Shock flashed across the boy’s face, and then he threw his head back and laughed, exposing a long, elegant neck faintly ringed with scars. “Me? How on earth could you mistake me for…” He looked closely at her for the first time, and recognition lit his face. “Oh, Scala’s scales. You’re her. It must be my birthday. This is going to be a riot.”

Ranka gaped, but before she could question him, the breeze vanished with the swiftness of someone pinching out a candle flame. Magic.

Every servant snapped to attention. The irritating noble boy rose with a rustle of silk.

The hair on Ranka’s arms stood on end. The air was suddenly dead, without the slightest stir of a breeze.

New scents hit her: wind and storms, metal and paper, new summer rain on old rust and well-loved books. Swirling over it all, growing stronger by the second, was the scent of fear.

Ranka turned—and met the eyes of the prince she’d come here to kill.

6

PRINCE GALEN WAS SMALL.

He was at least a head shorter than Ranka, slender, with rich brown skin, a kind face, and curly black hair cut close to his skull. Silver thread circled his cuffs and swept down his lapels, woven in the image of gusts of wind. Like the others, a mourning band gleamed on his bicep. Galen’s gaze swung over Ranka, and his smile cracked. He looked… disappointed to see her.

If Ranka hadn’t known better, she’d have thought he looked scared.

Galen shook himself and turned to the nearest servant. “Rhyla, how’s your daughter?”

“Better,” the woman breathed. “Thank you again, Your Highness. If it weren’t for you—”

Galen waved her off, his nose wrinkling as though he was embarrassed. “It’s nothing. Truly. I’m glad she’s well.” He moved down the table, greeting each servant by name, asking after family members, neighbors, and even one man’s pet cat. Ranka blinked. The Skra didn’t dare to even look Ongrum in the eye. These people met their prince’s gaze and stood with ease. Where was their respect for their leader? Where was their fear?

Galen took his seat and refused to look at her.

Ranka could only stare.

This was the boy who’d sent bounty hunters into her land. He was the Skybreaker heir, a boy with hurricanes in his blood, and he was a monster.

Wasn’t he?

Another stepped onto the veranda, and Ranka’s thoughts were torn from Galen entirely.

Princess Aramis was the same height as her brother, with a delicate, yet athletic frame and thick black curls framing her face. Deep navy silks rippled like water as she walked, blazing with the gold-threaded image of a bursting sun. The princess met Ranka’s gaze with an intensity and tucked a curl behind her ear with ink-stained fingers.