Walking away from Cara hurt more than dragon fire. Eamon wanted nothing more than to turn around and sweep her into his arms. To ask her about that letter.
But his brothers.
He strode out onto the nearest balcony, ignoring the small shriek of the lady he startled. He took the steps down into the garden two at a time. Once he was sufficiently lost among the topiaries and hedges, he held the starstone up in his flat palm and pressed his thumb to the top for two seconds.
Kent’s face flickered into view—a little hazy and rather transparent.
“What news?” Eamon asked.
Kent’s voice was clear, but distant, as if he spoke from the other end of a room. “It’s a confirmed flight. The scouts say there are at least five dragons, maybe more. They’re summoning all available Draecons within six days’ ride. We’ll need to leave at dawn.”
Eamon bit his knuckle. Five dragons. It was an insane number. Suicidal, Cara’s voice whispered.
Kent gave him a wry smirk. “You had to go and wish for a flight of dragons.”
“My profuse apologies,” Eamon said, distractedly. A flight. This could be the opportunity to earn his ritual early, if he distinguished himself during the battle.
Cara’s beautiful eyes begged him. Don’t do this. Don’t throw your life away. Her eyes were the ones he had left in the ballroom, but the words had been seared into his heart nine years ago. Don’t leave me.
Kent arched a brow. “Are you all right?”
“Yeah, of course.”
“I’ll go ahead and pack our things. We leave at first light?”
“First light,” Eamon agreed. Tears filled Cara’s eyes.
“Don’t stay out too late, brother,” Kent said. He vanished and the warmth of the stone bled away like spilled water.
Eamon slipped the stone into his pocket. He dropped to a crouch and cradled his head in his hands.
This was all he’d wanted. He wouldn’t even have to wait another year. He could become a Draecon in mere weeks if this attack went well.
So why wasn’t he more excited?
Why did he feel like he would lose more than he gained if he left to join his Draecon brothers? What had changed?
Nothing.
Except... Cara didn’t hate him. It was a warm truth that curled through him, healing the broken parts of him he had been ignoring since she first cursed him from her presence nine years ago.
Somehow, it changed everything. It unfurled a hope he hadn’t let himself even think about, of how a beautiful princess might, just might, love a gangly mud-covered boy. He was thirteen again, admiring the way the sunlight reflected off her hair, making the brown look gold-tinged. Thinking she must be more beautiful than an elf. Thinking he wanted to kiss every one of her freckles.
It was a hope near-dead. He’d crushed it during his years with the Draecons. They put honor and battle above all else. Their mission over caring. Protection before love.
But there was no one Eamon wanted to protect as much as Cara.
His love for her wasn’t a weakness to crush. It never had been. It was the strength to carry on. The thing that gave him courage when honor failed him.
For her, he would fight and die.
For her, he would live.
He stood and started back toward the palace.