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Heat rose in Filip’s chest and along his arms, and all trepidation of what he was about to do fled his mind.

Ivan really was going to try to slay him right here in the road.

“Kill me then, Cousin.” He whipped the hatchet around, its handle as familiar as his palm.

“Do your worst. I’ve been spoiling for a fight with you since we shared a nanny. ”

Like a bear drunk on brazenberries, Ivan lunged and slashed his blade through the air. Suddenly Filip was dodging expert strikes and stabs with his heart drumming in his ears. He blocked a heavy blow. The impact numbed his arm.

“I’ll kill you, Prince! I’ll find you in your sleep and bash your ugly face.” Ivan laughed.

Tasting metal on his tongue, Filip came up behind the cruel beast. With a quick foot to the back of the knee, he had Ivan bending backward and the hatchet’s handle laid against the side of his cousin’s throat. The big man began to slump in his grip, the blood cut off from Ivan’s head by the hold.

“Good rest, Cousin. Remember, you brought this on yourself.” He lowered the unconscious idiot to the ground.

The crowd chanted, “Hatchet! Hatchet!”

Shaking, Filip gave them a grin and wiped spittle from his cheek as he walked away.

At the bend in the road, Ivan’s voice echoed. Filip spun to see him sitting up, a hand on the overturned table. “We will see what our fathers say of this, Cousin.”

Filip gave him a big smile. “Just keep your hands off my subjects and we’ll be fine!” You pig.

Ivan’s father would want revenge for this embarrassment.

Filip adjusted the royal family’s seal ring on his finger.

The heavy thing boasted a detailed constellation, symbolic of the elven god Rigel and the goddess Ursea who first brought elves to this sharply beautiful place.

Filip’s parents would understand about the fight, surely.

At the lane leading up to the castle, Filip’s friend Costel slipped through the small space between the new blacksmith’s forge and the tavern.

Though he was the same age as Filip, Costel still had the rawboned look of a youth.

“Filip! Your parents are requesting your presence.” The man’s light hair fell over his eyes.

“Word travels fast.”

Costel’s eyebrows knitted. “News?”

“Aren’t they wanting to know why I put Ivan down for a little nap?”

“You did what?”

Filip pushed past Costel. “He asked for it.”

“Oh, gods. The earl will have you whipped.”

“He was being a boar. As usual. I won’t be taken.”

“You will. That man is nearly as bad as his son.”

“All the more reason for my parents not to listen to his rambling.”

“But that’s not what they want to talk to you about.”

Filip glanced at Costel as they strode toward the inner bailey and the keep. “Do I have time to wash first?”

Costel’s lips bunched. “Your mother is pacing.”

“So, no.”

“Not if you want to keep your ears.” Costel flicked one of Filip’s pointed ears, and Filip punched him lightly in the stomach. Costel made an oomph sound but laughed and came up with an elbow aimed at Filip’s chin. Filip caught Costel’s arm and shoved him away, grinning.

“Think Ioana will meet me at the bonfires tonight?” Costel asked.

Filip poked at his ribs. “Not if she has anything better to do.”

“Eh! I’ve bulked up this past fortnight, haven’t I? I’ve eaten nearly as much as you.”

“Sure, Costel. You’re gaining muscle. Well done. I was only teasing.” The guards held their swords back as Filip and Costel strolled through the inner bailey’s archway. “She’ll be there, and she’ll beg you to marry her,” Filip said.

Costel looked at the ground, his crooked teeth showing as he smiled widely. “You think so?”

“Aye. You have a unique look, friend. And the ear of the prince.” Filip winked. “Unless my dear mother lops it off during this audience.”

Costel chuckled, then gripped Filip’s arm, stopping him just inside the keep’s doors. “All your news distracted me. There’s a messenger from Lore. That’s what the king and queen want to talk to you about.”

Valets and servants bustled through the corridor, bumping one another into the furs that lined the walls and whispering excitedly under the glowing oil lamps.

Normally, Filip’s home was quiet, but at Frostlight, everyone had a job and the wish to see it done quickly so they wouldn’t miss out on the fun.

Filip swung around, aiming for the hallway that led to his chambers.

“Where are you going?” Costel hurried to catch up.

“If it’s news from Lore, it can wait until I’ve washed. Those spoiled humans never have anything important to say.” He paused and met Costel’s wide eyes. “Unless the messenger is a water mage.”

“I don’t think so.”

Filip nodded, shrugging. “Too bad. Those mages did fine work in the war. I never did get the chance to speak with one.”

Most humans were simple folk like him, lacking magic—although his speed, strength, and longer life gave him an edge as an elf.

But some incredibly rare humans held powerful magic.

Human witches were blessed by the Sacred Oak and given wands by trees near their place of birth. Witches could enact their will on the world to a certain degree, depending on how much of the goddess Lyra’s strength flowed in their veins.

The other type of humans that held magic were water mages. The blood of the ancient race of sea folk, the power of goddess Lilia, showed up in their ability to make water flood and freeze.

Costel grabbed him and turned him around. “You have to go to the throne room now or I’ll be in it, Filip.”

Sighing, Filip looked to the painted stars on the keep’s ceiling. “All right. I wouldn’t want your Ioana to miss out on your brawny presence tonight.”

“Shut it,” Costel said, grinning.

Filip and Costel wove through the frenzy of servants and finally entered the throne room. Queen Sorina and King Mihai were both pacing. When they spotted Filip, they stopped.

Filip spoke out of the side of his mouth. “Costel, you should go. Now.”

“I will never leave your side.”

“This isn’t an army. This is my parents.” Much worse. When they were like this, anything could happen. “Remember Marius’s donkey?”

Their friend Marius had been caught sneaking a ride on Sorina’s best mare. When Sorina had found out, he’d been forced to ride a donkey to his own wedding.

“Oh, the donkey. Gods in the sky, that bray—”

“If you don’t mind!” Sorina’s voice pounded across the stone floor, and Filip and Costel clapped their mouths shut.

“Son,” Mihai started, “we need to discuss your wife.”

Despite the roaring fires blazing from the two hearths, Filip’s skin went cold. “I don’t have a wife.”

Sorina sat on her throne, her silver crown catching the candlelight and her hands folded in her lap. “You do now.”

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