Galen approached them, an uneasy smile on his face. Ranka struggled to sit upright. She’d barely seen the prince—he never came to the sparring sessions and missed half of their meals. He stood awkwardly, fingers twitching, tiny funnels of dust racing around his ankles. Yet even now he was beautiful, limber and gleaming under the late-summer sun.

“What are you doing here?” Aramis asked, a slight edge to her voice. She angled herself between Ranka and her brother.

“I live here.” Galen’s brows knitted together. “Also, I’m bored. What are you lot even doing? Are you and Ranka finally getting along now, then?”

“No,” Ranka and Aramis said at the same time. They glared at each other.

Percy added, unhelpfully, “They are not.”

“Ah.” Galen quirked an eyebrow. “Aramis is punishing you by making you train with Percy?”

“Something like that.” Ranka looked up at Galen, still trying to wiggle feeling into her hands. “Why don’t you train with us?”

“Oh, um. I don’t really… train.”

Liar. Had she not seen him only two weeks ago, summoning gale winds with the lift of a hand? “You’ve mastered your magic, then?”

“It’s not really—”

“Galen has other priorities,” Aramis said coldly, her eyes holding a clear warning.

“Right.” Ranka looked pointedly at the drought-burned grass. Seven months without rain. The summer crops had long withered, and without a break in the weather, the fall ones would fail, too. “Been a minute without rain, hasn’t it, Galen?”

Everyone went still.

Galen recoiled, and Ranka had the odd feeling that she’d hurt him far deeper than she’d meant to.

Even Percy looked at Ranka with a flash of anger. He settled a gentle hand on Galen’s shoulder. “I promise Ranka’s utter lack of manners becomes charming eventually.”

Galen took a long breath and then plastered on a polite smile, his voice holding the barest of quivers as he angled his attention away from her, speaking to the air instead. “Well—I suppose I shouldn’t have intruded. Come on, Percy. I think we should leave Ranka and my sister to their games.”

He left and Percy followed, walking so closely to the young prince their shoulders brushed, murmuring something only for his ears, Galen’s posture slowly growing less rigid with each step.

Aramis waited until they were blurs against the grand Sunra estate before whipping around to glare at Ranka, fury vibrating in every line of her body. “What is wrong with you? You hardly know him—”

“And shouldn’t I?” Ranka snapped. “He is going to be my husband—isn’t he?”

Aramis’s mouth clicked shut.