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Alora refused to allow him to see the slight scarlet warming her cheeks, no matter how much it irritated and—if she were honest—excited her.

In an effort to appear dispassionate, she pressed her heels into the stirrups, straightened her back, and forced a flippant smile, trying all the while to disregard the sudden jolt in her chest. “Treasure those, mighty prince, as they’ll be theonlytimes I’ll do anything with you ever again.”

Storm drove forward, leaving behind his sharp,irresistiblelaugh.

For now, Alora could see a faint hint of the sun’s rays exploding into dusk’s falling sky. The navy and lavender peeking through impressive, menacing rainclouds, soon to be traded for deep, comforting darkness and glistening stars under the incoming storm.

Another cold night dawned, but she welcomed the treachery of darkness and uncertainty of storms over the golden sun, anyday. Maybe that was why, as she dangled her feet near the clear lake water, resting comfortably on the sun-faded boards of a dock, she couldn’t help but smile, staring at the departing evening sky.

Or maybe it was the fact that soon she’d be in Alynthia—or outside of it, anyway. A place with impenetrable, ancient wards that prevented them from discovery and protected the mountain and city within.

Somewhere untouched by the High King’s control. Shrouded from his cruelty by a labyrinth of protection.

If places like that even existed…

Hell, she’d live in the swamp waters of Lirazkendra if it meant she would be safe.

Garrik and the others—the entire legion—had their purpose. And she’d never once forgotten hers. That dream of finding her true freedom still caressed her mind like a beast’s claws. Scratching and ripping relentlessly until the legion moved on without her. With Alynthia’s mountain resting a few days away, easily spotted in the distance, that very moment may be closer than she imagined.

But that still left one issue.

Alora’s eyes drifted to camp, passed Jade cleaning her sword on the shore, and to a gray head of hair. She watched Garrik conversing with a small group of Mystics who were sitting around a fire and tending to their armor after a long ride. Their High Prince sat in the dirt below them, tending to his own with a quiet expression.

She’d sworn to tell Garrik when she decided to leave. And with his word that he wouldn’t interfere, she didn’t believe him. Would he truly allow her to leave? After knowing so much. After witnessing meetings in the war tent. Hearing strategies. Reading correspondence. Training.

Perhaps the reasoning was that he would steal into the depths of her mind and shatter those memories. After all, it’s what she’d do if she harbored his impressive powers.

Parchment crumpled as she drew it from her armor.

Rowlen had written another letter.

One of many that she’d nestle away in the growing stack inside her trunk. She hadn’t realized the weight that settled deep into her shoulders, now easing, as she opened it fold by fold and hungrily devoured each line of ink. Experiencing for the first time the giddy excitement of those a century younger. The first swell of a heart or rush of fingers to tear open the latest correspondence. Smiling foolishly like a love-struck faeling at each curve and line of the words. At Rowlen’s excitement for an upcoming ball for some lord’s wedding ceremonies. And she knew better when he asked if she could join him. In fact, they both did because instead of scratching out his ask, Rowlen merely mentioned that he didn’t want to see her in danger.

That letter felt more like home than anything she could hope to experience in reality. And though it ripped her heart into a thousand pieces, she carefully brushed her thumb over his final words until his next letter would arrive, likely in another week’s time.

And remember … the only limit exists beyond the stars. You are fire with the heart of a lioness. Yield to no one, not even him.

Rowlen.

With a crooked grin, Alora pocketed it, scanning her eyes to that veryhimRowlen referred to before she flattened her palmson the splintered edges, curling her fingers around the board to lean forward, and closed her eyes.

Muted voices wisped within the northern breeze before near-silent footsteps creaked across the boards of the dock. She felt his icy chill before opening her eyes. Felt how the wooden boards flexed as he came to stand beside her.

Then, that voice, warm as honey, breathed an airy chuckle. “If you wish to escape the army so badly, there are far easier and less painful ways than drowning, clever girl.”

Alora groaned, keeping her eyes closed. “How perfect, it’s you,” she scoffed and heard another chuckle, half tempted to splash him as she opened her eyes, glimpsing his face.

His troubled eyes.

Staring into the same sky. At the incoming storm that carried a calm breeze across his hair, strands tickled over his forehead that seemed to glisten against the falling sun.

She wondered for a moment what those silver irises saw. The laggard sweep across the horizon, drifting along the clouds as if they were speaking to him. As if at any moment, something would fall from them. But Garrik deepened a heavy sigh and tore his focus away, something critical flashing inside his eyes. And as quickly as it was there, it disappeared.

If she didn’t know better, that could’ve been misery in his eyes.

Garrik’s gaze turned down to her, and she quickly found the lake more interesting, hoping he didn’t see her regarding him. Instead of his voice, she felt his stare and saw a shadow move. When Alora turned toward it, she saw his hand stretched down to her, and a knowing smile inched up his face.

“Come with me,” he insisted in a serene voice that was so unlike him.