When Kelen and Belara finally pulled away from their long kiss, the air in the room crackled and shimmered. The princess stepped back and, almost instinctively, glanced toward the door.

  “Are you leaving already?” Kelen asked, trying to mask the tremor of fear in his voice.

  “Not exactly... I just think it’s a shame to waste the evening in this dull, stuffy chamber when it’s so lovely outside.”

  “Then let’s go for a walk,” he said.

  “Yes. Let’s.”

  They didn’t head anywhere in particular—just side by side, in silence. Their fingers brushed now and then. The air outside smelled of evening, sweet and quiet. Neither of them spoke; their thoughts still lingered on the kiss.

  When they left the prince’s quarters, Kelen offered her his arm. Belara hesitated, remembering Jhalen’s lessons:“Offering your arm is appropriate in public, Princess, but in private it might carry a... different meaning. Always mind who’s around.”

  So what,she thought.To hell with etiquette.She slipped her hand through Kelen’s arm.

  If she had known Prince Qelmar was watching from afar, she might have thought twice.

  “I think I see a small forest over there,” Kelen said, pointing at the faint silhouettes of trees rising from the darkness.

  “That’s the Bird Forest.”

  “Chytra velmora? Or other birds too?”

  “Only chytra. Come on—I’ll show you my favorites.”

  Their steps led them to the forest’s edge, where lanterns lined the path between the trees.

  “Look,” Belara said, pointing at a chytra perched near the entrance. Its body was a vivid green, but the rest of its feathers were milky white. “That’s Kebo, a female.”

  The parrot turned at the sound of its name and flapped its wings twice. Then, with a pause between syllables, it clearly said, “Be-la-ra.”

  “Nice to see you, Kebo. This is Prince Kelen.”

  Kebo hopped down to a lower branch, closer to them.

  “I’ve always been fascinated by how well they understand human speech,” Kelen said, honestly impressed.

  “Oh, they really do,” Belara smiled. “And Kebo isn’t even one of the clever ones. She’s pretty average.”

  “Come on, Kebo. Jump on my hand—I want to pet you,” Belara said, holding out her arm. The bird didn’t hesitate; with a single push and flap, she crossed the space and landed gracefully on Belara’s hand.

  “Pretty girl,” Kelen said—clearly not meaning the princess.

  Belara, in a playful mood, seized the moment.

  “When you say ‘pretty girl,’” she asked with a mischievous smile, “do you mean me... or her?”

  Kelen froze. A flush crept up his cheeks. For a moment, he had no idea what to say. Then, finally, he recovered:

  “Both of you are pretty girls.”

  “Did you hear that, Kebo?” Belara turned to the parrot perched on her arm. “We’re both pretty girls.”

  Kelen wisely stayed silent.

  “Kebo, where’s Bala? Go bring your husband, will you?”

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  Kebo tilted her head, blinked, and croaked, “Bala... Bala...” Then she took off and disappeared among the trees.

  “How old is Kebo?”

  “She’s turning twenty. And she’s been with Bala her whole life.”

  She paused suddenly, listening. “There—she’s coming.”

  And indeed, from the dark canopy, Kebo appeared again—with a bright orange male right behind her. But there was a third bird, too.

  “Oh!” Belara exclaimed in delight. “That’s Bibi—their daughter!”

  She stretched out both arms, and Kebo and Bala landed on them. Kelen raised his right arm, and Bibi chose it as her perch. She had inherited both her parents’ colors: green from Kebo and orange from Bala, though the pattern was reversed—her body and head were green, but her wings and tail glowed orange.

  “Too bad Kebo didn’t pass down her white feathers,” Kelen observed with an expert tone. “Looks like the green gene dominates.”

  “I don’t mind,” Belara said with a shrug. “I actually prefer the brighter ones. Black, gray, brown, white... they’re all so boring.”

  “You’re right. The chytra aren’t interesting just because of their colors.”

  Belara was about to answer when a suddenwhooshcut through the night. Kelen turned just in time to see a black-and-violet chytra flying straight at him. Startled, he jumped aside—but his foot caught on a root. He stumbled, felt a sharp sting in his ankle, and cried out in pain before crashing onto his back.

  Bibi, alarmed, took off and landed on a nearby branch.

  “Since when do we have a violet-and-black one?” Belara asked, frowning as the unknown chytra landed nearby.

  “She’s not from here?” Kelen asked, trying to get up—but as soon as he put weight on his left foot, he collapsed again with a pained groan.

  “Kelen! Are you all right?” Belara rushed to him, fear and panic clear in her voice. The two birds on her shoulders flew off as she knelt beside him.

  “What happened?”

  “Just a twisted ankle,” Kelen muttered, probing it with his hand.

  “Can you walk?”

  “Give me a second. And maybe tell me whether that purple-black idiot who flies like a drunk is one of yours.”

  “He’s not. He’s from the Tassasian court,” came a voice from the trees.

  Qelmar stepped out of the shadows.

  “So this is your doing!” Kelen snapped.

  “Whoa, easy there,” Qelmar smirked. “It’s not my fault you’re clumsy enough to lose a duel with a bird.”

  Belara moved between them. “What are you even doing here?”

  “Kale brought me a message from home—but it was to be delivered only upon hearing the password. I had to come in person.”

  “Yeah, right,” Kelen muttered from the ground.

  Qelmar grinned. “Coincidences can be amusing. This one, however, is not.”

  He pulled out an envelope and tapped the wax seal with his finger.

  “It really is the Tassasian crest,” Belara confirmed. “Can you stand now, Kelen?”

  “I can,” he hissed—and promptly failed, landing back on the ground.

  “Since when are you two on such familiar terms?” Qelmar sneered. “What happened toPrince KelenandPrincess Belara?” The flame of jealousy flickered in his eyes.

  Before Belara could answer, Kelen snapped, “None of your business. This is between Belara and me. Mind your own affairs, Qelmar.”

  Tassas’s prince’s eyes blazed. “So much for fairness in this tournament. Seems the favorite’s already been chosen.”

  Belara met his gaze coolly. “This has nothing to do with tournament rules. And if you keep poking at it—”

  “What?” he cut her off.

  “Then I’ll invoke the First Rule of the Tournament!” she barked. “The princess is always right and may do whatever she pleases. Don’t like it? There’s a ship in the harbor waiting to take you home.”

  She stood tall, fists clenched, eyes burning. Silence fell. Only the rustle of wings and leaves filled the dark.

  “I’m not dropping out of the tournament,” Kelen said from the ground. “I’ve got a challenge tomorrow.”

  “Can you even walk?” Belara asked, her voice softening slightly.

  “I think so.”

  “Then prove it. Ten steps to that tree.”

  She saw right through his bravado and needed only a reason to talk him out of it.

  He stood up with effort, took two steps—and crumpled again.

  “You’re not going anywhere,” Belara said firmly.

  “Belara—”

  “Enough. I’m invoking the First Rule. Your task is postponed. You can’t go, and you know it. Once you’ve healed, you’ll continue. Not before.”

  “If I don’t go, I’ll look like a coward,” Kelen muttered.Damn bird. Why now of all times?

  “Malgorn will protest that it breaks the fairness of the Tal Namaréa tournament,” Qelmar said smugly.

  Belara turned to him, eyes sharp as knives. “Malgorn, for all his rough edges, has more honor in him than you ever will. He’d insist Kelen wait until he’s fit.”

  Silence again. The dim light of lanterns barely reached their faces.

  “I have a request, Prince Qelmar,” Belara said finally, her tone calm but firm.

  “Anything, Princess,” Qelmar replied, a pleased smirk spreading—until her next words froze it on his face.

  “Carry him to the courtyard.”

  “I’mnotclimbing on his back,” Kelen said at once.

  Qelmar blinked, sighed, and dropped his shoulders. The young woman had outplayed him. “Stop whining and get on. Let’s get this over with.”

  “I can walk!”

  “Sure. But it’s a long way, and I don’t have all night. Qelmar will be delighted to accompany me,” Belara said pointedly.

  Play the hero all you want,Qelmar thought bitterly,but you’re still the one limping.

  “Fine,” Kelen said. He clearly wasn’t about to leave the princess alone with Qelmar—not after how close they’d just been.

  With an exaggerated sigh, Qelmar crouched so Kelen could climb onto his back. And so the three of them set off toward the palace of Ghurmace, beneath the quiet glow of lanterns.

  As they moved through the night, one thought echoed in Kelen’s mind—

  One misstep, and I’ve managed to throw the entire tournament off balance.