Page 17

Farron

A deep grumble sounds in the air, and a man falls off the bed, clutching his nose. Blood runs out from between his fingers.

“Dayton?”

“ Fuck ,” he groans, lowering his bloody hands. “Did you hit me with a fucking brick?”

“It was the entire poetic work of Tarragon Wrinklelake,” I say, looking down at the large tome. “So, yes, in a sense.”

“Do you often assault people in your bedroom?”

“Do you often creep into your guests’ quarters in the middle of the night?”

He gives a deep laugh. “Only the cute ones.”

My traitorous cheeks burn, and I fall back to the bed, eyeing him. He’s filthy, dirt covering his loose pants and bare chest. Of course Dayton wouldn’t bother with a shirt. His long blond hair falls over his shoulders in messy waves. How is it possible he’s even more gorgeous than I remember?

A bone-deep ache runs through me at the sight of him, and I can’t seem to catch my breath. He is real. A part of me feared I’d made him up, or I’d gone mad last summer, and he never existed at all. But he’s here. With me.

I don’t know if I should scream or cry or smile or laugh.

“What are you doing here?” I finally ask, impressed I can even form words.

He walks off, an almost awkward gait to his movements. “Didn’t realize you arrived today.”

“The rest of your family was there.”

“Right.” He lets out a long breath. “I was training for the games tomorrow. Got someone in the audience I want to impress.”

I have to look away. He’s…flirting with me? I haven’t heard from him in a year. Not a single word of reply to any of the letters that I sent.

But what did I expect? An apology for whisking me away and making me feel like I was special, only to have my heart shattered every single day that passed when I heard nothing from him?

Yet, my stupid heart still swoons at his smile.

“You were not so diligent about training last year,” I say.

“Well, that’s your fault. There was too much to show you. The ocean, the islands.” His voice is a purr.

I hold my breath, remembering the turquoise water, feeling the soft sand beneath my back as he kissed my neck, his naked body above me glistening with sweat and seawater…

I shift, making sure my legs are covered with the thin blankets, hoping it’s dark enough to hide my hardening length.

“Do you remember one particular island? Captain Katharine’s Isle?” The bed dips as Dayton lowers before me, his breath warm, the scent of salt and?—

“You smell like goat,” I snap at him.

He pulls back, lifting an arm. “I should take you with me to see Justus one of these days. You’d like the goats. And I think he’d like you.”

Was that what he wanted, really? For me to return and have things be like they were last summer? Has he even thought of me this past year?

Has he been with anyone else?

I shake my head, ignoring his comment. Of course he has been with others. I know him.

I’d tried to move on, too. After the Winter Solstice, when it was clear he had no intention of seeing me again, I resolved to forget about him. But no one piqued my interest.

A calloused hand tucks a strand of hair behind my ear as he leans closer. Perhaps the smell of goat isn’t so bad. “There are more places I want to show you, Fare. Other things I want to do.”

My breath hitches in my throat. It would be so easy to fall back into this. But he hasn’t even offered an explanation. Hasn’t even said sorry.

I don’t want to feel how I felt when he didn’t show up at the Autumn Equinox. The Winter Solstice. Every event since.

It’s clear the Summer Prince and I want different things.

Not that I’m entirely sure what I want from him.

I scoot back on the bed. “I won’t have as much time on this trip. My mother wants me to inherit the Blessing soon. I’ll be shadowing her and spending time with the High Prince.”

Dayton blinks at me. It’s clear from his expression that he is seldom rejected.

When he says nothing, I continue, “You fight in the arena tomorrow, correct? That’s what your family said at the welcome dinner. I’m sure you need to rest.”

Dayton straightens, and I hate that my body already aches to be close to him. That I want to call out for him to stay.

“Right,” he says, voice hoarse. He walks to the balcony, not even going to leave the normal way.

He looks back at me over his shoulder, blue eyes glinting in the moonlight. “I want to hear you cheer from the box tomorrow, Fare.” Then, in a fluid motion, he throws himself over the edge of the balcony and swings down the vines.

I clench the sheets of my bed and whisper, “Of course I’ll cheer, you idiot.”

I’d thought the villa was hot, the wind blowing a breeze meant for high noon in the middle of the night. I’d thought the streets of the capital were warm, waves of heat making my vision swim. But the Sun Colosseum burns as if we are on the surface of the sun itself.

I’m on a high balcony with the other royals. On a tier above us sit the High Princes and Princesses, the small children lounging in chairs around them. I, however, have been seated with the other nobles on the lower tier. It is a terrace hanging right above the arena with little covering.

Around us, the Sun Colosseum is packed with what must be every single citizen of Hadria. Below, on the white sand, fighting with magic and weapons, are two gladiators. Whoever wins this fight will compete in the finale of the games and have a chance at the title of Champion.

I watch the battle with a mix of fascination and squeamishness as the two fighters clash their weapons in a dazzling display of strength and skill. Despite the intensity of the battle, there is some grace and beauty to the warriors’ movements as they leap and parry. A deadly dance.

I fall back in my chair, fanning my sweaty forehead with a paper fan.

If there’s any consolation to the blazing heat, it’s that I’m not the most miserable one here. The heir to Winter takes low, shallow breaths, sweat dripping down the planes of his chiseled jaw. He wears his white hair loose; it’s so long it trails down to his waist.

I can barely breathe when I look at him—a mixture of jealousy, envy, and awe swirl within me.

Keldarion is everything an heir should be: brave, handsome, righteous.

He’s slightly older than me and is already commanding his realm’s army.

When the spiders of Frosthold Crag kidnapped a prestigious lady, he led a mission with only one other to rescue her.

Not to mention he’s making political gains with his courtship of a noble in the Spring Realm.

Lady Tilla walks down the steps, her long black hair tied in intricate braids atop her head.

“Here, darling.” She hands Keldarion a glass of cold water. He gives a grunt of approval before waving his hand above it. The water changes to bits of snow, which he blows into his face.

Only a trifle of his power. He might not have inherited Winter’s Blessing yet, but I’ve heard stories of the power at his command.

He’s the heir I should be. The kind the Autumn Realm deserves.

Tilla sits down beside him. Since she’s not part of the Spring Realm’s royal house, she’s not bound to the faceless armor the way the royal line is.

She’s beautiful, her tawny skin made up with rouge, dark eyes lined with kohl.

She honors Spring’s traditions in her clothing.

A metal circlet sits atop her head, and dark steel swoops to sharp points on her shoulders.

A chain mail belt ties together her pink dress.

If the rumors are true, she knows the ways of the Spring Realm and is a warrior in her own right.

My gaze slides to the two Spring Princes sitting next to me. I can’t help the fear that trembles up my body as I take in their massive, armored forms. One silver. One black. They both sit still as mountains.

Ezryn and I haven’t exchanged as much as ten words since I saw him last year. I always thought that was his entire personality, but I caught him laughing with Keldarion earlier.

As Winter is lucky to have Keldarion, so is Spring to have Ezryn. Word traveled that when a strange blight destroyed Spring’s crops, the High Princess trusted him alone to assist her in bringing life back to the dead earth.

I can’t dwell on it for long because the arena shakes as the crowd erupts in a massive cheer. Below, the battle has finished. A huge gladiator has his hammer pressed to the chest of another fae on the ground who holds his finger up in surrender.

“Spiculus.” Decimus, the middle brother of the Summer Royal Family, leans over to tell me. “A worthy opponent for the final match.”

“That’s who Dayton will face to become Champion?” I ask.

“If he wins his next fight.” Decimus grins at me as if we share an inside joke. We both know Day will win. The way he’s been fighting today…

I’ve never been much for violence, but seeing him compete this morning—and win again and again and again—has filled me with a strange elation.

As if on cue, the crowd erupts in a frenzied commotion, and the name Daytonales echoes throughout the arena as the citizens of Summer cheer for their prince.

I push myself up from my seat and clutch the edge of the balcony as Dayton steps upon the sand. A wild smile dances on his face as he raises his dual swords in the air. Across the arena, his opponent walks forward, banging his sword against his shield.

I’ve always thought of Dayton as huge, with his broad shoulders and tall stature, but his opponent looks like a giant of legend. His shadow stretches wide across the sand.

But Dayton doesn’t care. He turns in a circle, grinning wildly and pumping his sword toward the crowd. The people ignite like leaves in a forest fire, screaming and hooting. I even spot one woman yank down her dress and flash her breasts.

The hulking behemoth across from Dayton is no showman. His eyes are stern and focused.

Pay attention, you idiot, I think.

Dayton flicks one look up to the royal box—probably searching for his brother—then surges.

He’s all coiled energy and dazzling grin.

His swords sparkle left-right-up-left, deftly avoiding the other gladiator’s huge shield.

The crowd roils like a stormy sea, their chorus of cheers resonating throughout the arena.

The giant fae roars, and now Dayton is on defense. He dodges expertly, the other gladiator heaving his sword down in slow, powerful arcs.

The taste of blood wafts over my tongue, and I realize I’ve chewed my nail down to the quick. Why am I so nervous?

The larger gladiator can’t get a hit. Dayton keeps rolling away, then smacking from behind, only to turn and grin up at the crowd.

“He’s playing with him,” Keldarion grunts out. “Classless.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Tilla says. “The skill with which he’s wielding those blades is unmatched. If I could get a better look at them…”

Dayton leaps away from every swing, laughing and smiling at the spectators—as if their cheers and applause are all the energy he needs to keep going.

“What kind of madman laughs while he fights?” a tinny, cold voice says, drawing my attention. A cool shadow falls over me as the youngest Prince of Spring, Kairyn, stands at my side.

My sweat turns icy as I look up at his armored face. His mask has always reminded me of an owl with two extended protrusions over the dark visor that look like feathered eyebrows. But the shape is almost completely obscured by his black hood.

How does he not boil in that thing? I wonder as my eyes trail over the intricate black armor adorned with silver filigree, the cape that puddles on the floor like spilled oil.

It’s as if he absorbs the surrounding light, the visor where his eyes should be like a pool of dark water, deep and inscrutable.

“I’ve always thought his laughter hides his fear.” The heir to the Spring Realm steps up beside his brother, and I feel more at ease. His silver armor, with the beautiful floral designs, glitters in the high sun. “But perhaps he truly is mad.”

“No,” I breathe and turn back to the fight, watching Dayton dance around the other gladiator, so light on his feet.

“It’s who Day is. He’s not thinking or pretending.

He lives only in the present moment. There is nothing for him except the sword and the crowd.

When Dayton is doing something, he’s there completely. He’s living.”

Maybe that’s why those moments together last summer were so special to me. Because I knew there was no one else that mattered to him but me. To exist like that—wholly taken away from your problems, if only for a little while—was euphoric.

The hulking gladiator is bent double, panting, and Dayton takes the opportunity to stroll toward the crowd, basking in their cheers like they’re a healing balm. Even from here, I can see the sweat dripping down his chest.

Dayton throws his head back and laughs as the spectators chant his name. But the other gladiator has regained his composure. He hulks behind him, massive weapon raised. Dayton doesn’t notice. He’s looking up at the crowd.

“Dayton!” I cry.

The huge gladiator brings down his sword, and Dayton turns at the last second. He dodges out of the way, but the blade nicks his shoulder, and a drop of red blood ekes onto the sand.

Something switches in Dayton’s form, and although we’re too far above to see, I can feel the darkness falling over his gaze. He ignites, rushing forward, and in two vicious blows, his opponent crumbles to his knees.

The massive gladiator holds a single finger up in surrender, and the Colosseum shakes with the roar of the crowd. Dayton tilts his head up at the box, and I swear he’s looking straight at me as he winks.

Dayton is the victor. He is going to proceed to the last battle for the chance to take the title of Champion.

“Hmm,” Keldarion grumbles and leans over the banister with the rest of us. I take a moment to look from him to Ezryn, then down at myself. One day, the three of us will rule as High Princes alongside Dayton’s oldest brother, Damocles.

I am unworthy.

“An interesting theory you gave, little prince,” Keldarion says. He looks down at the arena, as if the whole thing is distasteful to him. “We will see if he’s still laughing when there is true blood to be spilled.”

Kairyn gives a low laugh, echoing strangely beneath his mask. “It is the way they should always fight. None of this surrender. There is no way to test a fae’s merit without life on the line.”

A pit settles in my stomach, and I turn to them. “What do you mean?”

“I thought you knew.” Decimus places a hand on my shoulder. “The final fight of the Solstice Games is to the death.”