Page 18 of Prince of the Sun

“That’s… exactly right.” Daerios sounds impressed, but there’s something else in his tone too. Something like confusion, or suspicion.

“Thanks,” I say, filling my voice with sarcasm. “I’ve dedicated my life to learning elvish food groups.”

The prince hums. “Clearly.”

I swallow, keeping my eyes on my tray.

“Well,” he goes on. “After a lifetime of scholarship, it seems only fitting that you taste what you’ve studied, no?”

I glance over. The prince hasn’t lowered his hand. The honey cake glistens atop his fingers, untouched. It sits before me, a challenge. A taunt.

“I’m good,” I say.

“Come on.” He moves the paal closer. “One taste?”

Slowly, I look from the paal to his face. The challenge is there too. In the flash of his eyes. In the arch of his brow. He sticks out his lower lip in a childish pout, and to my unending annoyance, it does nothing to make him less attractive. If anything, it only draws my attention to his mouth. To just how plush and full it truly is.

“You’ll have to excuse His Royal Impressiveness, Quinn,” Berendir says. “Rejection makes him petulant. He’s not used to not getting what he wants.”

Daerios rolls his eyes, finally lowering the honey cake and placing it back on his tray. “And Berendirneverexaggerates.”

Berendir winks at Cara. “What he means is that things are never dull when I’m around.”

“Don’t listen to him,” says the prince. “Beneath all his jokes, Ber is as boring as Quinn’s lunch plate.”

“But my jokesarefirst-rate.”

“And horses don’t shit in the woods.”

“Well, why would they,” says Berendir, spearing a chunk of quail meat, “when the sidewalks of Harvard Square are just as suitable?”

I blink at their exchange. Until now, I saw these males as carbon-copies of each other: cold, handsome, careless, cruel. Heartless thrill-seekers, twins in every way but blood. From right after the Crossing, they’ve always been photographed together, standing beside their fathers—chins lifted, eyes tight, smiles wicked.

But as I watch them dig at each other, a new understanding crawls into the edges of my consciousness. They are not the same. Their packaging might be identical—flawlessly-carved creatures who party too hard and reek of sarcasm and live as if they care for no one but each other—but the contents are quite different. There is an elasticity to Berendir, a mischievous lightness that does not exist in his best friend. It sparkles justbehind his pale green eyes. If I hadn’t spent this much time up close with him, I would never have guessed it was there.

I wonder if it exists in Daerios too.

Berendir turns to my roommate. “So, Cara—“

“How do you know my name?” Cara interrupts.

He grins. “We might have looked into you two.”

“Looked intous?” My eyes narrow. “What does that mean?”

“Oh, you know, a prince obviously has to background check his dates.” Berendir shrugs. “We had our security team use our top-secret elvish database to look you up.”

Thatcatches my attention. I perk up, trying not to sound too excited as I ask, “A top-secret elvish database? Is that a real thing?”

Daerios rolls his eyes and takes a bite of paal. “Of course not. Don’t listen to Berendir; it’ll make me question your intelligence.”

“Myintelligence?” I scoff. “Please. Iearnedmy place at this school. Unlike certain other people, who were only let in because their Daddy is president of the entire universe.”

Even as the words are coming out of my mouth, I know they’re a mistake. This particular bear is the most dangerous and unhinged I’ve ever met, and I’ve just gone ahead and poked it.

The prince’s mouth drops open. Across the table, Cara gasps.

It wasn’t a soft poke, either. It doesn’t take a genius to guess that Daerios—the drunken son who grabbed the microphone from his father and referred to himself, on live television, as “the resident family disappointment”—has major Daddy Issues. He’ll probably have me dragged into the Yard and beheaded on the steps of Memorial Church for what I’ve just said. And you know what? I’ll deserve it. Just for my sheer stupidity.