Page 67 of Prince of the Sun

What am I doing here? When I first marched up to Daerios in the library, it was only with the intention of taking a book from him. Not his trust. Not his secrets. But when I saw my chance to finally learn the information that could lead to my brother—and to revenge—I took it without a second thought. Because I hated the elves. Their bullying, their pretentiousness, their separatism. And their lies. More than anything, I hated their lies. That their King stared humans in the face and promised none of them would get hurt.

And if the wound that reopened when I pictured those elves in the Lomeli’s parking lot is any indication, that hatred still burns within me. Deeply. My purpose is still clear. And yet I’m here, on a cozy couch, holding a glass of red wine, dozens of miles from Harvard’s campus, with an elf.

With an elf to whom I’m so drawn it hurts.

“Quinn?”

I shake my head. I won’t look at him. I can’t.

“Quinn, are you crying?”

I wipe a palm across my face. To my shock, when it comes away, it’s wet.

“Quinn, what happened? Was it something I said?”

I turn back to him, then. His eyes are so wide, so afraid, itmakes my stomach twist. “No.” I choke out. “No, it wasn’t you. I don’t… I don’t even know why I’m crying.”

“Come here.” He draws open his blanket and pulls me underneath, wrapping both arms around my body. I nestle closer, wet cheek pressed to the soft cotton on his chest. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I’m sorry for what happened to your father.”

And he is. He is sorry. Because, despite what I’ve tried so hard to believe, despite all the fury I’ve harbored for him and his family, Daerios had nothing to do with my father’s murder. Nothing to do with my brother’s disappearance. I’ve hated him for a crime he didn’t commit.

Not only did he not commit the crime, I realize—he could help me solve it. He could. If it trulywasShadow Elves who killed my father and took my brother, Daerios and I have far more than just this strange connection between us.

We have a common enemy.

The realization settles around me like the warm length of his arms. I twist my neck around to look up at him. His eyes are warm, clear, free of the distrust I found there earlier. I want to tell him. To give him the full story. To ask for his help. But to do so would shatter this moment of quiet. Would crumble the mountain of pressure building at the base of my gut.

It’s then that the words pass through my head for the first time. They drift into my consciousness like petals floating downstream—sudden, bright, unbidden and unwanted, but as inevitable as the current that pulls them.

I think I’m falling for him.

As soon as I think the words, I squeeze my eyes shut, as if that will block them out. My breaths quicken. Become shallow.No. No,no. That wasn’t real. That was a moment of lunacy. A breach in reality. That cannotpossiblybe true.

“Quinn?” Daerios asks.

My eyes pop open. “Bed time!” I untangle from his limbs, hopping up onto the lush carpet. I glance about the cabin, ready to say we need to rest up before our ride home tomorrow morning. After a frenzied heartbeat, my eyes settle on the loft.

Which is the moment I realize there’s only one bed.

“It’s yours,” Daerios says before I can panic. “I’ll sleep on the couch.”

“No.” I snap to look at him. “This is your cabin.”

“Exactly. You are my guest; you get the bed.”

“But the couch—”

“Is more than big enough for me. Go, Quinn. You should rest.”

I bite my lip, looking up the steps at the generous, pillow-covered bed at the top of the cabin. Itdoeslook delicious. It takes up nearly the entire width of the loft, a triangle of windows set behind it. It’s huge, really.

I inhale.

I’m going to regret this.

“We’re adults,” I say. “That bed is more than big enough for the both of us, and I’m sure we’re capable of keeping our hands to ourselves.”

Daerios raises an eyebrow. “You’re certain?”