girl had decided to willingly accompany someone she expected to deliver great pain, just to prove her remorse. That wasn’t something Leonora would do.
This had to be a trick, then. She planned to confuse and manipulate me, but she wouldn’t succeed.
I’d rather die than lose to her again.
Sympathy wasn’t allowed. Determined, I pulled a thin rope from my pocket. With a reincarnate of Leonora, one must always be prepared. I bound her wrists together. Delicate wrists. Fragile.
Concern wasn’t allowed.
“You’re restraining me?” she squeaked.
“Most people manifest magic at the age of sixteen. You wielded it expertly at fourteen. You’ve even had three years to practice.” The power at her disposal... “While we’re together, I will take every precaution to ensure you cannot summon your flames.”
“I don’t know how I started the fires, okay? I have no magic. My father never paid a witch to infuse me with power.”
The fires, plural. How many had she set over the years? “I watched you do it. You held out your hands, flames flickering from your fingertips, a ball of fire forming.”
Her eyes widened. “An illusion, perhaps, cast by the real fire starter,” she replied, her voice frayed at the edges. “There could have been a witch or warlock present. Actually, there was a warlock present. Milo.”
“What would be his motivation for burning an entire section of the royal Fleuridian garden, hmm? Try again.” I forced her bound arms around my neck, cradling her against me. Mistake. Soft curves molded to my harder body, sending streams of heat through me.
It was a sensation I feared I would forever crave.
Scowling, I flared my wings.
“You’re going to fly me?” Euphoria tinged her voice, her features brightening. Rather than fight me, she held on tighter. “What if I inadvertently touch your wings?”
I will love it, and hate myself. Remaining silent, I leaped into the air. The wind whipped through her hair, the strands blustering around my face.
As she peered down, awe filled her emerald eyes.
Very well. This would be the last time I took her to the sky.
“I’ve always wondered what the world looked like from up here.” With a breathy sigh, she rested her head on my shoulder, as if she couldn’t help but share the moment with me, despite our mutual dislike. “It’s so beautiful, isn’t it?”
I quickened my pace, wings flapping faster, before I broke down and started performing tricks, just to hear any other noises she might make.
Halfway down the mountain, the battlegrounds appeared. Combatants and their entourages crowded the area, many in the process of setting up their tents. Others were busy training. Multiple firepits blazed, the scent of roasting meat sailing on a cool breeze.
Ashleigh’s stomach rumbled. I stiffened. How long since she’d last eaten?
Never mind. The answer didn’t matter. “Over a hundred warriors signed up to compete for your stepsister’s hand. She is greatly desired. Tales of her beauty abound.” But she is not half as stunning as you. And really, few of the fighters wanted the princess for her pretty face. They wanted her magical ability: the golden touch.
“I’m sure she’s nice,” Ashleigh said, her eyes darting sharply. “I’ve always wanted a sister.”
An attempt at innocence, while her tone dripped with disdain? I snorted. “I saw the way you looked at her. You’re jealous of her.” Another trait of Leonora’s; she’d been envious of everyone, wanting what they had. “Admit it.”
“I...you...what I feel for her is none of your concern.”
Having gotten the reaction I wanted, I changed the subject. “You’ll be pleased to know my tent is already set up.” I gestured to the largest one, currently surrounded by a dozen avian warriors. Once I’d agreed to become king upon the tournament’s end, my mother had remembered my existence and sent her personal guards to oversee my protection.
As usual, the soldiers regarded me warily. They didn’t know why I’d been exiled from the Avian Mountains, or that an oracle had visited our palace, or that she’d told my parents I would rule the avian before my twentieth year, that I was a reincarnate of Craven the Destroyer, the most vile avian ever to live, seconded only by Tyron, and that I would wed a reincarnate of Leonora the Burner of Worlds, the ruin of our people.
Back then, I’d had none of Craven’s memories. And, because reincarnation required vast amounts of magic not even Leonora possessed, I’d dismissed the oracle’s claim. My parents had not. They had believed her, and they had been horrified.
Hoping to avoid a third replay of the