Amon had been the conduit through which the skills he learned from his father and older cousins and on the streets of Fellsmarch were passed to Raisa. They’d sparred with wooden training swords. He showed her how to throw a knife and hone a real blade. When Raisa was twelve, he’d taught her how to disable an opponent in a street fight as soon as he learned it himself.

Raisa had her own talents to contribute to their childhood enterprises. People naturally deferred to her lineage, granting her an authority she didn’t necessarily have. With Raisa to front them, they could get away with anything.

Of course we’re allowed to ride out alone, she’d tell the stableman with breezy confidence. Saddle up Devilspawn and Thunderheart. Yes, those two. Yes, the queen approves. Do you really want to bother her?

Of course Amon is invited to the party/allowed to help himself in the pantry/allowed to choose weapons from the royal armory/can ride any horse he wants.

They were lucky they’d survived to their naming. But they’d had fun.

Then Amon had turned thirteen, the age when warrior cadets were named and sent to Wien House, the military academy at Oden’s Ford. Raisa had gone to Demonai Camp, to be fostered with her father’s family. They’d been apart more than three years.

Amon had returned to Fellsmarch at seventeen, tall, lean, and handsome, an intriguing combination of worldly soldier and familiar friend. Now Raisa wanted him to teach her different things, or to learn them along with her, but he was being uncooperative. A few tantalizing kisses—that was all they’d had. At first he’d seemed interested, but now…

There was no chance of a marriage between them. Her mother had made it clear that she disapproved of a dalliance with an officer of the Guard. Was that why Raisa was so fixed on him? Or was it because she was used to getting what she wanted?

That couldn’t be it. The threat of a forced marriage to a wizard had sent her into exile. A marriage that violated the Nǽming—the agreement that had ended the wars between wizards and clans. Some days it seemed that no one got less of what they wanted than the princess heir of the Fells.

Still, Raisa’s heart beat faster whenever she got close to Amon Byrne. She noticed everything about him—the way he moved, the way he sat on a horse, the way he tilted his head and chewed on his lower lip when working a problem, the way he rubbed his stubbled chin at the end of the day.

Whenever he turned those gray eyes on her, the blood rushed madly around her body, heating every part of her…when she wasn’t fighting with him. They did a lot of that, lately. Sometimes it seemed he provoked her on purpose.