by Alex Lidell
I clear my throat, my gaze darting to the window to check the sun’s position. At least half an hour of the class still left.
“We are all here, Lady Leralynn,” Daniel prompts.
Chuckles echo through the room. Even the two girls who were busy sketching outfit ideas for the upcoming Ostera ball put aside their side whispers to enjoy the new entertainment. Bloody Ostera. While the Academy readies to celebrate spring and fertility, all I can think of is the surge of magic the moon will bring that night.
“Could you repeat the question, please, sir?” I ask.
Daniel’s lips press together, the sun’s rays reflecting off his polished head. “Please tell us why you believe self-preservation was the driving force behind Grendel’s actions in the establishment of the Continental Alliance.”
On my left, I can feel Arisha’s expectant stare. Here goes nothing. “Because, self-preservation is the force behind all decisions,” I say. Nice and philosophical and—most importantly—can be argued based on common sense instead of the reading.
Daniel rocks back on his heels. I think he is waiting for me to continue.
I go to sit down instead.
“What about moral high ground, benevolence, love?” Daniel prompts, his glare enough to keep me on my feet.
“What about them, sir?”
Flashes of smirks and smiles ripple through the room, the public support swaying momentarily to my side.
Arisha covers her eyes. I’m sure she wrote something painstakingly brilliant on the topic and expects me to share it instead of antagonizing the teacher. Which I’d love to be doing as well, if not for reality getting in the way.
“I’m not finding your word games amusing, Lady Leralynn.” Daniel’s face colors, splotches of red nearly as bright as the trim on his black robes creeping up his bald scalp. When he speaks again, his words seem forced, as if he’s battling for self-control. “Please explain to us how you believe these factors influence decisions and actions.”
I spread my palms. “Unpredictably.”
This time, a wave of outright chuckling races through the room, turning Daniel’s face a new shade of red altogether.
Behind me, a small familiar creak of the floorboards sends a sudden hush over the room, the shift in atmosphere leaving no doubt as to the newcomer’s identity.
Sure enough, a heartbeat later, I mark River striding along the side wall, his hands clasped behind his back. Observing the class. Or checking on me. Ever since I took a stand against Katita last month, I’ve felt River’s eyes on me from across the dining hall or library or courtyard. He never comes anywhere near me—as if impulsive, reckless behavior might be catching—but he watches. Worried lest I do something to help the world without his permission, I suppose.
Dressed in a simple red silk shirt and flowing black pants that contour his muscular thighs and taper to a taut waist, River’s strong lines are impossible to ignore.
The girls who’d been sketching dresses quickly cover their work, the male cadets sitting up straighter. Three steps, and River has morphed a chamber full of self-important lordlings into nervous cubs. Even the air in the chamber shifts, gaining a spicy tinge of anxiety.
Stars. No wonder Daniel is so bloody furious to be caught off-balance. In my defense, calling on me to speak while the deputy headmaster was in the room wasn’t my idea.
Reaching back for my chair, I try a second attempt at disappearing.
“Come up here, if you please, Lady Leralynn,” Daniel snaps, spittle flying from his lips as he points to a spot before him.
River stops walking, his perfect face unreadable.
“Now, Leralynn.” Daniel jabs with his finger.
Stomach tight, I force myself to walk forward with a feigned confidence that seems to ratchet up Daniel’s choler while not fooling River for a heartbeat. When I walk past the male, I can’t help noting the tight set of his strong jaw, his woodsy scent waking my body to his presence—as if any more such reminder was needed.
“Do you imagine yourself funny?” Daniel demands over the class’s greedy silence as I stop before him. His pale aquiline features are tight with anger.
“No, sir.” A trickle of sweat snakes down my nape. Think calming thoughts. Like… Killing sclices.
“That’s good, because I don’t find you funny either,” Daniel tells me.
“I’m glad they have that settled,” someone murmurs, and I swear I can feel the heat blazing from Daniel spike in reply.
“Hold out your hands,” Daniel tells me, his own reaching for a ruler.
My gaze darts about. I’ve been in an exhausted haze most of the month, but I’d have noticed if this had happened before.
“Your palm, Lady Leralynn,” Daniel says, a dark glint in his pale eyes. “If you insist on imitating a ten-year-old lordling who can’t be bothered to pay attention, then I shall treat you as such.”
Over a smattering of snorts, the burn of River’s unreadable eyes is a new humiliation. The twin blows of being punished before the class and the secret truth of my ignorance tighten my throat. Not even in Lunos did I let River suspect the extent of my illiteracy, my basic reading skills having carried me well enough through understanding letters and reports.
Resisting the urge to wipe my damp palms on my dress, I present the palm as ordered. And then, because it’s better to be thought impertinent than stupid, I raise my chin and meet Daniel’s beady eyes. “Does that mean I can be excused afterward, Master Daniel?”
“What was that nonsense, if I might inquire?” River’s deep voice cuts between me and Arisha as I try to scurry out at the end of class.
I jump, the books nearly slipping from my hands. We’ve just made it to the edge of the central courtyard, cadets spilling onto it from every corner under arched trellises of flowers and fluttering pennants—preparations for the annual Ostera ball in full swing. My palms and pride both sting as if set upon by a swarm of bees, but at least Daniel decided to cut his losses and didn’t call on me again after punishment. In my world these days, that’s apparently a victory.
Beside me, Arisha lets out a mix of a squeak and a sneeze.
River offers her a white handkerchief, which Arisha grabs just in time to catch her next sneeze.
“Thank—a-CHOO.” Arisha adjusts her glasses, her freckles standing out even more prominently against her pale skin in River’s forbidding presence. “Flowers. I hate flowers.”
“Indeed,” says River. “You should see Master Shade. He might have something to help.”
The tops of Arisha’s ears flush—as do every female’s at the suggestion of visiting the stunning healer’s infirmary—and she throws me a guilty look before hurrying off, River’s handkerchief firmly in hand.
I don’t begrudge her the retreat—we both know a dismissal when we hear it—but it still leaves me uncomfortably alone with River for the first time in a month. His peripheral scrutiny notwithstanding.
The male is so large that I feel like a miniature toy beside him, his penetrating gray eyes always seeing entirely too much while revealing nothing of their thoughts. Power and responsibility cling to River’s woodsy scent, his broad shoulders and dark hair blocking the wind and sky. Making my thighs tingle in spite of myself.
Silence hangs between us, my smarting hands a reminder of the display he just witnessed—and of the more damning truth about my education that I’ve managed to keep concealed.
Reaching forward slowly, River taps a single finger against the back of my hand. “When I was a boy, my tutor preferred to rap the knuckles,” he says with a hint of smile. “I swear it hurt more than the palms, though a few of my friends disagreed.”
Yes, River had tutors. Royal tutors. I had a pitchfork and piles of manure. When you were a colt, River, you knew more by age ten than I do at twenty.
“Why did you bait Master Daniel back there?” he continues, his voice quiet. Serious. As if he really wants to know the truth. “Is there a quarrel between you?”
My gaze sweeps up River’s arm. Neatly trimmed nails, palms calloused from weapons training, muscle-corded forearms that give form to his silk shirt of deep red. Golden cufflinks with the Academy crest. Close as we are, I can feel the heat of his body warming the air between us, see the delicate flaring of his nostrils as his heightened sense of smell takes me in.
“No.” I bite my lip, wondering if I should have claimed otherwise, tried to throw River off scent. Too late now. “I…I felt cornered.”
River’s brow rises. “By being asked to repeat the very arguments you’d put down in your own paper?”
By being asked to display how little I understand of anything in the texts, including the ones I copy from Arisha. “I…I don’t know.”
All of a sudden, River’s presence in my space is too much to contend with. With the male’s beautiful face now but a few hand widths away and his fresh scent surrounding me, my mouth longs for his taste so fiercely that I can’t think. But if the magic-bonded River would have taken me in a heartbeat, the real one—a born and raised king—might not. Especially once he sees me for the ignorant peasant I am.
I step back, moving so quickly that—exhausted as I am—my balance teeters. Tips. The muddy ground rises toward me in tauntingly slow motion.
Strong hands close on my elbows, River’s steady arms absorbing my weight as if it were nothing. Steadying me on my feet, he studies my face with an intensity that sends an unwelcome ripple of want all through my core. It is bloody unjust for the warrior to be smart and beautiful and so damn sure of himself that I feel like a drowned rat in comparison.
River’s dark brows draw together. “What happened here?” he asks, touching a finger to my temple.
Trickles of heat spider over my skin, accompanied by a light sting and a hard, fast hammering of my heart. I don’t actually know what happened—the cut is one of many I’ve been collecting on my nightly outings. The very nightly outings River would likely whip me for if discovered. Because I’m just a cadet. Nothing more. Not to him.
“I missed one of Lieutenant Coal’s high attacks. It won’t happen again.” I draw air into my lungs, letting the chilly wind cool the turmoil inside me. “May I go, sir?”
“Of course.” River steps back quickly, the loss of his presence beside me somehow both a relief and disappointment. Hugging my books securely to my chest, I rush away, my back tingling with the sense of River’s eyes watching my every step.
3
River
River splashed cold water on his face, then curled his hands on the edge of the windowsill. From his study in the keep tower, he could see the expanse of the Academy, now strung up with ribbons and flowers for the Ostera ball that had the whole school quivering with anticipation.
The Great Hall itself had been shut down for the past week as Academy staff transformed it into a lantern-lit, silk-strung extravaganza to welcome spring and fertility. River winced, making a mental note to speak to Shade about tonics—in a walled-off fortress filled with young nobles from ten kingdoms, the fertility part could lead to disaster.
Drawing a deep breath, River tried to ward off the personal melancholy the date brought. Ostera was about light and life and dancing. Every seamstress from Great Falls to Grayson was busy sewing elaborate Ostera gowns in the colors of a daylit sky, bright yellows, deep golds, and pale blues.
Surveying the courtyard again, River marked the excited chatter, the way everyone seemed to be smiling at the colored silks.
And, as much as he tried to avoid it, River also marked the now-empty spot at the courtyard’s edge where he’d nearly pawed a student a quarter hour ago. Leralynn’s phantom lilac scent was still making his head spin, and the hint of arousal River had scented when he brushed her cheeks—stars. For a moment, the thought of parting Lera’s creamy thighs to expose the wetness between them tightened River’s cock.
Taking the rest of the water pitcher, he emptied it over his head.
Leralynn was mouthy and impertinent and heady in a way a cadet could not be allowed to be. But she was also brave and selfless and hurting on a level River was struggling to understand, though it roused every protective instinct inside him. The palm swats Daniel had delivered were more humiliating than truly painful, and yet River had nearly taken a swing at the history master for it. River’s control of himself had been so tenuous, he’d not even remained to have his intended conversation with the instructor.
Or maybe River was lying even to himself. Maybe be hadn’t been getting away from Daniel as much as going after Leralynn. River had needed to look into her eyes, to make sure there wasn’t terror lurking behind that chocolate gaze like that day in his study.
River glared at his now empty pitcher, the trickles of water soaking his tunic failing to pull down the stirring between his legs. He was being ridiculous. It was the time of year—the coming anniversary of Diana’s death on Ostera eve—that was rousing his senses. Making him stupid. River tossed the pitcher aside. There was a better way to deal with stupid than ogling a cadet.
River’s muscles strained against the force of Coal’s blade, the sweat streaking down his back soaking his shirt. The light from the setting sun behind their high grassy knoll reflected off the sharp live steel as River circled his sword away from the clash and sprang off his back leg into a new offensive.
High attack left. Slice up off the parry. Twist in a full circle to gain momentum and strike hard enough to take off a man’s head. River’s assault lacked finesse but brimmed with enough power that he’d not have dared try it against anyone but Coal.
Coal’s blazing blue eyes and familiar face, set in deadly concentration, were as grounding as the movement itself.
Clank. Clank. Clank. The ringing metal called a deadly cadence, the sharpness of the blades multiplying the stakes. Demanding every ounce of attention. Every bit of focus. Clank. Clank. Clank.
The blades locked beside River’s head, Coal’s pressing down, River’s up. River’s thighs burned, his arms trembling with the effort.
With a derisive snort, Coal kicked River in the chest.
River grunted, the force of the warrior’s blow making him stumble back.
“You’ll have to try harder than that,” Coal growled softly, barely sounding winded.
River’s breaths came short and fast, his lungs stinging even as he swung his sword tip back to ready guard, watching Coal’s lithe body circle like a predator, black pants and bare torso gleaming in the low sunlight. Did the bastard ever get tired? River adjusted his grip, his sweaty palm starting to slide on the sword’s hilt.
That one moment of fidgeting, of losing focus, hurled River right back into the very thoughts he’d come to escape.
Leralynn’s image came to him unbidden, River’s body aching to know what she would look like in the setting sun. He longed to bask in the glowing skin of her bare shoulders, the deep chocolate eyes that had held so much intelligence and compassion when he’d looked into them earlier today. And mistrust. Smart girl. With a body as lush as hers, Leralynn should be wary of men. River doubted there was a single one in the Academy who hadn’t dreamt of her at least once since she’d arrived, and that very thought made him want to brush his scent over her. To mark her as his.
Which she wasn’t. Leralynn looked like Diana, but she wasn’t River’s beloved wife. He knew as much with his mind, though his body refused to agree.
“Should I take a nap while you pull your head out of your ass?” Coal asked.
River blinked, then lowered the blade with a rough shake of his head. Anyone but Coal would have injured him in the past seconds, and River knew it. “Is Leralynn having difficulty in morning training?” he asked.
Coal’s jaw tightened. “I’m not rutting with her, if that’s what you are asking. I’ve not even sparred with her myself since we spoke.”
“I was asking exactly what I intended to ask,” River snapped, even as he knew the sudden jab of fury inside him was meant for himself more than for Coal. Then the rest of Coa
l’s statement registered. “Wait. You’ve not trained with her at all?”
“No.” Tension rippled through Coal’s bare torso, and River thought he knew exactly how the man felt to be denied Leralynn’s company. Though, unlike River, Coal had at least felt Lera’s body beneath him once. River didn’t know whether that would make it easier or harder—either way, it made it no more appropriate for either of them.
“What about the split brow?” River asked, calling up Lera’s words. “Did she earn it from someone else?”
Coal huffed, hefting his sword in his hand like a predator too long denied his chase. “It didn’t happen on my watch. Are we fighting or gossiping?”
River’s jaw tightened. With anyone but Coal, he’d have dismissed the words as an understandable oversight, but the warrior before him missed nothing. Especially when it came to Lera. “She lied to me,” River said, realizing he’d spoken aloud only when Coal answered.
“Yes, she does that.”
River’s grip on his sword tightened, the unexpected hurt stinging his chest. He shouldn’t be bothered. He was in charge of student discipline, for star’s sake. Of course a cadet would lie before admitting something that might get her into trouble. And River was too experienced to take such things personally. Or he should be.
“Fight,” Coal growled, the sound primal. Feral. As if River’s talk of Leralynn had roused something desperate in the man. Before River could so much as salute, Coal was on him, his sword swinging for River’s throat.
Clank. Clank. Clank.
The metal sang again, drowning out the world. Waiting until Coal was midstep, River rushed in, his sword swinging in a high-low-side combination so fast and powerful that Coal retreated a step in his parries. The blades clashed with a deafening, deadly ring that promised injury to any unfortunate limb that might get in the way. When the tip of River’s blade opened a gash in Coal’s biceps, the warrior didn’t even blink. Didn’t hesitate either.
