He tried to distance himself from Raisa. He told himself she was just another blueblood liar who’d use him and discard him; who would ride right over the underclass when they got in her way. Pining after a princess, as Cat called it, was the road to humiliation. He’d never be more to her than an interesting diversion.

But the reality of her kept getting in his way.

Twice now, he’d nearly lost her for keeps. Once in Marisa Pines Pass, and once in the attack just outside the palace gates. If not for Dancer’s armor, she’d be dead or badly injured.

He revisited the memory of their entrance into the city again and again—the crushing pain, the vacancy where his heart used to be, the realization that he had failed once again to protect someone he loved.

It was like poking at a deep bruise, verifying that it had not yet healed, reminding himself of his vulnerability.

Of hers.

And so he’d set himself this impossible task.

He could protect himself—and if he failed, well, he’d been ready to pay the personal price for failure all his life. But how could he keep Raisa alive when so many enemies seemed bent on killing her? How could he become powerful enough to make a claim on her—to make her take him seriously as a suitor? How could he convince her to see him as a peer—someone who could partner with her in every way?

And how could he do all that without putting her in even more danger? Willo’s warnings echoed in his ears.

He didn’t yet know the answers, but he knew this—he wouldn’t put her at risk by allowing a romance to blossom between them until he was in a position to defend it.

Raisa was brilliantly savvy about some things, but she’d never truly understood how it was between bluebloods and streetrunners. She’d never had to. She didn’t seem to realize that any hint of romance between them would bring both the clans and wizards down on them.

He’d have known the rules on his old turf. Here, following his instincts would get them both killed.

If you don’t know where you’re going, you’ll never get there, Jemson used to say. At least now, Han knew where he was going, and who with. He’d just have to find his own path.

Raisa’s first “tutoring session” had not gone well. The tension was so thick you could’ve spread it on bread and called it a meal, as Mam would say. Raisa was constantly on the move, pacing back and forth and talking and waving her hands like she could fill up the chasm between them all on her own.