A rush of power swooshed around her, but it came from outside, not within. There was a swirl of white mist and then her mother stood before her in her battle clothes once more.
“I’m sorry,” her mother said. “I didn’t mean to scare them away.”
Evelayn shrugged, trying not to let her disappointment show. “It wasn’t working anyway.”
“Perhaps you are trying too hard. It’s not something that can be forced, or else more Draíolon would be capable of doing it. It’s an instinct, born into you along with your conduit stone. Relax and believe.”
Focus, concentrate completely, drive out all doubts, but don’t try too hard … so very simple, right? “I’m tired. Maybe I should wait and try again another time.”
Sometimes when Evelayn balked at practice or training or lectures, it was the queen of éadrolan who responded, commanding her to continue. But tonight it was her mother who gently responded, “All right. There’s always tomorrow.”
And though they both knew that was a lie—there were no guarantees—the princess and the queen turned and walked back to the castle arm in arm, leaving the dark, empty lake behind them.
GENERAL KELWYN PACED BACK AND FORTH ACROSS the lawn while Tanvir watched and tried to quell the uncomfortable twist of nerves in his gut. He’d replayed the dance with Princess Evelayn over and over in his mind, keeping himself up for hours the night before, wondering what he’d said that had shuttered her expression and turned her fingers cold in his before she fled her own party. He hadn’t been able to parse it out. All he knew was that he had blundered somehow.
And now the princess was late to her morning training.
“She’s never late,” he heard Dela mutter. He’d only helped once, so he hadn’t been sure, but Dela’s comment confirmed what he suspected. Evelayn’s absence wasn’t normal.
“The queen was called back to the warfront this morning,” Tanvir supplied, repeating what the entire castle had been abuzz about ever since Queen Ilaria had arrived in the middle of the night but then left before dawn. “Maybe it has something to do with that?”
“Possibly. Perhaps you should—”
Whatever General Kelwyn had been about to suggest was cut off by the princess emerging from the trees, striding toward them with her chin slightly lifted as if daring any of them to comment on her tardiness. She was outfitted in her training leathers, revealing the litheness of her body that was concealed by the dresses she usually wore. Her lavender-streaked flaxen hair was pulled back into a simple braid today, the coronet missing, and her face washed clean of the tiny jewels and makeup that had created glittering wings on either side of her stunning eyes the night before. But even without all that, she could never be mistaken for a commoner or a mere sentry arriving to train. Something about her commanded attention—demanded veneration. It wasn’t just because she was attractive, although she was blindingly beautiful. It was in her presence.
And of course, there was the conduit stone. All of Evelayn’s clothes were either cut low enough to show it, or had a hole cut out around the stone so it was always visible.
As Tanvir watched the princess draw closer, something inside him tightened. Though her expression didn’t show it, unhappiness clung to her like her shadow, darkening her now-familiar subtle sunshine and floral scent. Her violet eyes were red-rimmed but when their gazes met, something sparked in hers—a challenge.
Instead of risking saying the wrong thing again, he merely bowed. “Your Highness,” he murmured, trying not to remember the way she’d smiled up at him—laughed even—last night. Before he’d somehow managed to wipe all the happiness from her expression.
“What are we working on today?” she addressed Kelwyn, turning her back to Tanvir.
What had he done that had earned her ire so completely?
“I thought we’d begin with working on our defensive strategies—particularly if you were to find yourself powerless for any reason or outnumbered. The only hope of protection if you were under attack without your power is to use a Scíath,” Kelwyn said, glancing at Tanvir speculatively before returning his full focus to the princess.
Evelayn nodded, all business. Tanvir felt the loss of her attention acutely, even though he’d had it for only a brief moment. But it gave him the opportunity to observe her unnoticed—she was too busy avoiding looking at him.
So he watched … watched and learned. As she listened to Kelwyn. As she learned how to wield a Scíath—the coveted shield, forged in Rúnda by the few priestesses who lived there, that was capable of protecting the bearer from any attack, Light or Dark. The silvery disc, nearly as big as her entire torso, flashed in the sunlight as she ducked and blocked blast after blast from Kelwyn.
He watched as they switched places and she practiced honing her power, succeeding far more quickly than any other Draíolon he’d ever trained beside. As they moved on to hand-to-hand combat, summoning sun-swords and sun-daggers made of lightning and white-flame, created by the power she wielded. As she worked on fighting with regular knives, swords, and a bow and arrows. Kelwyn insisted she know how to battle with more than her power—just in case.
“Now, fight Lord Tanvir. He has a different style than me. After him, you’ll spar with Dela.”
Though sweat beaded along her hairline, Evelayn merely nodded, turning to face Tanvir. She was younger than he, but Tanvir knew not to underestimate her. She’d spent her whole life training, preparing to someday take her mother’s place as queen and the conduit for all the power in the Light Kingdom. Somehow, until that moment as he faced her, preparing to spar, he hadn’t ever wondered what it would be like to be the princess—the pressure, the expectations, the—
And that’s when it hit him, just as she lifted the knives she held in either hand, sinking slightly into a fighting stance. He knew what he’d said wrong last night.
“On my mark,” General Kelwyn said, lifting his hand.
Tanvir quickly pulled out his own daggers, forcing himself to focus. Later—he would right the wrong step he’d taken later. But for now, he would fight the princess.
General Kelwyn’s hand fell.
Tanvir’s burnt-gold eyes were trained on hers, his body tense, prepared, waiting for her attack. This wouldn’t be like sparring with General Kelwyn, or Ceren, or anyone else for that matter. This was a dance of a different sort from the one they’d shared the night before, but as Evelayn made the first move and he nimbly dodged her swipe and then spun around to slash his own blade at her, it was clear that this was still a dance—a give and take, two partners locked on to each other—however, this time with deadly intent.