Three Kinds of Lost: A Reverse Harem Academy Romance (The True and the Crown Book 3)

by May Dawson

  “That’s a lie,” he says softly. “And I wish I could go back in time and stop whoever sold that lie to you.”

  My lips part, and my gaze drops from his gorgeous face, afraid that I don’t know what to say next.

  The doors fly open. They crash into the walls, and the music falters for a second before it picks up again. A handful of guards move in smartly, and a young man in black clothes saunters in.

  “God, Vasiliks,” he mutters. The moment between us is broken. “No manners.”

  “Are we in danger?” I ask, taking a step forward, putting my body between Rian’s and the door.

  He grabs my waist, drawing me against him before he drapes his arms over my shoulders.

  “No, crazy girl,” he murmurs into my ear. “And if we were, why would you jump in front of me?”

  I didn’t think anything of it at the time, and I look up at him, startled, only to have his lips brush my cheek for the second time today. It’s a quick, secretive kiss.

  I don’t think anyone else notices.

  But it leaves my heart pounding.

  I can’t quite get a handle on Rian, prince of Avalon.

  “I’ve got to go say princely welcoming things.” Rian squeezes my hip and then slips past me. “Save a dance for me, my sweet dirtside scum.”

  I stare after him, trying to make sense of what he’s just said. The Fox called me dirtside scum—but affectionately—back when we first met. It’s become a joke between us in our letters. That’s why I tested Rian by mentioning dirtside scum earlier, curious to see how he’d react.

  Is he echoing my earlier words? Or did the Fox just slip?

  “It’s the so-called prince of Vasilik,” Airren mutters. He’s materialized at my side. “They stole the throne. He shouldn’t be welcome here.”

  “It’s called diplomacy,” Cax says. He holds out his hand to me. “Can I have this dance while Airren wrestles with his rage?”

  Airren cocks an eyebrow at him. He looks as cool as ever.

  “I can’t imagine Airren in a fit of rage,” I say. “He doesn’t have strong emotions.”

  “I keep my feelings under control,” Airren says guardedly as if he feels he’s being criticized. “That doesn’t mean I don’t have them.”

  “I didn’t say that you don’t have any emotions at all.”

  “I will.” Cax raises one hand.

  In return, Airren takes my other hand and tugs me gently away from Cax. Airren already has his hand on my waist and is drawing me into the music that plays cheerfully around us. Cax frowns at him. Airren gives him a look I can’t quite read—a mix of smug and victorious and warning—as he pulls me into his hard, warm arms.

  Airren is no prince with a reputation to protect. He pulls my body right against his, and I breathe in the warm, spicy scent of his cologne and the starch in his crisply-pressed shirt.

  As we dance, I try to get a glimpse of where Rian is, curious about the Vasilik prince who irritates Airren almost as much as the Fox does. Airren follows my gaze.

  “I see you’re taking my advice,” he says softly.

  How would he really feel if I were pursuing the prince? It’s impossible though. I can’t hide my feelings very well. It seems like my time surviving in my father’s house and then Earthside should have made me into a perfect liar, but I’m not. Especially when it comes to the heart.

  I glance up at him through my eyelashes, biting down on my lower lip. The way I feel about him seems like it’s written all over my face. It’s in my posture when I lean into his touch. I can’t fake that, even if I tried.

  “I hope you look at him that way.” He grins, a quick flash across his handsome face, and then rests his forehead against mine for a quick, intimate second. It’s only because we’re so close that I feel his faint sigh.

  “Airren, are you jealous?”

  “Yes.” He answers so quickly that it surprises me, but his gaze is fond. “But I’ll survive. Croft would probably claim it’s character-building.”

  I pull a face. My experiences with jealousy have not felt character-building. Just thinking of how I overheard Cax flirting with Raila makes my chest tighten all over again.

  The two of us sway to the music, which is bubbly and charming.

  “When I was growing up,” Airren says, “my favorite fairy tales were the ones about the knights of the round table, especially the story about the lost queen. Do you remember that one?”

  “Vaguely. Remind me.”

  “I’ll tell you tonight,” he promises me. “A bedtime story.”

  “To lure me into your bed?” I ask archly.

  “Unless you’re going to be in someone else’s,” he says, and there’s an ache in his voice that I’ve never heard before even though he smiles at me. “Which I would whole-heartedly approve of.”

  I shake my head.

  “Sometimes I wonder,” he says, his voice husky and so soft that I can barely hear him over the music, “why me?”

  Why him? I frown, perplexed. What’s he even asking me?

  “Why you?” I echo, my voice just as soft. Maybe he can’t hear me over the music. But his gaze is on my lips, and I’m sure he can read them. He looks at me as if he would like to kiss me.

  He shakes his head, a different smile coming to his lips—one of those confident, charming Airren smiles, but as handsome as he looks, it means the mask is up again. I’m not getting an answer to my question now.

  But maybe, tonight. Maybe an answer, maybe a bedtime story. The thought makes me ache to leave this beautiful ballroom and slip off the dress and climb under the blankets with him right now.

  There’s a faint bustle in the crowd, a gap parting in the sea of dancers. Rian is at the center of the disturbance, and behind him is another young man. He has a similar height and athletic build, but his face is cold and unsmiling above his black collar. The clothes he wears—a fitted black jacket and black trousers—make my heart freeze. He’s dressed like he’s proudly True, and he’s here in the midst of the prince’s birthday party.

  “Tera,” Rian says, “I wanted you to meet Devlin. You should suffer like I do.” His words are light and teasing, and he slugs the unsmiling Vasilik prince in the shoulder. The Vasilik doesn’t react. “We’ve known each other since we were fosterlings—an attempt to bring peace between Avalon and Vasilik—and attended boarding school together. What do you think, did it work?”

  He addresses the last question to Devlin.

  “You haven’t introduced us,” Devlin says. “All those words, and you managed to forget the point of them.”

  “Oh, my apologies,” Rian says lightly. “Devlin, I’d like you to meet my guests. You remember Airren—”

  “Who could forget?” Devlin offers his hand, his expression bored. Airren doesn’t reach out to shake out.

  Rian glances between them, then explains, “We all attended boarding school together.”

  “Devlin and I have met more recently than that,” Airren says. “I asked him personally for help when Ravengers were coming through a rip and crossing the border. My Marines and I were trying to stop the destruction.”

  Devlin’s eyes sharpen. “I remember you. Asked personally. That’s a pretty way to describe a rather ugly moment.”

  “All right,” Rian says brightly. “Another good time with friends.” He nods to me, giving up on introductions as he steers Devlin through the crowd. He’s already beginning to say something cheerful. He seems impervious to Devlin’s dour mood.

  “I guess the deaths of those villagers didn’t matter to you,” Airren mutters.

  I would think the words might be lost in the bustle, but Devlin must hear, because he turns. “Really? As if you’re not a noble’s son. As if your people didn’t decide that the deaths of villagers didn’t matter for thousands of years.”

  “I’m not my father or my grandfather.” Airren says. “Just like we all hope you aren’t yours.”

  Devlin raises his glass of champagne in a mocking toast.
“Enjoy the newfound righteousness you picked up on the front lines, my friend. But don’t forget, you chose the simple threat to purge. People like your family are just as dangerous as the Ravengers.”

  Airren’s jaw tightens. Rian shoots him a warning look, and Cax is immediately there at Airren’s side.

  “Wow, quite the party,” Cax says cheerfully. “Let’s skip the international incident part of the evening. I’ll even let you take Tera for a second spin around the dance floor.”

  Airren stares at Cax, his blue eyes flinty, and then smiles, his shoulders relaxing. It’s almost unsettling to see Airren stuff his feelings and shift back into cool self-possession. He’s so tall and commanding that it seems unnatural to see him yield to someone else’s request. Most of all, it’s a reminder that so much of Airren is a mask.

  “I’d love to take Tera to the gardens,” he says, squeezing my hand in his gently.

  “A wonderful chance to cool off,” Cax says, and then fans himself dramatically. “It’s so hot in here with the crowd.”

  “Mm.” Airren quirks an eyebrow at Cax’s attempt to manage him, but lets it pass. Cax gives me a quick wink as Airren and I pass by.

  The room is warm, but the air grows cooler and fresher as we move away from the music and toward the open air side of the ballroom, where bright lights and marble floors give way to giant open doors. As we leave the open doors, the stars sparkle overhead and flowers riotously bloom in pinks and reds and whites between wide marble pathways. There are a few dancers, intimately close, swaying on the marble paths, but the bustle of the party fades away as we step outside, replaced by the constant burble of the many fountains. To our right is a huge expansive pool, the same one I can see from my bedroom.

  “It’s beautiful.”

  “It always is,” he says. “Everything about Avalon is beautiful on the surface.”

  I turn on him, making him pause. “What was he talking about? About your family?”

  He sighs. “Devlin and his father hate the nobility. They overthrew the original government in Vasilik, and there’s been intermittent, bloody purges of the old nobility and of the intellectuals. Maybe there’s some reason for the hate, but it’s not an excuse for violence now.”

  Still, there’s something troubled in his eyes that make me wonder how much guilt he feels over his family’s past. I didn’t know we had that in common, and at the same time my heart rises with the sense of a connection between us, it bothers me that he never told me.

  “I have questions,” I tell him, my voice light, as I skate my fingers over his lapel. His rock-hard chest is unyielding beneath my fingertips.

  “And I have answers,” he says, just as teasingly.

  But when I open my mouth to ask, his lips come down on mine instead. He kisses me hard, his arm wrapping around my waist, and I kiss him back.

  Even though I know he’s keeping yet another secret.

  But this time, this one is his to tell. His family, his pain. He wants me to trust him, and I want him to trust me with his secrets, even the ones that hurt.

  In time, I think we’ll both come around.

  But do we have enough time?

  Chapter 17

  Later in the evening, I take a break from the heady music and the charm of dancing with handsome men and hide myself behind one of the food tables. With a glass of champagne in one hand, I work my way along the linen tablecloth, which is laden with trays of cheeses, fruits, seafood, canapes, cakes, and chocolates.

  A girl bumps into me as I’m filling my next plate full of extravagant-and-delicious. She smells like citrus, the scent so strong it must be magical, because by the time she’s taken a step away and flashed a smile my way, I could swear she’s just cut open an orange.

  “Hi,” she says, flashing me a broad smile. “You’re Tera, right?”

  People don’t usually smile when they identify me. At least, not good people.

  “Unfortunately.”

  Her smile freezes as if she doesn’t know just how to respond, and then her eyes crinkle as she genuinely grins. When she extends her hand to me, her fingers are covered in thick rings, engraved in runes and set with amethyst and emeralds. But her fingers are rough and her knuckles are calloused, like she trains the way the boys and I do.

  “You can call me Lia,” she says, “and I really hate these parties.”

  “Is that why you’re hiding out behind the shrimp tower?” I glance toward the towering ice-and-shrimp castle at the center of the table, and then squint. “Wait. Did they carve a little Prince Rian into the top of the tower?”

  “It’s not even the most ridiculous thing here tonight. You know, you can’t judge me.” She slips her hands into her pockets. She has pockets in her formal gown. She might be the coolest girl I’ve ever met. “You’re hiding too.”

  “Well.” I shrug. “I am an introvert, and this place is full of people.”

  Peopling is not my strong suit.

  “You’re not allowed to be an introvert when you’re nobility,” she says. “Small talk ‘til the end of time.”

  “That sounds hellacious,” I said drily. “If not for all the money and power, I’d absolutely weep for you.”

  She laughs. “Sorry. I guess you’re not the person I should complain to.”

  “Probably not.”

  “How did you end up here tonight, anyway?” She raises her eyebrows as she gazes at me over the rim of her crystal glass.

  That’s a rather long story to tell a stranger. “I’m a curiosity, I suppose.”

  “I don’t think that’s it.” She gives me a sidelong look. “The prince seems besotted with you.”

  “He dances with everyone.” That’s true, at least. If people start to think the prince is besotted—with the little time we’ve spent together—they might assume I’ve got him under my spell. I don’t need that kind of rumor. It’s one thing to encourage the True to think I’m powerful.

  It’s something else altogether to look like I’m staging a coup.

  I’ve absent-mindedly began to rub my throat, already feeling the prickle of the noose, so I fold my hands together instead. If only I had pockets.

  “What do you think of him?” she muses out loud, glancing through the crowd to find the prince. He’s dancing by with a girl in his arms, some noble girl with a tiara nested in her elaborate updo, someone far more appropriate than I am, but his eyes are on us. Then she says something, drawing his attention, and he turns that bright, charming smile on her.

  I’m not going to blurt out any of my feelings about the royal family to someone I’ve just met, no matter how much my initial impression of Alia is positive. I pretend I’ve forgotten the question, although I don’t think much gets by her. “That girl is wearing a lovely dress.”

  “Mm. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt.” She gestures at the display of food. “Please, continue your true love affair with the crab cakes.”

  Despite the sudden, warning tightness in my stomach from the question she just asked me, I have to smile as I scoop my plate back up from the edge of the table. “Well, you know my story. Where are you from?”

  Rian glances between the two of us quizzically as he wends his way through the crowd. She smiles at me apologetically, shrugging slightly.

  “Tera, I see you’ve met my sister, Alia,” Rian says, touching my elbow.

  “Your sister?” I repeat.

  “You caught me.” Alia shrugs. “I feel very protective of my twin. I was curious about you.”

  I glance between the two of them, looking for a family resemblance. While his hair is dark brown and curly, his skin tanned, she’s fair with pink cheeks and shiny blond hair.

  “I assure you, I can look after myself,” Rian says, his voice full of a mix of exasperation and affection.

  Alia tells him, “History does not bear this statement out, dear brother.”

  Rian sighs. “What did she do to you, Tera?”

  “I was trying to convince Tera to tell me what sh
e really thinks about you, but she evaded the question. With a distinct, concerning lack of subtlety, however.” Alia raises her glass to me, as if in a toast. There’s a mischievous crinkle at the corner of her eyes that makes it impossible to take offense.

  “I’m not nearly as competent a liar as people expect me to be,” I shoot back.

  “You’d need to be an excellent liar to take care of this one.” She rests her hand on her brother’s shoulder protectively.

  “All right, Alia, that’s enough.”

  “I was actually born first—” Alia begins.

  “Nine minutes,” Rian cuts in.

  “But this one still gets the crown. Isn’t that funny?” Alia finishes, as if he hasn’t spoken.

  Rian pulls a face. “I’m not sure why Father wouldn’t re-write the inheritance laws to put you on the throne. You’re far better suited to a life of tedium about the law.”

  “At least pretend like you want it, Rian. You have a responsibility to your people. Who adore you, for the most part.” She rests her hand lightly on my shoulder as she passes by me, stopping to say over her slender shoulder, “Even this one, I think.”

  “Alia,” Rian grinds out.

  Apparently, no matter how noble, brothers and sisters still live to annoy the hell out of each other.

  She flashes us both a smile, and Rian hurls at her back, “Please go make sure Devlin’s not been backed into a corner by one of the Vasilik nobles.”

  “I was rather hoping he would be,” she shoots backs. “It’s entertaining, and he does deserve it.”

  “Vasilik nobles?” I ask him.

  “My court’s been overrun,” he mutters. “The damn Fox keeps dropping rescued Vasiliks off here. What am I going to do with a castle full of homeless, useless nobles?”

  I shrug. “Host more parties?”

  “Tempting,” he says. He hails a girl walking by just then. “Here, let me introduce you to a few—I think you’ll like the Morgensterns.”

  “After meeting the princess, I might need a formal introduction to anyone new.” I can’t imagine ever being stupid enough to share everything I heard about the prince with a stranger, but I’m still struck by her mischievous guile.