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Grabbing onto whatever I can hold, I stop my body a foot before the edge of the cliff. Fire rushes up my shoulder; a quick glance shows my sweater is shredded, furrows dug into my skin. Blood darkens the blue sleeve, turning it a soft purple.
“Run,” the prince orders. He stands between the chimera and me, one hand held up like a lion tamer. “Summer, get out of here.”
Ignoring him, I search for the flute. It must have rolled over the side of the cliff, and I find it on a ledge three feet down. Without hesitation, I leap below to grab it.
Don’t look down don’t look down . . .
Once the flute is safely in my hands, I glue myself to the side of the cliff. Rocks dislodged by my boots clatter ten stories below. Nausea clenches my stomach, my hands sweaty and clammy as I drag myself back up the cliff. Thankfully, adrenaline numbs the pain in my shoulder.
At the sight of me, surprise flickers across the prince’s face. The chimera must notice the prince’s focus shift, and he lunges.
A scream sparks in my chest. I shove the flute into my mouth and blow. The first two times nothing happens. Finger holes! Hands shaking, I adjust my sweat-slick grip so my fingers cover the holes and try again.
The moment I blow into the instrument, a sound fills the air. The most angelic, comforting tune I’ve ever heard. I almost stop, sure there’s no way my lips are making something so enchanting. The lion’s body grows rigid and then, slowly, sluggishly, he sits back on his hindquarters.
His bright honey-gold eyes are half-slits, a strange green glow emanating from them. Even though I know lions can’t smile, his feline lips are curved upward, his floppy pink tongue lolling to the side.
It’s working!
I draw closer as the prince glides around to his hind end. The raverous snake tail slides back and forth on the ground, but it too seems lulled by the music.
Drawing the vial out, he carefully secures the snake by its neck. The snake hisses, he slides the vial beneath its curved fang, and it’s done.
When he joins me, I notice the claw marks across his chest where the beast raked him. I try not to stare at the metallic silver blood dripping from his wounds. The sight nearly makes me stop playing the flute, but I keep my breaths coming despite my shock. I open my eyes again, the prince sits beside me, his knees splayed wide. He’s wearing ridiculous riding pants with the leather cut-outs for the knee.
“What’s wrong with your rock?” I ask.
He backhands a mosquito near the pointed tip of his ear. “I’m hoping these bloodsucking bastards will notice you and leave me alone.”
A laugh spills from my lips. His discomfort here gives me great pleasure, and I don’t bother hiding it.
His eyes narrow. “This game has gone on long enough, Princess. What are we doing here?”
“Enjoying the sun.” I grin wide as I say this; I’m pretty sure he hates the sun. “Also, I hate that nickname.”
One side of his lips quirk up. “The nickname stays.” He leans close, his arm brushing mine, and peers into my eyes. “So, Princess, what’s to stop me from glamouring you into telling me this secret plan of yours?”
“What’s to stop you from glamouring me into doing a lot of things?” Holy crap, why does that sound so dirty?
He settles his hands on his splayed knees and glares at the forest below. “Fine. We’ll stay here and fail. It’s not like my father expects me to win the cup anyway.”
There’s something in his voice that gives me pause. My heart skips a beat. Never once has he mentioned his father in any of our stilted, two word conversations. Curious, I try to get more out of him. Carefully, of course.
“He doesn’t care how you do at the academy?” I ask.
“Oh, he cares. But only when it comes to certain areas.”
“The combat side?”
His razor-edged jaw goes taut. “Anything that requires the use of power to win, I had better win.”
“Like the Wild Hunt?” I say, referring to the end of year test. We’ve just started the training and everyone is freaking out about it.
He peers into the horizon. “Exactly.”
“And if you don’t win?” I ask.
“That never happens.”
