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“It’s even in the name of the type of magic I have. The magic of the ancient kings. Yet elven queens wielded this magic in the past as well.” She gritted her teeth on the words that had been boiling inside her for so long. She sheathed her swords, one after the other, with a snap. “You know the famous tale of Daesyn and Inara? It’s always held up as the prime example of a human man falling in love with an elven princess. Everyone talks about the romance of how she kept him alive with a heart bond when he was wounded in battle. What gets left out is that she had the magic of the ancient kings. She was there on the battlefield that day because she was a warrior.”

All everyone cared about was the romance. They didn’t want to hear about how the elven princess was wielding magic and killing the enemy.

“I’m just tired of being told to be less than what I am.” She sank onto the forest floor beside Merrik, tucking her knees to her chest. The heat of tears scorched at the corners of her eyes. Annoying emotions. “It isn’t like my parents ever made me feel that way growing up. No, they encouraged me to be everything I could be. And maybe that’s why it’s so frustrating now to find out the world doesn’t work that way.”

“You should not have to make yourself less than what you are.” Merrik sat up, crooking his right leg while leaving his left stretched out. His gaze dropped rather than holding hers. “You are brilliant just as you are, and you should never hold back.”

Her heart gave a flutter. He thought her brilliant. Merrik, the person who made her heart ache with longing, thought she shouldn’t hold back.

Because he was her friend. She ruthlessly squashed the flutters. He didn’t mean anything more by his words. She couldn’t let herself read anything into them.

She sighed and shook her head. “That’s just it. I’m always holding back. My magic is meant for war; only war will allow me to use my magic at its full strength.”

“You are Laesornysh.” Finally looking at her, Merrik gave a tiny shrug, his mouth tipped into a sad, weighted smile. He said it as the elven title and not a last name.

“A title I haven’t earned, and no one is giving me a chance to earn it.” She clenched and unclenched her fingers around the bolts of magic that she couldn’t fully squash.

When he spoke, it was with a weariness, as if proclaiming her doom. “You will join the war sooner or later. I fear it is too all-consuming not to draw everyone into it eventually, one way or another.”

She probably shouldn’t hold those words close, a promise of hope at the end of this frustrating boredom.

She would become a warrior before this war was over. Someday, she would fight at her dacha’s side as she had always dreamed.

For a long moment, the two of them held each other’s gazes. Adry’s breath caught as something indefinable crackled between them, and she found herself swaying closer to him.

He was so close, his chestnut hair long and silken around his shoulders, his brown eyes deep and liquid. If only she dared cross the last of that distance and kiss him.

She was leaning closer to him. Or was he leaning closer to her? Their breaths mingling. Her heart hammering in her ears.

The brush of his lips against hers was so brief—barely enough for her to register the warmth, certainly not long enough for her to close her eyes or revel in the moment—before he yanked away. His eyes widened, as a look of abject horror transformed his face from the crackling tension of a moment before.

She gaped at him. He’d kissed her. Right? She hadn’t just imagined it, had she?

He scrambled farther away from her before ducking his head, his hands shaking. “I am so sorry. I should not have done that. I did not mean…I should not…”

And now he was apologizing. Ridiculous man. She’d been leaning closer, daring him to cross that line. Hoping with everything in her that he would.

He’d done it. Merrik Loiatir—humble, self-effacing, never-putting-himself-forward-or-reaching-for-what-he-actually-wanted—had gotten up the gumption to kiss her.

And…he was still apologizing for it. If she let this go on much longer, he’d never kiss her again. And that would never do.

She crossed the distance he’d put between them, gripped the front of his shirt, and pressed her mouth back to his.

For an agonizing moment, Merrik remained as stiff and unresponsive as a tree. Then he swept her up in his arms, holding her close as he tilted his head to deepen the kiss.

Adry grinned against his mouth as she kept kissing him. Somehow, her fingers found their way into his hair, the strands just as soft and silken as she remembered from when she’d washed it.

His hands were warm and strong against her back, gathering her to him and cradling her close.

She gave herself to kissing him, trusting that he would have the sense to pull them back from crossing any boundaries the two of them wouldn’t want to break.

Sure enough, he eased the kiss after several moments, gently pulling away and murmuring, “You kissed me.”

“You kissed me first.” She found herself grinning broadly, feeling almost dizzy with the headiness swirling from her heart all the way to her toes.

“You do not see me as a brother.” His eyes searched her face, even as he still held her close.

“Definitely not.” Adry managed to disentangle her hands from his hair, but she left her arms wrapped around his neck. “I haven’t seen you as a brother for decades.”