Page 12 of Prince of the Sun

Magrion ducks back into the Ikarith, muttering Maevish curses under his breath.

I exhale. That was—God, that was far too close.

But then the elf’s words register.It’s Saechon.And I realize, too late, that I am now in far more danger than I was before.

Saechon is the eldest son of Varith Ariar. The first-born prince. There are four princes in total: Saechon, stationed at Oxford; Brannion, stationed at Peking University in Beijing; Daerios, stationed at Harvard; and Lûth, the youngest, stationed at Yale.

Though elves are notoriously secretive, they’ve spent enough time on earth for rumors about the royal family to leak out. Brannion, for example, is said to be the cleverest of the princes—but also the most calculating. A military captain back in Elaërion, Brannion regularly liaises with the Elvish General. It’s believed that he played a key role in the Sun Elves’ victory during the Elemental Wars. I find myself relieved that it’s not him arriving on horseback tonight.

I don’t know much about Saechon. Tabloids fawn over him the way they do Brad Pitt or George Clooney. He’s obnoxiously handsome, with sleek blonde hair and a perfectly sculpted face.Tooperfectly sculpted, in my opinion. Rumor has it that, with the king constantly absent from his children’s lives, the role of father fell to Saechon. He “leads” his younger brothers. In what capacity, I don’t know.

But I’m about to find out.

A deep baritone, speaking Maevish, sweeps into the room. “Status report,”

Saechon.

The sound of twelve chairs scraping back as the Punches rise to greet their prince.

“Nothing yet, sir,” says Magrion. “However—”

“I found something,” interrupts a familiar voice. Gravelly, unlike most elves’ sweet lilt.

Chills creep up my spine.

“Daerios,” says Saechon. Footsteps. “You?”

“It’s not…” Daerios clears his throat. “I didn’t find it here.”

“Where did you find it, then?”

“The library.”

Thelibrary? Does he mean Widener?

“And you didn’t think to bring it with you?”

“It’s not there. Someone else checked it out.”

A beat of silence. Then, from Saechon, in a tone of deadly quiet, “Leave us.”

“Sir?” asks Magrion.

“You heard me. Everyone but my brother, leave.”

Chairs scraping and light footsteps as the elves file out of the room.

Someone else checked it out.He couldn’t be… He’s not referring toMorphological Similarities Between American English and Elvish Lukkarin, is he?

I shake away the thought. Of course not. Thousands of booksare checked out of Harvard’s libraries every day. That would be preposterous.

When the door shuts, there’s a beat of silence. Then Saechon says, “This isn’t one of your ridiculous pranks, is it, Daerios?”

“No.”

“Because it wouldn’t be the first time some insolent little elf has claimed to—”

“I’m not lying, Sae.”