“Guess being fated mates with the heir of Sedah comes with a few new targets on my back.” I take another big gulp, considering that.
Draven’s gaze burns and he runs a tongue along his canines, shoulders bunching. “I should’ve expected opportunists. You’ll have guards from now on.”
“I don’t need them. If I’d have been sober, I wouldn’t have needed anything.”
“Don’t you dare blame yourself.”
I swallow, my mouth incredibly dry. “He was trying to get Kasper in on it, I think. Whatever his plan might be to get to you. I dunno, it’s a blur now.”
“Is Kasper that blond prick in your group?” Draven narrows his eyes.
I nearly laugh. “That’s an apt description. How do you know him?”
“He’s challenged me in sparring about seven times, the only first-year to do so. He’s yet to land a hit. It’s like he’s a glutton for punishment or something.” Draven’s shrug is incredibly indifferent. “It’s always the same. He talks a lot of shit and then goes down fast. I don’t gather he’s been in that many fights before.”
“And you have?” I smirk, and he matches my look. My heart hammers, chest flushing.
I make a mental note to watch out for Kasper. Is he trying to learn from the best? Or just get a punch in? I remember him saying he agreed with Morgan’s sentiment, his silence about his past during the drinking game. Maybe he’s just looking to start a fight. I wonder how often Draven gets that. Kasper’s a High Priestess Arcana, so I doubt I can try reading his mind. My gaze falls on the clock above the sink, which reads ten fifteen. My heart drops into my stomach.
“My gods, is it that late?”
Relief hits me as his eyes slowly shift back to indigo.
“Yes.” A devilish smile plays over his face. “My instructors will be furious with you.”
“Your what?” I continue gulping my coffee. Between it and whatever magic was in the hangover cure, I’m already feeling better.
“Let’s go. I want you to see what all the fuss is about.” Draven fills up his own mug, changing it to something dark and foamy. He walks toward the door, and I follow him, slipping my boots on. He takes a step out into the overly bright autumn day, and I squint against all that light.
I wait for the signature sound of a portal, the rushing sound of dragon wings.
But there’s nothing. Draven merely stands there with his coffee.
“What, no dark rides through the void?” What a surprising letdown.
“Technically that ‘void’ is the knife’s edge between the worlds of the living and dead. But I think it’s better if you walk. That way you’ll know the way if I’m not around.” He takes off to our left. I stumble after him, slurping down my coffee. He tracks down a path between the World and Sun Hearths, headed toward the sleeping volcano. He holds out a hand and I pass my empty cup over. The tattoo flashes across the back of his hand and both mugs disappear as if they were never there—but I swear I hear the echo of a clatter, like they just landed in the sink back at our Hearth’s kitchen.
“So, you have private classes?” The mystery seems relatively obvious now.
“Yes. Can’t have the crown prince failing in front of the entire Forge.” Draven’s eyes narrow to the horizon, as if he can see the king watching him from here. “Half the week I train withmy class, but ever since secondary school I spend the rest of the time with private instructors. Even days I’m with the other second-years, I start with my trainers here.”
This path is so peaceful next to the bustle of the rest of the Forge, the only sounds birds, a few buzzing insects, and the crunch of our feet on the gravel. His tongue traces a canine and a little thrill races through my veins. I wish he wouldn’t do that. Yet my gaze betrays me, drinking in his lush lower lip, his skin so annoyingly flawless. My eyes travel those defined shoulders, that tight waist, the plump curve of his backside. I nearly trip when he speaks.
“What?” His gaze alights, an excitement obvious there, his shirt tightening with his muscles as his chest swells, a coy smirk lifting his mouth.
“Nothing … just,” I hesitate before adding, “your father seems threatened by you, but he still pushes for your extra training?” Draven looks me over in that unbreaking stare, with only pure interest, nothing dismissive in it. Like he truly values my viewpoint.
“Well, he’s equally concerned I might embarrass his legacy unless I represented the best of Sedah. He can’t be seen expecting anything less than excellent. Even if he doesn’t seem to trust me.”
“Given your plans, I guess he shouldn’t.”
He grins at me and I squint through the brightness, but his height and wings block the sun, one feathered limb arching over my head like an umbrella.
“Are these just for show?” I have a sudden urge to run my finger down one, see what it does to him. Are they sensitive?
“Are you asking if I can fly?”
“Well, can you? Or do we really have to hike the rest of the way?”
