The Raven and the Dove (The Raven and the Dove #1) - Kaitlyn Davis Page 0,58

back between each release to increase the difficulty of the shot.

To no one’s surprise, the two hummingbird princes flew circles around the other boys in the speed races, but the raven hadn’t been far behind. When they’d placed obstacles on the course, introducing the element of agility, Lysander had gained even more ground, wings shifting swiftly to dodge, dip, and dive as he flew, reminding her of his fight against the dragon and how deftly he’d moved.

While the rest of them had been breathing heavily during the endurance test, straining to hover in the air as weights were incrementally dropped into a bag between their hands, he seemed unbothered. Lyana secretly wondered if he was cheating a little bit, sending some healing magic into his sore muscles to keep them steady while everyone else’s strength sapped away, but she kept her lips sealed. In fact, she smiled when the last holdout—the owl prince with his expansive wings and lifelong practice of shuffling heaps of books from room to room—dropped from the sky, proclaiming Lysander the male victor.

Some of the kings and queens frowned.

Some widened their eyes curiously.

The princesses glanced at him with a new sparkle of interest. A possessive knot formed at the pit of Lyana’s stomach, coiling more and more tightly with each not-so-low whisper from the girls around her. She kept her gaze resolutely on the center of the arena as the guards prepared for the next trial, the one she’d been eagerly awaiting—dagger throwing.

The stands in the outskirts of the room grew quiet as large slingshots were wheeled around the ovular area, creaking slightly over the stone floor. There were eight daises—one for each royal family, decorated in their colors, and one for the committee, two elected officials from each house acting as impartial judges. Between the platforms there were rows of seats, filled with as many doves and visitors as could fit. The gentle hum of voices carried through the silence. In the background, the constant rustle of feathers could be heard as the people wriggled, searching for one more inch of space in the packed stadium, where none was to be found.

Lyana shifted her weight from one foot to the other, grip tightening on the dagger at her waist, itching to throw. But while all the heirs participated in each trial, they were separated into a boys’ heat and a girls’ heat, and the princes were going first. She watched, blood pumping, nerves tingling, body aching for action.

Her brother was most gifted with a sword, but he was still proficient with daggers, having been forced into practice because of her. He hit all but two of the wooden discs launched into the air. The two princes of the House of Paradise went next, hitting about half of the targets. Poor prince Nico from the House of Wisdom nearly missed them all, despite his sharp owl’s vision. Lyana's favored mate, Damien, narrowly lost to her brother when his final dagger missed its target by less than an inch, leaving him with three targets unstruck. His younger brother performed in a similar way, though a few of his hits seemed to surprise even him. And finally, it was Lysander’s turn. The raven prince tied for first place, missing only two targets, just like her brother.

Not bad, Lyana thought, watching him return to his dais. But not enough to beat me.

Because she was going to hit every target—every target but one. Oh, if she wanted to, she’d be able to hit them all. Of that, Lyana was positive. But she had something else up her sleeve. Something to force Lysander to finally take notice. Something she’d learned from her mother.

Luka eyed her through the holes of his mask, curious in a wary way. “What’s that mischievous expression on your face?”

His own expression reminded her of Cassi's before they’d parted ways that morning—the look she was probably still wearing somewhere in the monstrous crowd. Only members of the royal family were permitted on the platforms, a fact for which she was grateful as she fought to ignore her brother and the nervous flurries his scrutiny brought to her stomach.

Just stick to the plan.

It’ll work.

It’ll be amazing.

With a deep breath, she reached for the belt of daggers presented by one of the guards. Twenty newly sharpened blades, same as all the other participants, were being offered to her. She tugged them free of the display and tucked them safely into her clothes—six into the belt already cinched around her waist,