I blushed. “I’m not a hero.”
“My dear, each one of us is a hero. The irony, of course, is that most will never receive the title. Bask in the recognition, for I suspect it shall not last as long as one might hope, especially with the rumors of Caltoth…” He cleared his throat. “But enough of that. Drink. Dance. Be merry. You are a mage of Combat and betrothed to a prince of the realm. What more could you desire?”
Nothing.
But then a thought occurred. “A black robe would be nice.”
Darren gave me a sideways glance. “What are you talking about? You are already wearing one.”
My eyes were dancing. “Maybe like the one Marius is wearing.”
“With the gold lining? Ryiah, only the Black Mage…” Darren stopped talking as he realized what I was implying.
Marius smiled. “Yes,” he surmised, “I believe I was right to bet on you that day at the Academy. Your future, dear Ryiah, has just begun.”
Welcome to the Candidacy. Where dreams go to die.
Twenty-year-old Ryiah is a black mage of Combat, but she’s not the Black Mage. Yet. She’s had her eyes on the legendary robe for as long as she can remember, and in just one year, she will have a chance at her country’s prestigious—and only—tourney for war mages... Too bad she is going up against a certain prince—the one person she has yet to beat.
The Candidacy finally arrives and a winner is robed, but something dark is lurking in her kingdom’s midst. Rival nations are closing in, and it’s time to make an alliance.
Unfortunately for Ryiah, that’s only the beginning. The worst enemy resides in the palace.
1
Darren laughed softly. It was like water—the sound of a stream cascading down rock, low and unhurried. Silky. Confident. “You don’t really think you can beat me, Ryiah.”
I put my hands on my hips. “How would you know? We’ve never dueled before.”
“I beat you in that contest when we were apprentices in Port Langli.”
“Yes, but we didn’t fight with magic.” I shifted from one foot to the next as the prince arched a brow and gave me a knowing look. He tapped his fingers against his wrist, and I could tell he was torn between dismissing my challenge and outright intrigue. Prince Darren of Jerar, second-in-line to the throne, was nothing if not proud.
But he was also stubborn. Like me. And I knew he wasn’t thrilled by the prospect of dueling his future wife.
I bit my lip, considering how to convince him otherwise. I watched as Darren’s eyes fell to my mouth. Suddenly, I was quite sure I knew the answer. Senseless attraction had made the past five years a misery for the both of us, but now it was going to help.
“How about a wager?”
“A wager?” Darren’s tone was instantly suspicious. “What kind of wager?”
I took a step forward and lightly laid my palm against his form-fitting tunic. I had to swallow as I felt the flat layer of hard muscle beneath. Control yourself, Ryiah. Now was not the time to be noticing things like that. I was the one who was supposed to be seducing him.
“Careful, Ryiah.” The prince smiled.
“I win and you join me in Ferren’s Keep.” Ha. We’d spent the past week arguing over where the two of us were going to be stationed.
“You know I need to remain at the palace.”
“Then win and you won’t have to leave.”
“What’s my counter?”
I spoke without thinking. “Anything you want.”
“Anything?” Darren’s eyes met mine, and my stomach dropped. A flush crept up the side of my neck and stained my whole face crimson.
“I… I didn’t mean t-that,” I stuttered.
“Then don’t lose.” His eyes danced. “Isn’t that what you just told me?”
I folded my arms and stared him down stubbornly. “Fine,” I said, “but if you get ‘anything,’ then I get to add another condition. If I win, you have to make peace with Alex the next time the two of you cross paths.”
The prince cringed. He and my twin had a strained relationship at best, and even after the night of the ascension, Alex was still wary of the prince. He’d told me the morning after, four days back.
Which was ironic because Darren’s brother, the crown prince of Jerar, hated me. Although to be fair, I shared the sentiment. There was no one I despised more than Prince Blayne.
“Well, it’s a good thing I plan on winning.” I looked up and found Darren smirking. Gods, even when he was arrogant, he was attractive. Or maybe it was because of his smug self-assurance. It made me want to slap that silly smile off his face, and then grab him by the collar and kiss him breathless. Not necessarily in that order.
I concentrated on tugging my hair back into a knot—anything to appear unaffected. “Vanity doesn’t suit you.”
The prince just gave me a knowing smile and pulled himself off the wall, lazily walking to the center of the training court. I followed him until the two of us were standing three yards apart in the center of a large stone dais. The palace’s practice court was much smaller than the outdoor ones we’d trained in during our apprenticeship, and it was also twice as elaborate. I suspected it was because we were in the nation’s capital, where more coin was devoted to pleasure than practicality.
Normal arenas were in the dirt, outside under a radiating sun with a bare picket fence to serve as the perimeter. Here, inside the palace of Devon, we stood on a raised stone platform surrounded by large, white pillars and a curved base of cushioned benches. On the same side as the empty seats was a thick glass wall, reinforced by a regular supply of the Alchemy mages’ resistance potions.
This way the king’s court could relax in leisure without the threat of a knight or mage’s attack gone awry.
On the opposite side, where we’d just come from, was a small alcove featuring a display of training weapons and spare armor. Darren didn’t bother to take any—he already had the most powerful weapon at hand. His magic. As Combat mages, we were able to cast any weapon we needed, and while we’d outfit ourselves in real battle, this was only a duel and we’d both agreed the outcome would be decided by sheer prowess alone.
“Are you ready, Ryiah?” Darren grinned.
I studied his stance, hoping for a small hint as to what his first attack might be. I’d spent five years studying his form in casting, and while the prince was good, no one was perfect. He still had tells just like the rest of us. They might not be as obvious, but they were there. If Darren were to cast a weapon to hold he’d likely adjust his right hand—just the slightest widening of his fist to grip a handle. Likewise, he’d be more likely to dig in with his right heel were he to prepare for a substantial casting from his center of gravity, something akin to a heavy torrent of wind power or flame.
Right now, on the day I needed to read him the most, the prince was a blank slate. I scowled. “I’m ready.”
“On the count of three.” Darren’s eyes met mine. “One … Two … Three.”
The two of us threw out our castings at once, our magic rising up and exploding in a collision of brute power and force.
And then we were flying back.
Each of us slammed against a pillar on opposite ends of the arena. I barely had time to cushion my fall with a casting of air before I was staggering forward, running back toward Darren with a hand raised and magic flowing from my palm.
But he was even faster.
I narrowly ducked as a series of whistling daggers soared past my ear. Swiping a loose strand of hair that’d fallen from it’s knot, I met the prince’s gaze.
“Having fun, love?” The words were full of unspoken laughter.
“Aren’t you?” A blade appeared in one hand as my other sent off a blinding flash of light. The air lit up, and for a moment, there was only gold as I barreled forward, bringing my sword up and then down in a vertical slash. I threw all my weight into the heat of the attack.
But Darren was waiting. The sound of two metals colliding sent out a n
oisy ring across the dais.
I withdrew and threw up a pine shield just in time to counter his cut.
“Nice touch.”
“I learned from the best.” I paused. “Well, second best.”
He snorted.
We continued to trade blows for parries, but within minutes, Darren was walking me backward across the dais with a maddening smirk. His weighted blows were stronger than mine, and my arm started to strain against the heavy hits I was blocking, but only occasionally issuing.
I made a split-second decision to lunge forward with my shield. Darren blocked the move easily, but that was my intention. While he was distracted with the blow, I changed my sword to a knife.
He registered my decision a second too late as I threw a crescent cut low and out. I caught the side of his leg just before he fell back, and I was rewarded with a loud rip of cloth and the trickle of red.
I jumped out of the way of the prince’s counter.
“Should have known you’d choose the knife.”
“It always was my favorite.”
We regarded one another for a moment in silence, our chests rising and falling after the first ten minutes of battle. I’d drawn first blood, so I won by standard duel etiquette. But we were playing for more. We trained for Combat, and Combat trained to win. We were war mages. Our definition of winning was surrender—or death.
I adjusted my grip. One victory down, and one more to go. I lifted my hand at the same time Darren lowered his. Our eyes met and power burst from our fingertips. The dais rumbled and groaned, and I leaped to avoid a large fissure as Darren cast out a magicked globe, shielding himself from the storm of arrows I’d sent flooding down from the ceiling.
This time there was no rest.
Fire tore a line across the fissure, sprouting even more flames as it chased me to the edge. I spun and doused it with a flurry of ice, listening to the snap, crackle, and hiss as the flames met with cold.
For a second, heavy steam fogged up the arena. I shut my eyes and called up a memory for the next casting.
Darren and me. The night he told me he didn’t love me. Blayne laughing in my face while the fathomless prince watched, unfeeling, as my heart crumbled to a million pieces.
My fingers tingled, and I felt the warm static building in my arm. These were the memories I needed. Weather magic wasn’t like a normal casting—it was fueled by emotion. Extremities were best. And my years with Darren had certainly given me a large assortment to choose from.
“I told you not to trust a wolf, because it would only ever want to break you… Haven’t you figured it out yet? I’m the wolf, Ryiah.”
A hot surge of anger leaped out of my core. I mentally harnessed the emotion and channeled its magic, letting the searing heat surge along my veins. Then, I released my casting.
A jolt of lightning struck Darren’s barrier and shattered it. There was a shrill, earsplitting noise as his casting splintered like glass.
Darren released his magic and sprinted across the platform, a magicked sword in each hand.
I sent out a large funnel of fire, but the prince crossed his arms midstride and the flames came barreling back. I had just enough time to duck to my left, and then a terrible smell met my nose.
I lifted a hand to my head. The fire had singed off part of my hair, just above my right ear.
When Darren came again, I was ready. Ice shot out across the short distance between us and met with the prince’s swords. His metal froze over, webs of glistening frost spreading from the tip to the handle with a shrill crack.
He dropped his castings with a growl—nothing like the biting sting of frozen metal—and looked to his palms. They were now reddish-black.
I was torn between guilt and glee. I knew how that felt. I’d had that same casting done to me when I was an apprentice.
But I was here to win.
I barreled forward and prepared to end our duel with a knife to his neck. Or that was what I’d planned. But, like usual, Darren was one step ahead of me.
The second the steel started to materialize in my hand, Darren tackled me midstride.
Before I could get a good focus, my casting disappeared—concentration broken by his attack—and we both hit the hard stone floor with a loud thud.
I felt the jarring impact in my side rather than the full at my back. I had somehow grappled my way so that Darren wasn’t quite pinning me flat—one leg in and one out.
He was trying to wrestle me to the floor, but I knew the second he had my shoulders, the match was as good as over. I would never be able to break the full weight of his hold if I couldn’t push forward. I simply didn’t have the mass to win a contest with my arms, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t fool Darren into thinking I’d try. He and I had never fought in hand-to-hand combat, so I could only hope that meant he hadn’t been paying attention during my training in the apprenticeship.
Pretending to gasp, I made a huge deal out of struggling back and forth to break free. Darren took the bait. He leaned forward to pin me back and my second leg snaked free. It took me all of two seconds to dig my first heel into his hip and pivot to the side.
It was enough to give me some leverage against his weight.
I threw myself forward using my second leg to kick up and off the ground, rolling the prince underneath me. I was up.
But I was sitting too far back. Darren’s reflexes were too fast. Or maybe he’d expected the move. His hips threw me, and I toppled forward, palms slapping the ground while he used the strength in his torso to flip-roll me. Hard.
I landed on my back with a curse. My lungs were on fire, and I wasn’t sure I hadn’t broken something in that twist. White-hot pain ate away at my ribs, and Darren had my arms pinned to the stone ground.
“Time to surrender, love. Don’t fault yourself. It’s not every day someone goes up against a first-rank mage.”
I grumbled an unladylike word, and Darren laughed, his whole body shaking.
“You’re insufferable.”
Darren stopped and his eyes met mine. The look he gave me was enough to forget the terrible pain in my chest and bring on a whole different kind of heat. “Well, I don’t believe that for a second.”
Blood rushed my face as the prince leaned in.
“Admit it.” Darren’s mouth was close to my ear. “You aren’t suffering in the least...” His hand traced circles along the inside of my wrist. A trail of shivers followed wherever his fingers went. “Are you, Ryiah?”
I swallowed. For the first time, I was conscious of the fact we were the only two in the room. And we were on the floor, which suddenly didn’t feel quite so uncomfortable and cold.
Not when he was looking at me like that. Like…
I had a sudden flashback to that day in his chambers two years before—to what had almost transpired the last time we’d been truly alone.
Gods, I hadn’t been able to keep my hands to myself. And neither had he.
The memory made me blush even now.
Darren noticed and his lips curved in a half smile, his eyes hooded. “That’s what I thought.” With those words, he closed the distance between us. I detected the faint spiciness of his breath, like cinnamon and heat and ice. Something that was dangerous and dark and, to be honest, exactly what I wanted.
I knew we needed to treat our injuries, especially mine, but…
“If you are going to kiss me,” I said brazenly, “you should do it now.”
The corner of his lips turned up. “Oh, I intend to.”
“Really, because I’m still—”
Darren placed a tanned finger to my lips, eyes dancing. “I haven’t named the prize for our wager yet.”
That silenced me quickly.
“Ah, and I see I’ve finally rendered you speechless.” His smirk deepened. “And here I thought you’d never—”
Before Darren could finish whatever taunt he’d started, I dragged the prince down by the hem of his vest. His lips met mine, surprised, and for a m
oment, everything was slow and sweet.
I felt the unsteady beating of his pulse. The careful way he kissed me back had my vision swimming before my eyes. The kiss might’ve been slow, but my pulse thundering inside my ears was a roar.
For once, neither of us were rushed. There was nothing forbidden, nothing wrong. We had all the time in the world.
Darren’s fingers slipped into the back of my hair. I looked up and found his eyes smoldering. This was us. He stared back, and there was no challenge, no sarcasm or smirk, just Darren and me.
After so many trying years, we were finally together.
His fingers trailed the side of my face, and my skin burned underneath his touch. Could a person catch fire and still live? I wasn’t sure, but I thought the answer was yes.
His lips parted mine. I shut my eyes.
Dear gods.
“Ryiah…” His hand skimmed down the side of my waist, and an anguished cry fell from my lips.
Darren backed away with a start. “Are you… hurt?”
I pressed down on my stomach and bit back a long string of curses. Hot needle pricks flared in response. “My ribs.” I avoided his gaze and silently chastised the god of chance. Now? The pain could not have resurged at a more inconvenient time.
Or maybe it is exactly the right time, my inner voice replied. You know perfectly well what happened the last time the two of you got carried away…
I groaned loudly to cover up the rest of my thoughts. Tomorrow morning I was supposed to set out to Ferren’s Keep. I couldn’t very well do a seven-day trek on horseback where I would be in constant motion with broken ribs.
I tried to stand and doubled over in agony.
Darren was there in an instant. I swatted him away with a weak wave of my hand.
“I’m a Combat mage.” I stood and took a sharp lungful of air. “Not one of those damsels in distress you keep here at the palace.”
“I never said you were.”
“Tell that to the tutors your father ordered me for etiquette this week.”
“I can never win with you, can I?”
I rolled my eyes, but inside I was smiling. Outside, my mouth was plastered in a grimace. “Just take me to the infirmary.”
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