoided him. “Good morning.”

Garrik scooted away from Thalon, providing an opening for Alora to sit between them. Gesturing to her with a nod, Alora reluctantly maneuvered around him and carefully settled down, ensuring to adjust her collar before beginning to eat.

You are trying too hard. Painfully obvious. Relax.

She almost dropped her plate as the High Prince’s luring voice invaded her thoughts.

Casually shifting her eyes, Alora unnoticeably turned to him as her cheeks filled with fiery warmth.Stop.

Silver traveled to where his blade had been, hidden by silken white hair and the red collar of her tunic. Garrik’s devilish side smirk lifted before he met the burning intensity in her sapphire’s.

Alora scowled. No, not just a scowl—a death glare—one comparable to Jade on her best day.

“What’s up with you two this morning?” Thalon’s interrogative voice cut like a knife through the heavy air. His suspicion squinted in their direction, spurring Eldacar and Jade to shift their focus too.

“Nothing,” they spoke simultaneously, capturing each other’s gazes once more. Garrik’s coy and playful. Hers took on a more lethal intent.

“Mhmm. Alright. Nothing.” Thalon shoved another bite of food into his mouth. He leaned forward with a tattooed hand gripping his plate and rested it on his knee, golden eyes shifting between them rather skeptically.

“I believe Alora to be nervous about breaking camp.” Garrik sarcastically smiled at her.

Alora rolled her eyes. “I believe the mighty prince to be incorrect… I’m fine.” Alora took a long drink of coffee.

The High Prince stretched one leg in front of him, keeping his other bent. Placing his empty plate on the ground beside him, he propped his forearm across his knee and leaned back on the other. “I should think that after the woods last night, you would call me Garrik.”Or maybe yourlipsprefer Lord of Darkness?