He wished she hadn’t done that.
He really, really wished she hadn’t done that. For starters, two inches to the left or right and he could be missing a toe right now. But that wasn’t his main issue. No. While a self-satisfied spark lit her eyes, Rafe couldn’t help but notice two other sets of eyes turn toward him, fueled by something far more dangerous—loathing.
He dropped his gaze to the floor, silently cursing that he’d given in to her tantrum when he promised himself not to pay attention to the princess. All that mattered were the tests, the games. All that mattered was proving his house’s worth. All that mattered was winning, for Xander’s sake. Because the heir with the most victories won first official pick of mate on the final day of the trials. Of course, the matches were truly made during backroom conversations and through secret messages passed from one house to the other, actions far more political than these tests of strength. But it was easy to say no in writing. Saying no out loud, surrounded by a crowd of a thousand people, that was something else entirely. And if Rafe won first pick for his brother, even if no princess was technically supposed to match with Xander, he was hoping that the pressure of the moment and the honor of being the first mate selected would make her a little less inclined to say no. It was rare for an heir to subvert whatever decision had been made behind closed doors—rare, but not unheard of. Which was why he had to win. There was no other option.
Three, Rafe thought. Tying with the dove prince marked his third top placement of the day for the male trials. First archery, then endurance, now daggers.
He ran through the calculations in his head. Damien, the hummingbird prince, had two victories. Luka, the dove prince, had one. Unfortunately for him, heading into the final test of the day, those just happened to be the two people attempting to burn holes through his skull—one provoked by protective fury, the other by jealous ire.
Rafe sighed. I really wish she hadn’t done that.
He kicked at the dagger still lodged in the wood beneath his feet, but the damn thing wouldn’t budge. He refused to kneel and pick it up. He refused to acknowledge its existence any longer. So instead, he took two steps forward. Out of sight, out of mind…
If only life were so easy.
Acting of their own volition, his eyes ever so slowly shifted up, up, up, finding the dove princess one more time.
Ana didn’t look away.
Neither did Rafe.
They held gazes across the arena, not blinking, hardly breathing, as the center of the floor was cleared for the next test.
The bell chimed again.
Ana broke their stare, turning aside to accept the sword her brother offered, sliding the polished blade free of its sheath as she tested its weight in her hand and whipped it in a single wide arc, movements graceful and lethal. She looked to find him still watching and widened her smile.
Oh, she was dangerous.
In far more ways than one.
Rafe frowned as the princesses from each house stepped off their platforms and flew toward the center ring. New calculations occupied his mind—not of his victories, but of hers. Thea, the eagle, had won the archery trial for the girls and had tied for the lead with the daggers. She was at the head of the pack. The princess of the House of Paradise had won the speed race. The princess from the House of Wisdom had won the test of endurance. But Lyana had tied for the win with the daggers—the obvious victor if she hadn’t pulled that stunt—and a worried knot was coiling at the pit of his stomach as he watched her land in a confident stride, sword far too comfortable in her hand, and begin the last assessment of the day—hand-to-hand combat.
Again, he returned his gaze to the floor, studying the wavy paths of woodgrain in the boards beneath his feet, counting the rings, each one a different story, a different age, a different year. No matter how he tried to distract himself, the sinking feeling just grew, as though the platform had begun to melt, sucking him down and down and down so deep that the air was stifling.
But he wouldn’t look up.
Couldn’t look up.
Refused—
The room erupted in a deafening roar of cheers.
Rafe’s shoulders caved in, and he looked up.
Ana stood in the center ring, her sword at the Princess of the House of Prey’s neck, wings pearlescent in the rays shining down the center of the arched dome. The winner. Tied for overall first place for the girls.
With that, he knew she was thinking the same thing as he—that, if put on the spot, her choice of mate wouldn’t have the gall to say no, not to the daughter of Aethios, the most prized match he could ever hope to make.
And she was right.
Xander would never say no to the offer.
Xander, the Crown Prince of the House of Whispers, who would walk up to his new mate and slide off his mask to reveal his face on the final day of the courtship trials.
Xander, not Rafe.
A fist clenched his insides and tore everything out of place, leaving him off-kilter as he followed the other princes to the center of the floor. Rafe shook his head, trying to clear his brain as he slid his twin blades from the scabbards on his back. Nothing had ever felt more comfortable or more natural in his hands than those worn leather hilts, and yet his fingers were numb and his arms heavy as he waited for his first opponent.
An easy match.
Yuri, the second son of the House of Paradise.
Rafe lucked out, because if he’d started with anyone else, he wasn’t sure his muddled instincts would have been up to the task. But by the end of that first fight, his focus had returned. Because this wasn’t about a willful princess, it was about Xander. And that was whom Rafe kept at the forefront of his thoughts as he turned to face his next foe—the hummingbird prince.
Xander, who needed a mate.
Xander, who needed a win.
Xander, who deserved to be happy.
Xander, who was relying on him.
And, well, Damien, who needed to have that smug smirk cleanly wiped off his face.
Rafe spun the blades in his hands, loosening his wrists. Damien stretched his smaller wings, violet feathers glittering in the sun, far more lethal than they looked since they made him fast. Impossibly fast. Little more than a blur as the bell chimed, signaling the fight to begin.
Rafe dropped to his knees immediately—downward being the last direction most people would suspect a bird to go—and rolled, anticipating his opponent’s charge. A whiff of air hit his cheek, the narrow miss of a blade’s edge, as the hummingbird prince attempted to strike. Rafe shoved his weapon up, metal ringing as the sword found a shield. A string of vibrations coursed through his arm, but Rafe ignored the sting and launched into the air. Damien followed.
The gods, he’s fast! Rafe silently cursed as he searched for the prince, blinking as a flash of purple caught the corner of his eye and spinning toward the blur. He held his swords in an X, stopping the prince’s blade a moment before it struck true. This time, his entire body reverberated with the blow. The hummingbird wasn’t playing. If Rafe hadn’t realized it from the strength of his hit, he knew it from the seething light in Damien’s eyes as the prince hovered for a beat before yanking his sword free.
This wasn’t a game or a test.
It was a battle, through and through.
Rafe snapped his wings closed and dropped ten feet, escaping the swing of a shield, an attack the prince wouldn’t neglect to attempt, obvious as it was. Before Rafe had time to balance his weight, the prince was there, dangerously swift, swinging his blade. Rafe kicked the center of the hummingbird’s chest, using the momentum to soar out of the arc of his weapon.
Think.
Think.
Damien was fast, but Rafe could be faster. He could be better.
Then he heard it. A gentle buzzing sound filtered into his ear, growing louder, into a—
A hum.
A hum!
Rafe widened his eyes as the realization hit, twisting toward the sound just in time to lift his dual swords, catching the prince’s blow with one arm and lashing out with the other, this time forcing his foe to retreat.
A hum.
Of course, a hum.
Rafe didn’t need to be faster—he just needed to listen. Damien’s speed was the very thing that gave him away. As with all hummingbirds, his wings flapped so fast they produced a light frequency, a gentle thrumming that was music to Rafe’s ears.
He landed on his feet and closed his eyes. The room grew quiet as he pushed the noise of the crowd away, searching for that singular sound.
There.
Spinning on his heels, Rafe lashed out before Damien had a chance to attempt an attack. The prince retreated, rapidly shifting directions as Rafe charged, swinging his twin blades in sweeping arcs, high then low, left then right, kneeling and using his wing to knock the prince off balance before making for his thigh to draw first blood.
The hummingbird jumped, narrowly escaping.
Rafe remained on the ground, daring the prince to come back and face him.
The game took place three more times before the bell chimed once, the ding lingering as it stretched across the arena, signaling their time was almost up, signaling their fight would end in a tie.
But that couldn’t happen—Rafe couldn’t let it.
He needed to win. Xander needed to win. The ravens needed to win. So, he did the last thing he wanted to do, a cheap trick in such a setting, and took a deep breath before releasing his piercing shriek.
The hummingbird became visible immediately. His wingbeats slowed and his form turned solid. He blinked, confused for a second.
A second was all Rafe needed.
Before Damien’s vision had time to clear, Rafe was there, sword pressed against the prince’s throat, victorious. And while he wished he could say the urge to glance at Ana never crossed his mind, that was a lie—although he did stop himself from acting on the impulse, instead gluing his eyes to the ground as he waited for his next opponent to step forward.
Rafe fought four more times, won three and tied with the dove prince, refusing to use his raven cry again. Because he didn’t need to. Everyone else had lost at least once except for him, and even with a tie, the committee declared him the winner. He had closed out the first day of tests at the head of the flock.
Tonight, he would sleep well.
Tomorrow, he would compete in games of strategy and intellect.
And then he would be done.
Whatever happened, he would be done, and he’d deal with the consequences as they came. For now, he kept his head down and his mind blank as he left the arena, and those dazzling emerald eyes, behind him.