River stared at the door closing behind Leralynn and Coal, counted to sixty, then stalked out into the fresh air. Hooking around to the back of the dormitories, where a wall of lush greenery hid a neck-breaking drop down the mountainside, River found the thin trail that led to the edge of the overlook. Hidden songbirds trilled in every direction and the scents of fresh sap and moist earth filled the air. The dense foliage whipped at River’s skin as he walked. He knew he should be more careful, blading his body or at the very least bringing up his hands to ward off the predatory branches, but he couldn’t make himself care.

River had done the right thing. Was doing the right thing. However wrong it felt.

It was pitiful, really. He was over five hundred years old, the prince of Slait, the commander of one of Lunos’s most powerful quints. And yet when it came to Leralynn, he might as well be a colt. River’s hand tightened into a fist. He couldn’t free his mind of the female, her fire-filled chocolate eyes as she stormed out of the suite still sending shockwaves of desire through him. Her long lashes, her dusting of rebellious freckles, the curves of her hips and breasts—they were a force of nature. Of magic. Of whatever it was that drove River’s self-control to the very cusp. And beneath it all was a spirit that echoed his own. Even when they argued.

Especially when they argued.

It had never been thus with Daz, River realized. Sweet, gentle Daz had never challenged him, not until she walked out of his life. And even then, there was no confrontation, no battle of spirits. She simply . . . left. And River could fight it no more than he could fight the wind.

Leralynn was different. Infuriatingly, wonderfully, frustratingly different. Daz had needed River to protect her from the world. Leralynn needed him to protect her from her own too-brave self. Stars, the female’s track record still chilled River’s blood. Yes, of course she would trick the whole quint into a connection. Of course she’d agree to the council’s terms without a moment’s thought. Of course she’d go along with Malikai’s idea to spring a second trial. Because why wouldn’t a twenty-year-old mortal female name herself a one-person defense force for four elite fae warriors?

If Leralynn caught a whiff of Klarissa’s latest scheme to “protect Lunos from Jawrar,” there was no telling what the mortal would pull down on the elder’s head. And if she heard the notion of River diving into politics or dethroning King Griorgi? Stars. The girl had turned frigid upon discovering River to be a prince . . . What would she think about a plot to seize the bloody throne, even if it wasn’t River’s idea or desire? More importantly, what would Griorgi do to Leralynn if he heard Klarissa’s rumblings?

Klarissa. The damn female turned manipulation into an art form. River might have been a naive colt when he first fell for Klarissa’s wit, but the elder had known exactly the stakes of the tune she made him dance to. And when River learned the depths of the monster sitting on Slait’s throne—when River’s mother paid the price for his insubordination, right in front of his own eyes—Klarissa had been so utterly unsurprised that River wondered if she hadn’t calculated it all out before starting the game. She couldn’t have known exactly what Griorgi would do, but she knew the king would show his true stripes to River eventually.

Now Klarissa had new plans, except this time, River would ensure that the people he cared for were nowhere near the elder’s chessboard.

Pushing past the final curtain of branches, River stepped onto the small, clear lip of the cliff’s edge. The wind whipped his short hair, stinging his eyes as he stared out over the vast carpet of treetops, the sparkling reflections of sunlight playing over the river below. A peregrine falcon rode an updraft far out over the valley, hunting for prey with eyes nearly as sharp as River’s.

The neutral lands. Breathtakingly beautiful when observed from the Citadel’s great height. Deadly when traveled on foot.

Something smacked the back of River’s head, bouncing off his skull to the ground. A pinecone. Cocking his foot, River kicked the small woodsy offering right off the cliff.

A second cone hit him a heartbeat later. A third.

River turned, his jaw tightening at the sight of Autumn swinging down from a low-riding tree branch, three more pinecones industriously tucked into her waistband.

“Coward,” she said, landing lightly on the ground, her chin pointing into the air.

Shifting his weight, River spread his shoulders and glared at his sister in a way that made most warriors blanch.

Autumn snorted. “So you don’t deny it?”

“Deny what?”

Toeing off her slippers, Autumn sat on the cliff’s edge, her feet dangling over the abyss. “What I said. About you being a coward.”

“It took me a few hundred years, but I’ve officially reached the conclusion that ignoring you is more efficient than arguing. So no, I don’t deny anything you say. Could you go bother someone else now? I have a meeting to prepare for.”

“Is there a reason you wished to piss off Lera, or were you just bored? Because in case you failed to notice, that didn’t go very well.” Autumn twisted back to capture River’s gaze with her pity-filled one. “Stars, River. You’ve fallen so hard, you no longer know where your foot and your mouth even are, haven’t you?”

River’s face heated, a growl that only Autumn could so efficiently draw from him rising through his chest. The little female had no business—

He cut the thought short. If Autumn waited until it was her business to do something, she would not be Autumn. Except River didn’t think he could have two such females in his life. “She . . . she won’t obey me.”

“I can hardly imagine anything worse,” Autumn said. “How do you even manage to live in the same suite as her, knowing that?”

“This isn’t a jest.” River pinched the bridge of his nose. “The girl nearly died a week ago. Twice. Normal beings would take the time to shake a bit, to recoil from what happened, perhaps delay trying to stride into their would-be murderer’s office. Leralynn, on the other hand, seems to be declaring a bloody war on death.” It made River simultaneously want to throttle the female and bury himself inside her.

Lowering himself beside Autumn, River plucked one of the pinecones from her waistband and tossed it into the world’s vastness. “She is going to get herself killed, Autumn.” He’d meant his voice to sound objective, but the damned words tumbled from him in a whisper. The need to protect Leralynn, to wrap her in his arms and shield her from danger, racked River’s body so strongly that he wondered how his spine didn’t snap from the strain. Just the thought of her lilac scent made his head swim. “She has more courage than experience, more magic than control. If I can’t keep her safe . . .” River shook his head, resting his forearms on his knees. “I have to get her away from here. Away from Klarissa.”

“Before Klarissa tells her that only help from Slait can keep Jawrar’s Night Guard from invading Blaze?” Autumn supplied in that ruthless way she had of slicing to the bone. “And that unless you seize Slait’s throne, such help will never come?”

“The council can send fully ordained quints to bulk up Blaze’s border. Klarissa wants Slait’s army; she doesn’t need it.”

Autumn toyed with the tips of her braids. “There are only so many quints. The Citadel was never meant to protect the courts, just the neutral lands between.” She held up a hand, warding off River’s retort. “The point isn’t how or whether the council should interfere in defending Blaze. The point is that you’d rather face Emperor Jawrar himself than go anywhere near Slait’s throne, and Leralynn deserves to know that. And the reason why.”

A pinecone that River hadn’t realized he’d picked up now broke in his hand. Autumn knew all the tiniest imperfections of his soul, and she aimed for each weakness with an archer’s precision. It made him want to shove her off the bloody cliff. “And she will,” he said. “When the time is right, not when bloody Klarissa decides to play us like dancing string puppets.” He shook his head. “Klarissa doesn’t care about protecting Karnish as much as she cares about lighting a fire under me to go against King Griorgi. As she has always wanted. Tugging heartstrings to drum up motivation is a damn old trick, and I’m not letting her play it on Leralynn.” He paused, finding Autumn’s eyes, his mouth suddenly dry with the need to hear his little sister’s approval. “Now do you see why I need Leralynn to pass the trials and get the hell out of here?”

“Don’t take my head off,” Autumn said finally. “But would putting you on Slait’s throne be such a bad thing?”

Ice and fire rushed through River’s blood, bringing him to his feet. He opened his mouth to tell his sister exactly what she could do with that notion, but it wasn’t even worth the breath it would take. “Yes, it would,” he said coldly, turning on his heels back toward the dormitories. “And Autumn, Leralynn’s life depends on obeying my orders, not on liking me. Interfere, and it will be the last time you and I speak.”