Maybe by morning things would feel differently. He wasn’t sure exactly how he wanted them to feel. But different would definitely be better than this.

He glanced over at the boy, who gave him a grin. Aven smiled back. Indeed, he and Mara had been indebted to these people, but perhaps their deed had not gone unrewarded.

Ah, the Way of Things. Perhaps he wasn’t a total fool after all.

He gathered a few twigs from the kindling pile nearby and held them for a moment in the air as the tiniest offering. The boy watched him quizzically, but Aven did not explain.

He held them up and closed his eyes, and in his heart he whispered a prayer, Great Gods, Honored Ancestors, guide me along the path of Balance, take me toward the Way of Things, let me be the sword of righteousness. If what I long to do is truly the Way, then guide my hand, sharpen my blade, and put the wind at my back. I seek to serve you and my people.

And Mara, he thought, as he let the twigs fall into the glowing embers.

Miara awoke but didn’t open her eyes for some time. As dreams and grogginess fell away, the events of the night before slid back into focus.

By the gods. Aven was in love with her.

Suddenly, her cheeks flushed. She was a fool. It wasn’t every night that a handsome man kissed you. And she had to go and ruin it with all her qualms about helping to enslave him. And then it turned out he knew she was a mage slave anyway. Certainly, he must have guessed that was his probable fate, too.

He’d stayed anyway. He’d kissed her anyway. She’d run away. Like a coward.

Today was a new day. Today, she could walk out of the tent and kiss him on the mouth and never look back. If they got out of Mage Hall somehow, then gods be praised! And if they didn’t… she was still better off. Wasn’t she? What did she really have to lose in this situation?

Her lightness of feeling couldn’t last. She couldn’t do it. The more she knew him, the more she admired him. No, she loved him. It was beyond time to admit that. The stronger she felt, the more she didn’t want him to end up like her. Even if that meant she couldn’t be with him. Was it possible to be happy even without your freedom? She shook her head at her wishful thinking. If it were, it certainly wasn’t when the life you left behind was that of a king.

No. She had to keep her distance. She had to treat him such that if he got a second chance to run, the fool would take it.

She cracked open the flap of the tent. No one was in sight. The air was still crisp with the early morning. A few tended fires, prepared breakfasts, but mostly the camp was still hushed with sleep.

She slipped from the tent and headed toward the stream. A glance at Aven’s tent told her nothing of his whereabouts; her shoulder panged in annoyance at the thought. Stupid thing, not even smart enough to know that Aven wouldn’t run away from her if she shoved him on a boat and shipped him downriver. As if to confirm her evaluation of its stupidity, her shoulder twisted again in pain at that thought.

She headed over the hill toward the river. Maybe the cold water would clear her thoughts.

Cresting the hill, she discovered she was not alone. Dozens of tiny waves caught bits of the sunlight, creating a blinding reflection. In spite of them, she could see a figure was in the water. As she got closer, she could make out a masculine, muscled back, broad shoulders, and now-familiar light hair.

Aven.

She slowed, then clung to a tree nearby, hiding behind it. Should she turn back? She peered out, melding her visage with the tree’s to keep hidden.

Certain he couldn’t see her, she watched. He was surrounded by that nearly blinding halo of morning sunlight, splashing the water, jumping up and down to keep warm, scratching at his hair. The water sparkled like stars as it fell back to the river. She could not ignore the clear strength that ripped through his shoulders, the grace with which he moved through the water. A wave of heat shot through her. Was that embarrassment? Excitement?

This was the man that had kissed her only hours before. This was the man that had promised to follow her into darkness and back.

This was the man she’d rejected.

She remembered the day she had kidnapped him and transported him to the forest, inadvertently without his clothes. She remembered waiting for him to rouse, noticing almost against her will what fine shape he’d been in. At the time, she’d felt more intimidation and fear than admiration, but now…

He had claimed to command troops and fight with swords, and it must have been true. How else could he have gotten so strong in a tiny mountain hold? He still felt like so much of a stranger, like there was so much she didn’t know about him.

But maybe she knew plenty about him. And maybe he knew plenty about her. Maybe their lives were horrid situations that had nothing to do with who they really were.

Maybe that was how he knew he loved her in spite of not knowing what lay ahead of them, or behind.

What must he be thinking about falling in love with her? He was a prince—wasn’t he promised to someone? He was an eldest son, an heir. Certainly, he couldn’t throw his love around lightly. What was he really saying with that kiss? Just that he wanted to bed her for sport, as was the style of so many nobles? Did he want a mistress? Or was he actually saying more? That was almost unthinkable. She did not dare to even articulate that potential future, its likelihood was so distant. But he also did not seem like the kind of man to casually take a lover. Some men might have sought to distract her with the promise of love and fortune, only to escape when her trust was earned. But not Aven.

And that was not the kind of proclamation he’d made. Men didn’t tell women they just wanted to sleep with that they would follow them into any darkness and out the other side. Did they? She really was not experienced enough to know. A shiver went through her at the intensity of his words—caused by delight or fear, she wasn’t sure.

A prince could not bestow his love casually, and indeed, he hadn’t. Did he know he could be leaving his kingdom behind? Had he really thought it through? She had assumed he hadn’t, but what if he had?

He’d finished bathing and was climbing out onto the riverbank. The heat she felt rose even higher, her face flushed. Her breath was quicker than normal. His body was wet, and the sunlight shone brightly, exaggerating every curve, every droplet of water that slid down his skin toward the earth. A fine piece of breeding, that one—not at all like herself.

Should she continue to hide? She could keep herself hidden. He would go back to camp and be none the wiser of her scrutiny. It was too early for awkward conversation, and her cheeks were red, she was sure of it.