Page 8 of Prince of the Sun

While he might be the angriest of the princes, the most prone to violence, he’s also the most careless. The least invested in their “cause.” Rather than serenity and secrecy, he and his best friend enjoy public mayhem. They’re twin pieces of flint, knife-sharp points of obsidian tossing sparks on the same fire. Spreading it thicker, egging it higher. The fire is chaos. Drama. Loud parties, lewd jokes, drunken barfights.

I came to Harvard to slip through the cracks Daerios would inevitably leave behind.

I’m not leaving until I find them.

At the end of the lecture, the humans in the lecture hall stay seated. We always allow the elves to file out before us. Normally, Daerios and Berendir beeline for the door, having paid very little attention in the first place. This time, they linger.

I stiffen in my chair. Oh, sweet hell. They can’t mean to—

But my luck has well and truly run out, because as soon as Sever 214 clears of every other set of pointy ears, the prince turns around. His smile stretches wide as he meets my eyes.

I straighten in my chair. Lift my chin.

I will not look afraid.

I tear my eyes away from the prince’s and start loading my textbooks into my backpack. It takes every ounce of concentration to keep my hands from shaking.

I rise from my seat and start down the aisle. I brush past Daerios and Berendir, making sure not to lock eyes with either one. I keep walking, out the classroom door and into the hallway.Don’t say anything. Please don’t say any—

“Quinn!”

Damn it.

I come to a stop in front of a big, cheery corkboard on the wall. The board advertises innocuous human events and activities—Quentin Tarantino Movie Night! Freshman Formal! Tryout for the CALLBACKS: an a capella group!

I turn.

The prince and his best friend swish into the hallway, cloaks brushing along the floor tiles. They’re both dressed in Imperial Grey, the official color of High Elf royalty. With dark brown archer boots and bows slung over their shoulders instead of backpacks, the elves look ready to slay an army of dragons.

I am suddenly all too aware of the high-waisted jeans and boring white crop top I’m wearing.

I roll back my shoulders, pretending none of these discrepancies bother me. “Yes?”

Berendir breaks out into a smile. He glances over at Daerios. Clearly, it’s the prince who has something to say. But for some reason, rather than just saying it, he’s staring at me like I have twelve heads. Berendir nudges him.

Daerios straightens. Clears his throat. “I wish to speak with you.”

“And you need the help of your butt buddy to do so?”

“What’s a butt buddy?” asks Berendir. “I want one.”

I wave a hand. “Human expression. What I meant was—do you really require Berendir’s assistance to speak with me?”

“Ah!” Berendir claps. “The human knows my name.”

I roll my eyes. “Everyone in North America knows your name.”

“Oh? And what about Europe?”

“Nå afarreth.”Don’t flatter yourself.

His eyes widen, the way they did when I first approached them in the library. “Daer, I think I like this little human ofyours.”

Oh. That does it. “Excuse me?” I turn to glare at the prince. “Human ofyours?”

“Oh, dear.” Berendir presses his fingers to his lips.

“I belong tono one. Do you understand me?” I feel the heat rising up my neck, the hatred I so carefully keep quiet now climbing into the driver’s seat. “And while you two might be used to every other human trembling at your knees because you’re both High Whatever, I couldn’t give less of a shit. So don’t expect me to grovel just because you’vedeignedto speak to me.”