“This I know.” I hold the two sticks in one hand, the way I saw Lincoln do at the tournament. I imagine the baculum turning into a broad sword made of white fire, they become one in my palm. I change the fire-sword into a net, spear, trident, and in general, have a jolly old time.

“These things are amazing.” I jump toward him, wagging a trident at his chest. “Taste death, evil demon!”

Lincoln shoots me a sly grin, his right eyebrow arched. “Did you just ask me to ‘taste death?’”

I blush. “I might have gotten carried away.”

He grins. “No need to blush, although it looks good on you.”

Fuuuuuuck. That comment only made me blush deeper.

“Taste death.” He taps his chin in mock-contemplation. “I can work with that.” Lincoln staggers about, clutching his heart. He falls onto his back, twitches dramatically, and lays silent.

“Excellent performance, your Highness.” I picture the fire-trident disappearing and it does. Leaning over Lincoln, I set the silver sticks onto his stomach. Light reflects off the intricate runes carved into the surface. “Thanks.”

He looks at me out of his right eye. “You’re welcome.” The Prince sits up, rubbing his chin. “How’d you do that? Only Rixa can use baculum.”

I shrug. “I don’t know. Did you ever test these with quasis? Maybe we’ve always been able to.”

He nods slowly. “Sure, maybe.”

I sit down beside him, the dry grass scratching against my hands. We don’t speak for a time. Energy crackles around us. One thought keeps running through my mind: I reached my left hand out only a few inches, I could touch his thigh. My fingers twitch anxiously.

Whoa, there. Find something else to do with your hands, Myla. I pull up a fat, yellow blade of grass. Holding it straight between my thumbs, I blow through my palms. The blade lets off a blast as a make-shift trumpet.

Lincoln stares at my hands for a moment. After that, his gaze shifts to me. His look is heavy with desire, and my pulse goes through the roof. The Prince rounds his mouth into a sly grin, and I have the sinking feeling he knows exactly why I made a pretend trumpet: so I wouldn’t reach out and touch him. I decide my best move is to play it casual. I let out another blast from my make-shift trumpet.

Lincoln pulls up his own blade of grass. “I didn’t know grass could do that.”

I wink. “You don’t know a lot of things.” This is getting too intense, so I lean back on the grass and stare at the cloudy sky. The extra distance between us feels better. Another change of subject could help, too. “So, what are you doing tonight?”

Lincoln lays down beside me, staring up at the same overcast view. There goes my safe zone of extra space. My fingers start twitching again.