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The beautifully carved mug he’d been given after his first trial by a leaf-haired, bark-skinned dryad refilled itself again and again across the day with a sparkling, transparent juice that tasted of fresh pears and ginger. It tingled against Gerard’s tongue, filling him with newfound energy every time. Its taste perfectly complemented the hot strips of earthy venison, fried with mushrooms and onions and richly flavored with savory herbs, that he and Lorelei scooped up together after their fourth trial.

By that point, the large mass of competitors who had all started together earlier had been split into a series of separate trials, half of them competing on the field each time while the other half rested and awaited their next turns. Lorelei’s admirers were all busy in the stands now, leaving the two of them alone for the first time since the tournament had begun. Food had been their first joint goal—but then, in an agreement made by nods and glances through the chaos of the noisy vendors’ village, they made their way to a quieter spot where they could eat and watch the ongoing trials.

Gerard’s fixed intention was to analyze the tactics and skills of their competitors, the better to prepare to face them later. Even so, as they stood together, it was impossible not to take any note of his captor, more unguarded than he’d ever seen her before.

Leaning against the trunk of an oak tree with her fine gown spattered in mud, her long, blonde hair in wild tangles, and a smudge of dirt covering her left cheek, Lorelei looked nothing like the sophisticated, sultry royal whose scandals had inspired salacious plays and songs for the past decade. As she studied the field before them, her blue eyes were bright with interest, enjoyment, and unshielded calculation.

For once, the rapid workings of her brain weren’t hidden behind her usual guise of gay, careless frivolity … and as he watched her track the progress of all fifteen simultaneous trials on the field with ease, Gerard’s lower body tightened against his will.

Heedless of his covert gaze, Lorelei popped another rustic strip of venison into her mouth with her small, bare fingers, letting the juices slip carelessly down her palm. Shadows from the leafy, trailing branches above her dappled her fair skin, while a light, autumnal breeze played with her tangled curls.

Gerard would never know how it felt to touch those curls and discover just how soft they might feel against his own calloused fingers.

… And it shouldn’t have even occurred to him to wonder. That idea was so outrageous, it should have been unthinkable—but Jovar knew, this whole day had been beyond his conception. First, he’d been transplanted from the icy depths of a mortal winter afternoon to a comparatively warm fae autumn morning, and now he was surrounded by impossibilities on all sides. No wonder his mind and body were both straining at his leash!

Finishing the last of her snacks, Lorelei slipped one finger into her mouth to suck off the last of the juices …

And Gerard swiftly averted his gaze, lifting his cup to his lips for a long, refreshing swallow.

Ahhh. His shoulders relaxed as magical energy tingled through him once again, gifting the strength that he needed to force his rebellious attention back to the action on the field instead of the enemy beside him.

“There!” Four minutes later, Lorelei pointed decisively at the second pair to win a trial, ignoring the official results being announced by a herald at the top of the field. “Those two will be our most dangerous competitors. Did you see how they took out that final troll in their obstacle race?”

Gerard’s eyes narrowed in consideration as he followed the path of her finger to a partnership of hobgoblins. He’d taken note of that particular pair, too, but until now, he hadn’t sensed her paying them any special attention. “They weren’t the fastest at completing their trial,” he said, leadingly.

“But they were clever about it—and that’s what’ll count in the next rounds,” she told him. “Everything we’ve been called upon to do so far”—defeating the basilisk, escaping a seven-headed hydra, shattering illusions, harnessing a wild wyvern, and more—“has been based on simple feats of physical or magical strength. Once the first mass of contestants is winnowed away, though, everything will become much harder. Then we’ll need cunning as well.”

Excellent. The word rose through Gerard’s throat with such force, he had to snap his jaw shut to contain the telltale utterance before it could escape into the air and reveal too much to her … and to himself.

In the names of all seven of Jovar’s holy sentinels, what was wrong with him?

He was still a prisoner, despite his captor’s earlier teasing; no bribes, however delicious or enticing, could possibly change that grim truth. He knew better than to allow himself any traitorous enjoyment.

But, damn it, it had been years since he’d last had the opportunity to pit his wits and strength against such satisfying challenges … and as the bells rang to summon them for their next round, he couldn’t deny the simmering anticipation in his gut.

He ought to fight against every lifelong instinct and make himself lose to shame his captor. He ought to want this whole venture to explode in Lorelei’s face, to make her the laughingstock of the fae and force her to regret ever daring to abduct him.

And yet …

If he did forfeit these trials and put on a show of utter helplessness, how would that reflect upon his own emperor, who had granted him so many great honors in the first place?

How would it reflect upon the Serafin Empire itself if any mischievous fae observer were to spread the news of the pitiful display they’d witnessed to their friends in the mortal world?

He imagined Emperor Otto—whose towering ego had always been so paradoxically fragile—hearing any such stories spread about the might of his Imperial high general …

… And Gerard’s shoulders relaxed as certainty filled him.

Setting aside his mug, he brushed his hands briskly against his trousers to remove the last of the venison’s grease. Then he strode towards his starting position by Lorelei’s side with the same focused determination that had transformed him from the weakest member of his boarding school to the head of the Serafin Empire’s armies.

This time, he and Lorelei were directed to line up on the field beside four other partnerships who had successfully completed all of their own earlier challenges. The pair of hobgoblins wasn’t there, but the others—ranging from tall and haughty fae archers to red-capped gnomes with long, curving dark claws and dagger-like teeth—would all be worthy opponents.

Gerard lowered his chin in a respectful nod to his competitors, and even the high fae gravely returned the action as their glinting green gazes swept across him in speculation.

Lorelei, of course, gave them all a jaunty wave, scattering colorful glitter through the air with her usual abandon. “Good luck, darlings! We will truly hate to beat you.”

At that, the closest gnome snorted, her leathery lips pulling back into a grin of amusement. “Good luck, Princess.”

“You’ll need it!” added her partner with cheerful malice.