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“One of the ancient languages of Elysian. I had hoped I could find something about that dagger of yours,” he explained, pointing with his pencil to her sheath, “in here but, alas, still nothing.” Eldacar slapped the bookends shut with a hollow thump and pocketed it in his leather satchel.

Noticing the frustration, just as before, Alora sought to distract him. “How many can you speak?” she questioned, honestly curious, not just to turn his attention.

“Oh, my. I’m afraid there isn’t enough distance left in the day to name them all.”

Her eyes widened. “That’s …impressive.”

Eldacar’s shoulders lowered, his chin dipped in that humbled look he often gathered, and he gestured ahead of them with a slow nod. “Not as impressive as the number Garrik can speak.”

Now she was thinking about Garrik again.Perfect.

Alora swallowed, avoiding any more mention of the High Prince she desperately wanted to—for the moment—distance herself from and made a quick nod of her own at Eldacar’s bag. “Could you teach me one?” Maybe not exactlythatone, as even the name seemed impossible to accomplish.

His smile brightened, gleaming like endless starlight. “Which one? I would be happy to.” Adjusting his dark cloak and patting his armor, which seemed so out of place on him, he pulled a notebook from a side pocket, fumbling with his pencil once again.

And though she desperately didn’t want to, her traitorous sapphires found Garrik again and grinned.

“Rot an li vencath.” Her words not nearly as perfect; not easily as pronounced and filled with that roguish intent as Garrik’s had been on competition night.

“Fight to the last,” Eldacar repeated with an air of excitement as a calm breeze ruffled his curly auburn hair.

“Yes. I heard those same words in a tongue he spoke in my tent before we left camp outside Telldaira. Would you teach it to me?”

Eldacar scribbled something in his notebook. Sequences of numbers and clusters of letters bunched together and separated by dashes and decimals. All listed in at least nine groupings. Almost code-like. “When my library is returned, I know just the books to start with.” He tapped the list, and she realized it was a sorting system for his stacks. “We will add it to your training.”

Something like nervous determination pricked through her nerves as Eldacar pulled another book from his bag and began leafing through it. Alora turned her attention back to the High Prince, sharpening her smirk as she watched his body sway atop Ghost.

In the hours that followed, at one point, she found herself and Storm mindlessly walking alongside Garrik. To keep her attention from any unwanted emotions or desires, she began questioning, to herself, just how many of the stories she’d heard about him could be true. After the months they’d spent together, she’d only glimpsed in short bursts the once savage warrior that so many feared.

Sometimes she wondered if he’d been reading her thoughts. Because his eyes would shift and look at her, followed by either a scowl, soft grin, or mindless conversation.

Alora’s eyes brazenly explored him, painfully aware of his rousing figure, and remembering how it went rigid laying out the general’s lashing by his tongue. The tall black boots ran up monstrous calves; the leather pants tucked inside hugged everybulging muscleexquisitelyas he lounged perfectly balanced in the saddle.

Battle leather sleeves were bunched up, revealing a rippling, veined forearm that rested down at his side, and she couldn’t help but trace those lines. Andthat hand—she failed at not imagining how it had once felt resting on her neck and jawline—now draped on his upper thigh as his other gripped the reins.

Losing the battle, fast,her mind repeated, and she scolded herself.Stop it.

But her gaze remained locked on every body movement caused by Ghost’s steps. Watched his abs pulse and the force of his incredible thighs gripping the saddle. Explored lower, landing on his belt swarmed with blades.

The … buttons and ties of his pants.

How the mere glance made her heart jolt and blood scarlet her cheeks. Thinking about his …sword. How skilled he most likely was at—she gulped—using … it.

“See something you like?” That irritating, wolfish grin climbed up the side of his face before he fully tilted his head. Silvers had discovered her prurient assessment.

Alora forced herself not to swallow, exhaling a scoff of disgust. Then tried to convince herself he hadn’t listened to her thoughts. Because knowing him, he had.

“As much as I would desire to indulge your curiosity … again.” He chuckled. “I think it inappropriate to do so in front of so many spectators.” Garrik scanned the Dragons, then looked back at her.

She straightened in her saddle, visions of the annulus flooding back. “In your dreams,” she said, tearing her gaze away.

That wolfish grin didn’t falter. “You do much more than those slow, long looks at me in my dreams.”

Slow…

Long…

She hadn’t missed his arousing implication.