Page 79 of Prince of the Sun

The King steeples his fingers, looking out at the park. Down the path, a pair of squirrels race each other up a tree. “You make an excellent point. How can you trust the word of a species that has done nothing but harm your family and take up space in your realm? I wouldn’t trust me, either. However.” He pushes himself up out of the throne and descends the three stone steps into the grass. I take a step backward, then curse myself for showing my fear. “From what I’ve gathered, you’ve grown rather fond of our kind.” He glances at Daerios, and every organ in my body wants to fall out at once.

“If there was ever any fondness where your kind is concerned,” I grit out, “it vanished the moment I discovered your son’s true intentions.”

“Ah, but did it?” Varith draws closer, gathering his cloak around his ankles. “Your hatred for the elves runs deep, but you clearly found it in your heart to empathize with our plight if you managed to grow close to Daerios.”

“I did,” I say, “and it was the biggest mistake I’ve ever made.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I see the prince jerk backward, as if I threw stones at his head rather than words.

“Be that as it may.” King Varith paces to the end of the lawn, speaks with his face turned away from me. “You strike me as a vengeful woman, Quinn. Single-minded in your pursuit of your brother. Dedicated to fostering a deep, black hatred of our kind.”He turns, hands clasped behind his back. “You must want us off Earth quite badly. And you can make that happen.” He raises an eyebrow. “I meant what I said when I first arrived here: once we get what we want, we’ll go.”

“Even if I help you dispel the shadows from Elaërion, how can I know the elves will actually leave Earth?” I don’t even attempt to keep the distaste from my voice. “Your kind has grown quitecomfortablehere.”

“Some of us have, perhaps. The younger elves, who have spent the majority of their lives in this realm and know nothing else. Or the foolish ones, who have come to believe that the carnal delights of Earth could somehow surpass the serene beauty of our homeland.” Here, the king glances pointedly at his son. Daerios doesn’t react, doesn’t even look at his father, but I see the knuckles turn white around his bow.

“But most of us long to return home,” the king continues, walking back over to stand in front of his throne. “To the place we grew up, had families, raised children. The place we fought tooth and nail for during the Elemental Wars. The place I kept at absolute peace for almost a thousand years thereafter.” For a moment, his eyes drift upward, voice softening. “The resting place of my beloved wife.”

I glance at Daerios. His eyes are still pointedly on the ground.

The King clears his throat, looking back at me. “Elaërion is our home, Ms. Kallister, and I can assure you, when the time comes, even if a few stragglers remain here, the majority of us will go.” He pauses. “And anyone who knows what’s best for them will come with us.”

There’s a weight to his final words, an undercurrent that makes me think that, even though he’s looking in my direction, they aren’t intended for me.

But his next ones are. “If you agree to this deal,” he says, taking a step closer to me, “you will get everything you everwanted: your brother’s safety, and for the elves to leave Earth forever.”

Except I’ll be dead.

But does that really matter, at the end of the day? I cannot reach Elaërion or rescue Michael without the help of the elves; they’re his only chance at survival. If I give myself up, Michael will get to come home. Everything I’ve worked for floats before me. All I have to do is take it. All I have to give up is my life.

And could I really live out the rest of it knowing that I left Michael to suffer?

I already know the answer to that. No. No, I couldn’t.

“I’ll do it,” I say before I can stop myself.

The King lights up. “Excellent!” he says, sweeping over and laying a delicate hand on my shoulder. “You are doing a great service to our people, Quinn Kallister. One day, they will write songs about you.”

“Charming,” I mutter.

It’s only then that I allow myself to look over at Daerios. To gauge his reaction. I expect joy, or at least smug satisfaction.

But when I meet his gaze, I see nothing but anguish.

After our meeting, I’m escorted to Sheep’s Meadow, where an elaborate tent camp has been set up to accommodate the royal convoy. The tents are made of sturdy white canvas woven with yellow and grey thread—the colors of the Sun Elves and the royal family. It takes up almost the entire meadow. A city within a city.

As soon as I set foot inside, I forget I’m in Manhattan. Blankets and colorful tunics hang from clotheslines. Enoughweapons to arm a sizeable force lean against the outside of tents. Somewhere, a fire burns, layering everything with the scent of smoke and charred vegetables. I gaze around at it all, dumbstruck, as Râd pushes me forward, guiding me through the maze of pathways.

We stop outside a tent threaded with lime green sunflowers. Râd lifts the flap and gestures inside. “After you.”

I duck my head and blink in the sudden dimness. My tent is surprisingly spacious and comfortable. Thick carpet lines the floor. Colorful cushions and blankets form cozy little mounds throughout the space, books stacked beside them. Light green fire burns at the center. I wave my hand near the flames and find that they emit no heat. Magic, then.

By all counts, it’s a rather luxurious place to curl up before you die.

After an hour, Daerios doesn’t show. Two, and he doesn’t show. Afternoon fades into evening, and still he stays away.

Fucking coward. I pick up a book from one of the stacks and chuck it at the tent wall.

At some point, an elf soldier I don’t recognize drops off a tray of food. It’s a mouthwatering selection, probably straight from the king’s personal chef: venison, roasted potatoes, charred vegetables sprinkled with some fragrant herb. I know it won’t be poisoned, because why would they kill me now, when my sacrifice on Elaërion is what they so desperately need? Plus, it’s been hours since I last ate. Even if I’m not hungry, Ishouldpick that plate clean. I know what happens when I let myself skip onemeal. One turns into two, which turns into three, and soon I’m back in the cycle of restriction. Again.