The presence of one suitor summoned the others. Bato Tanglaw strolled over to the fountain, a bandage pressed to the side of his face. He’d been wounded at Luntok’s hand, which made Laya brighten in glee.

“Is he bothering you, Dayang?” Bato asked, eyeing the other boy with disdain.

Waran’s kind face contorted into a frown. Laya spoke for him. “No, Bato. No one is bothering me.”

Long before the tournament, Bato saw himself as Luntok’s rival. Whenever Bato appeared, Luntok was never far behind. As expected, the Kulaw boy appeared then in a bolt of scarlet, the hornbill hilt of his sword peeking over his belt. Laya met his gaze as he, too, sauntered over to the fountain. “La⁠—Dayang,” he called, catching himself before he lapsed into familiarity.

“Luntok,” she said breezily, “how wonderful of you to join us.”

He planted himself at Laya’s other side on the edge of the fountain, his shoulder brushing against hers. Boldly, he reached over, a honey-colored narra bud between his fingers. “May I?”

Demurely, Laya nodded and leaned in so he could tuck the flower behind her ear. She held her breath, giddy at their sudden closeness. For a brief moment, his fingers trailed from her ear, grazing the underside of her chin. The touch was featherlight, nothing like the kiss they’d stolen after the parade the previous night. Her skin grew hot when she thought about it.

With a sharp breath, she drew back against the fountain, lest the others see the fool Luntok made of her.

“Kulaw,” Bato barked, displeased with the onslaught of competition. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

Luntok glanced at Laya, smirking, before turning to Bato. “The tournament doesn’t resume until sundown⁠—ah, but you were eliminated in the previous round, weren’t you?”

“Come now, you mustn’t gloat,” Laya said, but her reprimand was without teeth. Luntok smiled over at her, shoulders shaking with a suppressed chuckle.

Bato scowled. “You may have defeated me, but I don’t envy you. Utu Luma will slice you to ribbons.”

“I have nothing to fear from Utu Luma,” he said, his chest puffing up with all the confidence he had yet to earn.

Bato opened his mouth to retort when Bulan rushed over. His posture shifted, and he greeted the other princess warmly. “Good afternoon, Dayang!”

Laya resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Bato had his sights set on Hara Duja’s heir, but he couldn’t resist courting her eldest daughter as well.

“How lovely to see you,” he added, and Laya heard an echo of his father’s groveling in his tone. She wasn’t surprised to find him pursuing her sister. Bulan did not possess the power of Mulayri, but perhaps Bato thought her Gatdula blood might revive the Tanglaws’ ancient ability to sketch out omens in molten candlewax or divine the future from runny egg yolks⁠—or whatever it was his family believed.