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L arylis Seralla didn’t have his father’s name. He wasn’t an Alante like Teryn, nor was he a prince. Instead, Larylis went by his mother’s surname. Seralla. And yet, it didn’t matter whose name he’d been given or whose blood flowed in his veins. For he had neither of his parents’ fickle hearts. They’d nearly started a war over their love. Larylis was determined never to be so foolish. To never forget his place.

So when Teryn had asked him if he had feelings for Princess Mareleau, he’d lied. Sort of. While Larylis no longer kept love in his heart for the princess, he hadn’t been telling the truth when he’d said their kiss had meant nothing. And there hadn’t been just a single kiss, but several. However, only one had felt significant. It was their final kiss. At the time, it had meant the world to Larylis because it had sealed their mutual expressions of love. Of course, that was before he’d learned what it really meant to be the illegitimate son of a king. Mareleau must not have understood it either at the time. Not until they were caught kissing in the stables by her uncle. That was when Larylis had been sent back to Dermaine Palace. By the time he’d arrived, he’d learned Mareleau was already engaged to Teryn. Whether the arrangement had been made before or after they’d been caught kissing, it mattered not. For the letter he’d received from her that day told him everything he needed to know.

I could never love a bastard.

Meanwhile, Teryn had been sent a letter too, one chronicling her excitement over their upcoming nuptials and professing her undying love.

Larylis knew then that Mareleau wasn’t who he’d thought she was. Despite the way he still caught his heart lurching at the thought of his former flame, Larylis was determined not to get in the way of her and Teryn’s union. Not like his mother had done, driving a wedge between the king and queen until Arlous did the unthinkable—broke vows, severed royal bonds, and nearly drove his country into chaos in an effort to make Lady Annabel his new queen. His father had insisted it was in Larylis’ best interest too, for if Annabel was queen, Larylis could be named a prince. His mother had whispered far more devious suggestions—that it could also mean he might have a stronger claim to the throne after Arlous passed.

A claim he never asked for.

Never wanted.

His jaw tightened at the memory. A sour taste lingered in his mouth as he left his brother’s door and headed for the library. Seeing Teryn struggle with the burden of having to right their father’s wrongs reminded Larylis exactly why being a prince was far less admirable than storybooks made it sound. Sure, were Larylis a prince, he could have wed the girl he’d once loved. Then again, considering how cold and duplicitous she’d proved to be, he was willing to bet he’d dodged a dagger in being born a bastard.

Larylis reached the end of the hall before he realized he’d passed the turn that led to the palace library. After a week of dining and dancing, he craved the quiet solace of books. Besides, the library at his home palace was starting to get out of date, with his father approving fewer purchases to stock it.

He looked back the way he’d come, down the length of polished marble floor, the elegantly papered walls, the gilded frames and oil lamps interspersed every few steps. At this end of the hall, the lamps were dimmer, the bustle of servants far less frequent. He looked to his left, finding an unlit corridor. Even after three years away from the palace, he remembered it. Knew where it led. Perhaps he’d had a subconscious reason for bypassing the library.

His feet began to move before his mind caught up. Soon the corridor opened to a circular alcove. He stood at the center of it, remembering how many times he and Mareleau had met there in secret. A half smile tugged his lips as his eyes roved the four enormous windows, each with a cushioned seat built into the sill with a view that overlooked the garden, perfect for reading on a blustery day. Three of the floor-length velvet curtains remained tied open, while one on the far right was pulled closed, obscuring both the window and its sill. He recognized that window, even with the drape drawn shut. It had once been his and Mareleau’s favorite place to hide.

Feeling a nostalgic pull, he approached the curtain and tugged it open.

His heart climbed into his throat.

For a moment, he felt as if he’d stumbled upon a tableau from the past. There sat Mareleau, curled on the cushion with her knees pulled up to her chest, just like how she used to sit when they were younger. She startled and whirled away from the window. If this truly were a scene from memory, Larylis knew what would happen next—she’d give him her secret smile, take his hand, and drag him down next to her. His breath would hitch, his heart would race, and his lips would burn with their desire to claim hers…

“What are you doing here?” she blurted out in a rush, eyes wide.

It was enough to shatter the illusion, to remind Larylis this wasn’t a tableau and the woman in the window wasn’t the girl he once loved. “Sorry.” Larylis dropped the curtain and turned away, but before he could take more than a few steps, he heard her rush out from behind the velvet drape.

“Larylis.”

The sound of his name on her lips sent his pulse racing. It was the first time he’d heard her say it since the day he’d been sent back home. That was the last time they’d spoken. The last time they’d stood close enough to touch. Slowly, he turned to face her.

She was still dressed in the same silvery blue gown she’d worn during the poetry competition, but it hung a little looser off her curved frame, as if she’d undone her laces for comfort. Her hair too hung differently, with pearls and flowers dangling haphazardly from the ends. A portion of her pale tresses had been pulled into a crooked braid, one she anxiously fumbled with now.

It was a braid Larylis had seen many times before. She always braided her hair when she was nervous. Or happy. There was a time he’d fantasized about unraveling that braid himself, unraveling the laces of her gown, trailing kisses down her?—

He shuttered his eyes, forcing himself back to the present so he could gather his composure. He sketched a stiff bow. “Princess Mareleau.”

She stood silent, her fingers winding around the ends of her braid. Her expression flickered with uncertainty, her lips darting between a frown and the barest ghost of a smile. She opened her mouth as if to speak but quickly snapped it shut. Releasing her braid, she folded her hands demurely at her waist. She stood tall, chin lifted, features schooled behind a haughty countenance. “I said, what are you doing here?”

He averted his gaze as if she wasn’t worth looking at. If there was one thing he’d learned about being a bastard, oftentimes on the receiving end of insults and mockery, it was how to pretend things didn’t bother him. “I certainly wasn’t looking for trouble,” he drawled, “but it seems I’ve found it. Good evening, Your Highness.” He made to step away, but she only drew closer, forcing him to halt in place. The aroma of jasmine invaded his senses, making his lungs feel tight. It was a scent he’d thought he’d forgotten. He’d been wrong. Now that she stood so close, he found himself unable to keep his eyes off her.

Seven gods, she was beautiful. More so than he remembered.

It was an observation better left forgotten, one he banished before it could breach his lips in the form of a compliment.

“Is there more you wanted from me, Highness?” His words came out far rougher than he’d intended. But when he saw Mareleau stiffen and take a step back, he was grateful for his inadvertent gruffness, if only to place more distance between himself and that intoxicating jasmine.

Her gaze turned cold. “How did you like the poetry competition?”

“You mean the way you publicly insulted my brother by allowing eight other men to compete for your hand?” He pulled his lips into a humorless smile that didn’t meet his eyes. “Charming.”

Her cheeks reddened, her eyes narrowing as she put her hands on her hips. “You can’t blame me for not wanting to marry your brother.” Her voice trembled, her chest rising and falling rapidly above the bodice of her gown.

Larylis was surprised at how flustered she was. Finally, he managed to look away from her again, keeping his gaze fixed firmly over her head. “Do you enjoy torturing your suitors?”

She lifted a delicate shoulder. “A girl must take pleasure where she can.”

“Because a man’s sincere admiration isn’t pleasure enough for you.”

“Sincere.” She scoffed. “I haven’t met a sincere man in my life.”

Larylis jutted out his bottom lip in a mock pout. “What a shame. At least you can settle for riches and a title, which I’m sure you value far more.”

Her mouth fell open in indignation.

That prompted a wicked grin to form on his lips. He knew he shouldn’t take any joy in irritating her. It wasn’t like he blamed her for rejecting him all those years ago. He understood her position. Her duties. What he couldn’t forgive was her treatment of Teryn. Her flagrant mockery of their engagement. The one she’d once insisted by way of letter that she was so excited about.

He brushed a piece of lint off his silk waistcoat, then assessed his nails. “If we’re done here, I have far more entertaining matters to attend to.”

She crossed her arms. “Oh? Are you going to dinner then?”

“That depends. If you’ll be there, I’d rather clean the stables.”

She blinked at him, and her lips once again darted between a frown and a smile. He couldn’t fathom why she’d consider smiling after such an insult.

Unless…

Did she enjoy his teasing? Did it remind her of when they’d first met? How he’d tease her relentlessly and she’d return lighthearted insults just as fiercely? How their first kiss had been sparked after exchanging verbal blows only to wind up tangled in each other’s arms? In fact, it had happened in this very alcove…

His heart thudded at the memory, but he shoved it away. Taking a step back, he gave her another bow. “Goodnight, Your Highness.”

“Larylis, why did you never—” Her words were cut off by another voice.

“Mareleau Harvallis.” Queen Helena’s tone rang heavy with reproach as she stormed down the corridor toward them, followed by four young women who he assumed were Mareleau’s lady’s maids. Three were around the princess’ age, while the fourth he knew was a few years younger. It was Lurel, Mareleau’s cousin. He’d met her several times when he was their uncle’s ward. She gave him a surprised half smile, which he wasn’t able to return under Queen Helena’s furious scrutiny. “Where have you been? You’re supposed to be at the feast.”

Mareleau lifted her chin. “I wasn’t hungry.”

“I don’t care if you’re hungry. Tonight is the last night your guests are here. You will attend.” The queen faced the four girls. “Sera, Ann, Lurel. Return to Mareleau’s room so you can prepare to make the princess…presentable again.”

The three girls ducked into curtsies and quickly scurried away. Larylis quietly edged down the hall, hoping he wouldn’t draw the queen’s notice.

“Breah,” Queen Helena said to the remaining woman. “Escort Lord Seralla back to his room so he doesn’t get lost again.”

He bristled at the queen’s unspoken demand—that he was not to attend tonight’s feast. It wasn’t as if he’d planned on going anyway. Gritting his teeth, he turned back to the queen and offered her a bow. As he let Breah lead the way, he couldn’t help but wish he’d gotten to hear what Mareleau had started to say.

Mareleau stared after the man she’d once fancied herself in love with, torn between relief over being rid of his aggravating presence and regret that they hadn’t been able to speak longer. Their interaction hadn’t been even remotely enjoyable. Or—more accurately—it shouldn’t have been. And yet, for reasons Mareleau couldn’t comprehend, she found herself invigorated by the interaction. Perhaps because, beneath his casual composure and coarse words, she’d sensed something. Maybe it was all in her mind, but she could have sworn Larylis Seralla still had feelings for her.

It shouldn’t matter to her. He’d ignored her when she’d needed him the most. Refused her letters. Sent back silence for every tear she’d cried after being forced to part with him. Left her standing alone before the altar in a rundown Godskeep several miles from home, watching the door for hours. He’d never shown up.

She knew now it had all been for the best. A fifteen-year-old girl had no business eloping. Still, he could have at least replied to her letter. It would have saved her many tears and a whole lot of embarrassment.

Queen Helena angled her body so she blocked Mareleau’s view of the hall—and Larylis’ waning figure. The queen had been in a dark mood ever since Mareleau made her announcement, and she didn’t seem anywhere close to being rid of it. Her mother was like that at times, drifting between maternal kindness and cold fury without anything in between. “What were you doing alone with that boy?”

“That boy? You know who that boy is, Mother.”

“And your father and I have forbidden you from speaking to him, much less being alone with him. He nearly soiled your reputation once before. Had anyone but your uncle caught the two of you in that stable?—”

“Reputation,” Mareleau said with a cold laugh. “I don’t recall you caring much for my reputation when you left me alone with Prince Augustine.”

Her mother’s expression softened at that, draining some of the fury from her eyes. She put a hand to her forehead, then swept a curl from her brow. When she next met Mareleau’s gaze, she wore a sympathetic smile. “I just don’t want you to do anything you’d regret.”

Mareleau wanted to say that marrying any of her current suitors would lead to more regret than anything else would, but she held her tongue. So long as her mother was trying to control her temper, Mareleau would too.

“Darling, I understand what it’s like to be in your position,” the queen said. She took Mareleau’s arm and linked it with her own. With leisurely steps, she led her out of the alcove and down the dark corridor. “I too had to give up my own desires in the name of duty. However, I held far less responsibility on my shoulders. I wasn’t the heir to my father’s crown like you are. Even so, I had to relinquish my dreams to marry Verdian.”

Mareleau sighed. She’d heard this all before. Whenever the queen wanted to prove just how much she sympathized with her daughter, she’d go on and on about abandoning her dreams and how grateful she was to have done so.

Queen Helena’s tone turned nostalgic. “I had perfect pitch, you know.”

Mareleau did know, as she was forced to hear about it again and again. Helena, in her youth, had been a talented musician. She played the harp and piano and had the most pleasant singing voice. She could play any song by ear after hearing it only once and composed new music from thin air.

“The audience used to weep when I’d play. My father nicknamed me his Little Siren after the creatures of fae lore.”

Mareleau nodded along as if she hadn’t heard this a thousand times.

Then, as if coming out of a daze, the queen turned to Mareleau with a warm grin. “Speaking of fae lore, I apologize for not trusting you when you announced the goal of the Heart’s Hunt. I’d assumed you hadn’t been taking the competition seriously.”

Mareleau studied her mother’s profile, startled by the unexpected apology. “That means…you’ve changed your mind? You think I am taking it seriously?”

“Your father and I spoke to Lord Kevan. He confirmed he had, in fact, seen a unicorn with his very eyes, as did several of his men. They hunted it for a week before it crossed the border from Selay into Khero.”

Mareleau pulled up short, her heart leaping into her throat. “He…he really said that?”

The queen nodded.

“So…Lurel’s earrings…”

Queen Helena gave a dismissive shrug and nudged Mareleau to start walking again. “Your uncle purchased those earrings for her, which were only rumored to be made from unicorn horn. Still, it gives added legitimacy to your Hunt.”

Mareleau bit the inside of her cheek. While she’d needed her uncle to carry the blame for her ridiculous request, she hadn’t expected his tale to be so convincing. Could he have been telling the truth?

The queen’s tone turned sharper. “I’d have preferred it if you’d picked something far easier and hadn’t delayed the Heart’s Hunt for a week. But I can’t blame you for being a romantic. You always were.”

Mareleau wanted to gag. Seven gods, her parents didn’t know her at all. She wasn’t a romantic. She simply wanted freedom from cold courtships, from groping hands and loveless declarations. She wanted to be respected as heir to her throne without needing to marry. Was that so much to ask? At the very least, she wanted to avoid marrying Larylis’ brother. If it ever came down to a forced alliance, she could handle marrying just about anyone but Teryn.

Despite how much she’d hardened her heart after Larylis had shattered it, she would never be able to reconcile living in the same palace as him, dining at the same table, bearing his brother’s children while the boy she preferred?—

Fiery rage bubbled inside her, but she forced it down. Right now, there were more pressing concerns to worry over.

If Uncle Kevan hadn’t been lying, if unicorns truly had returned from extinction…

That meant her suitors might successfully complete the task she gave them.

And she’d promised to marry whoever did first.

The thought made her want to crawl out of her skin. At least she had one small comfort. For the time being, no matter how short it might be, she was free.