“Only trying to protect the Summer Prince’s reputation.”
I step on to the gravel. Dressed for training, my chest is bare besides a leather wrapping around my waist. Sturdy sandals don my feet. But none of it really matters beside my twin swords. They’re an extension of my arms, as much a part of me as my own hands. I twirl them, wondering how they’ll hold up against that Spring armor.
The Spring Prince is as stoic as ever as he steps forward. “Ready?”
“Always.” I grin.
He rushes me, positioning his sword over his head before bringing it down in a wide arc. Tucking my swords into my chest, I somersault out of the way and come up behind him. Ez may be stronger, but I’m faster. I honed my training in the arena, where I learned to fight with unmatched agility and speed. I’d like to see him duck in that heavy metal.
We’ve sparred countless times before, but something feels different about today. Our disagreement from yesterday still sits in the forefront of my mind.
Eh, better for men like us to fight it out than talk, anyway. Letting out a fierce roar, I smash both my blades against his back. He pitches forward before whirling and catching me across the stomach, leaving a thin red line.
Hissing, I retreat a few steps. We haven’t used practice weapons against each other in years, counting on our quick ability to heal and trusting each other’s skill to never land a truly damaging blow. But damn if it doesn’t sting sometimes.
With a resounding clash, our swords meet again. The impact reverberates through my arms, but I hold my ground. Ezryn’s brute force pushes me back across the loose gravel.
“Just admit it,” I growl.
“Admit what?”
I dance out of the lock. “That your brother is up to something. I’m not going to apologize for saying it.” I strike with precision, aiming for the gaps in his armor.
Ezryn dodges. “I’m not here to talk about Kairyn.”
Frustration grows heavy in my chest. The swords flurry through the air. Sparks erupt each time our blades collide, the sound echoing through the training ground like a battle cry. “Then why are you here?”
Ezryn ignores my question and swings his broadsword in a wide arc, attempting to knock me off balance. I sidestep the attack, my feet moving with the agility of a summer breeze. I strike low, aiming for his exposed leg, but Ez’s reflexes are swift, and he parries.
Sweat drips from my brow, and my muscles ache from my already-long training session. But the Spring Prince doesn’t relent. The sparring match continues, a dance of steel and skill.
Ez’s strength pushes against me, but I evade his strikes with practiced ease. Neither of us can gain an advantage.
“Why are you here?” I scream again.
His silence is worse than any answer he could give, and my frustration only grows.
“Why are you here?” I strike at him with each word.
He blocks me every time.
I hate that I can’t see his expression and the way I can’t even hear his breath. He won’t listen to me about his brother. But why would he? I’m just the drunken Prince of Summer who let his own brothers die. Who doesn’t deserve his Blessing, only this curse—
My anger grows hotter, and my wolf rears inside me. He knows night is close. And maybe my eyes are glowing because there’s a strange reflection in Ezryn’s armor.
But it doesn’t unnerve the armored asshole. He counters every attack, and it feels like the black T of his visor stares into my soul.
“They’re mates!” The words come out of me unbidden in a half-feral snarl. And I’m so shocked by them I lose my grip and fall to my knees in the gravel. Pebbles fly up around me.
My body begins to shake. Shake like I walked into the damned Winter Realm. My sweat feels cold over my skin. “They’re mates,” I say again, as if it’s the first time I realized it.
First time I really let it sink beneath my bones.
Ezryn carefully lowers his sword and puts a gloved hand on my shoulder, but the gesture causes me to lose the last of my strength. I fall against his chest.
Not unlike the time he healed my broken body in the Autumn Realm.
“They’re perfect,” I say, voice laden with exhaustion. “The two of them are perfect. Beautiful and kind and brave. Why shouldn’t they be together? It makes so much sense. Kel, too. Someone to protect them when their hearts make them vulnerable.”
“Dayton,” Ezryn says. “Rosalina and Farron may be mates, but they love you.”
Salty tears run into my mouth, and it reminds me of home. “There’s no need for me. There’s no place for me.”
“That’s not true.” Ezryn touches my bicep, over the golden cuff that marks my bargain with Farron. I gave him access to my magic at any time as long as he never forgets the moment we made the bargain.
“A weak imitation. I don’t suspect it’s anything like a mate bond.” I give a long sigh.
“My mother used to tell me not to mourn the flower in bloom because you know one day it will wilt, for then you are forsaking its beauty.” Ezryn tilts his gaze to the horizon. “Their love for you blooms now, and you do not yet have a mate.”
I inhale a shaky breath, grasping at my seashell necklace, and manage to sit up. “Is this why you’re here? You knew I was about to break. How?”
“There are signs when a person has strong emotions caged,” he says.
And just how long have you been caging your emotions, Ez?
39
Rosalina
Carefully, I unroll the paper, taking caution not to smear the chalk rubbing. “Well, what do you make of it?”
Farron leans over my shoulder, golden glasses sliding down his nose. “It’s old, certainly. This art style is ancient. Remember the stained glass in the monastery? You can see how they took inspiration from it.”
I stare down at the paper, a rubbing my father sent in one of his latest letters. His travel companions, Farron’s little brothers, use their magic to make his letters fly through the air, finding me wherever I am. Each letter contains updates on his quest to find my long-lost mother. A mother we now know is fae.
There are so many questions. How did she disguise herself as a human? Why didn’t she tell him? Why did she leave a year after she had me?
This rubbing depicts a woman with hands spread high above her head as birds fly away. Papa’s note reads: It’s a Pacific Wren. I know it. Your mother loved those birds. She always pointed them out. It means something, Rosie. I know it does.
Farron hovers a hand over the picture. “The letter said he took this rubbing from ruins in northern Autumn. Do me a favor and grab that map we were looking at the other day.”