Page 56 of Prince of the Sun

Daerios watches me skip down the library steps with obvious amusement. “I was thinking more along the lines of a hike.”

“Ahike?” I snort. “What, we’re going tohikethe scenic streetsof Cambridge?”

“No. But I hear there are plenty of beautiful lakes in Massachusetts to hike around.”

“Daerios, we agreed to take a break—not a vacation.”

“I’m not suggesting a vacation. Just a little jaunt out of the Square. Get some fresh air. The gods knowIcould use some.”

I cross my arms. “Please don’t tell me you’re about to suggest a trip to Walden Pond.”

Daerios wrinkles his nose. “Heavens, no. That place is a tourist trap.”

Unbidden, I laugh, because the wordstourist trapsound so ridiculous coming from an elf. “What didyou have in mind, then?”

“Have you ever heard of Spot Pond?”

I consider. “No. Where is it?”

“About twenty-five minutes by car.”

“Youhave a car?”

“No.” He pauses. “But I have a horse.”

“Awhat?”

“Absolutely fucking not.”

We’re standing inside a stable I didn’t know existed on campus grounds. Above us, penned inside a spacious wooden stall, towers a raven-black stallion with white-tipped ears and a braided mane. He exhales through his nose, stomping his hooves as excitedly as if there were a body for him to trample beneath them.

I fear I will shortly become that body.

“What?” Daerios asks, reaching out to pat the horse’s side. “Vorrok scares you?”

“Vorrok?”I turn to the elf so slowly it feels as if my head were attached to a clock’s face. “Black horse? You named himblack horse?”

Daerios shrugs. “Seemed the logical choice.”

I shake my head. “The sheer thickness of your skull never ceases to amaze.”

“Does this mean you’ll ride with me?”

“Absolutely. Fucking.Not.”

“Well, you cannot ridealone, I’m presuming.”

I glare at him, then pull out my phone. “I’m getting us an Uber.”

Daerios catches my wrist, and I shiver subtly at his touch. I pray he doesn’t notice. “Wait. Come on. Ubers are so categorically dull; this will be an adventure.”

“I know exactly how youradventuresusually turn out, Prince of Chaos.” I yank my wrist away. “I read all about Mykonos. I have no interest in being cursed into a green goblin.”

“Prince of Chaos.” He smirks. “I like that.” He leans closer. “How about a purple one?”

I growl, shoving Daerios aside and storming toward the stables’ exit.

“Wait, wait, wait.” He runs after me, footsteps light and creaky on wood and hay. His hand catches my wrist again. I spin to glare up at him and find his steely eyes inches from mine. “There will be no goblins. No curses at all. I promise.”