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Another grunt.

Another.

“Umm, Ramona?”

“What.”

I turn to see her struggling with the beaded strap behind her back. “Here, let me help with that.” I close the distance between us quickly, using my Elven speed a little too obviously, although it feels great to move freely again. Being in a state of perpetually holding back is much harder than it sounds.

She freezes as I take the crystal bead straps from either side of the dress and connect them beneath her shoulder blades. I do it far too quickly—stupid—and now I’m standing here, knuckles grazing down her toned back, dangerously close to crossing some sort of line that friends shouldn’t cross.

So I ignore it. Ignore the way her skin lights a fire along my fingertips. Ignore how the draping green fabric pools just below the dimples on her lower back and right above the swell of her ass.

Shit! I’m looking at Ramona’s ass. Shit, shit, shit!

I run my fingers through my hair, knocking my diadem off kilter. “Shit!”

Ramona spins, taking in my frazzled state, completely unaware of my filthy thoughts. She shakes her head at me and leans forward to fix the thin band of gold across my brow that marks me as a Prince.

A knock sounds at the door, and we spring apart.

“Prince Leaf,” a guard calls. “You and your guest are expected in the dinner hall.”

“That’s our cue.” I lean toward Ramona, whispering behind my hand like this is some sort of stage performance. Huh, maybe I should try Telling with Akemi sometime.

Ramona sneers, whatever moment we had just then broken. “I’m still mad at you.”

We follow the guard through the palace, down curved pathways, and across a bridge or two until we reached the dining hall—a floating pergola entirely exposed to the open air with massive twisting columns of wood supporting the thatched roof.

Servants line the perimeter of the pergola, carafes of deep red wine in hand. I murmur to the nearest servant to fetch some ale as well, knowing the preferences of the lovely woman next to me.

A light flute is played as we enter, and a dozen sets of eyes land on us.

“The Prince of the Forest returns, along with his human companion,” a long time family servant, Wren, announces.

“You may address her as Ramona, thank you, Wren,” I say, loud enough for the whole court to hear.

We take our seats at the large rectangular table in the center of the space. My cousins, Tofina and Opita, stare openly with a knowing expression on their faces. Tofina is wearing an elegant cream tunic, dark braids pulled into one long braid down the center of her back, whereas Opita is the opposite. Her hair is shaved closely to her scalp. Easier to fly with the rocs, she always said, and I believe her. She is one of the best roc riders in history.

Both had been supportive of me leaving the Forest Tribe. It was maddening to have them at the Watch all last year, my second year away, and yet I couldn’t escape. My father chose me as his champion for the Summit, and I loathed every part of it. Just another lever for him to crank, more strings for him to pull.

Dinner is served shortly after we sit, and I stumble through small talk while trying to ignore the itching sensation of being trapped. More often than not, Ramona reaches under the table to tap my leg, reminding me to respond or placate an Elven court member.

Meanwhile, they all ignore her, which sets fire to my veins. Half of me wants to force every one of these wretched court members to pay attention, ask her questions, be interested in what she has to say. Yet the other half of me wants her to stay in the shadows, if only to avoid the limelight. Not that she couldn’t handle the attention, but rather so she wouldn’t have to deal with the Elves trying to pick her apart. Always hungry for what they can get out of someone and not the other way around.

They—we—are selfish creatures. Collecting and accumulating wealth and other precious items over centuries. Never satiated and always bored.

I owe her for this.

For all of this.

For my lies, for bringing her here in the first place.

My father drones on throughout dinner until finally, I gather the courage to push for information.

“We came here to discuss something with you, father.”

A hush overcomes the table.