Morning comes too soon, and I'm still rubbing sleep out of my eyes when I pick up Eero's breakfast from the kitchen.

"Not sleeping well?" Josef asks with a concerned look.

I finish my yawn and grin at him. "Not really. I was too busy reading."

He laughs. "I see. Prince Eero used to be the exact same way." Josef passes me the tray. "Such little bookworms."

I crinkle my nose at him, not appreciating being compared to the prince, and shuffle out of the kitchen.

Even though I was away most of the night, reading under the tiny light of the bathing room fire, I still haven't made much progress on the mythos. The stories bring crippling waves of homesickness with them, and I spent more time clutching my necklace and crying for home than I did digesting words. Plus, reading about the Divine makes my magic hum, which only distracts me further.

But I have added to my notes. Significantly.

Whoever the tall, light writing belongs to, they're my favorite reader so far. They write long soliloquies about alliances and the power of unification. As they talk about the sea, their words turn poetic. They compare the water to the Divine herself, saying it's Her finicky nature coming out in sudden storms and Her beauty that shows in the orange and pinks of the sunrise. This person understands our religion more than any human should, but the Divine would be pleased.

For the first time since my mother's death, I find myself lost in the words—not for a love of studying, but for the pure joy they're bringing me. I've nothing to gain except an understanding of how these strangers feel.

And it's exhilarating.

This must be what it feels like to read fiction. To study strangers in strange worlds and compare oneself to them. To get tangled up in mythical politics and root for people you've never met. I think I could come to enjoy it.

How very human of me.

As I top the staircase, balancing the breakfast tray on both hands, an empty hallway greets me. There's no guard stationed at Eero's study or his bedroom. I take a few cautious steps in the other direction and peek around the corner. A stern-faced guard, one whose name I don't know, stands at King Soren's door. He's always there, though, glancing up and down the hallway.

Our eyes meet, but he just shakes his head and ignores me.

King Soren's in his room; Prince Eero's not.

Where could he have gone this early?

We have a routine, and he never misses breakfast.

I tiptoe back down the hall and push open the study door. Maybe he left me a note or something. Or maybe there's a guard inside. Maybe he didn't take a guard with him this morning.

That last one is laughable. Of course he has a guard with him. Prince Eero never goes anywhere without Will or Magnus.

But the study's empty.

All that's there is the velvet couch, two walls full of books, and a hauntingly empty desk. I place the tray of food on the side table beside Eero's reading nook and make my way to his desk.

On the surface, there's a stack of scrolls propped haphazardly between some record books and a bottle of ink. A half-full cup of tea has left a river of condensation running across the dark wood. It comes dangerously close to a cluster of maps, marked with scribbled x's and o's. My eyes fall on a large star-like shape in the middle of the eastern sea that is suspiciously close to Hygge.

Eero's war plans?

No, I remind myself, He's not planning a war. He's trying to stop one.

I've grown pretty sure of that.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see a square of paper tucked under an inkwell. There's a smear of red paint across the top, and in thick, black ink, the words "Rød fisk" have been written. It's the first time I've ever seen the nickname written down, but between the marketplace in Hygge and the books in my grotto, I recognize the letters.

After plucking the paper out, I unfold it and read the note Eero left for me, thanking the Divine that he wrote it in the common tongue.

Bring my breakfast to the training area. Hurry. I won't excuse you for being late.

~Prince Eero

The little prick.

I reread the note, struck by the sudden feeling that I recognize his handwriting. It's like a tingling that you get in your stomach when something happens but you think you've dreamed of it before. I can't place the style. Not right now. But I know I've seen that penmanship somewhere before.

Tucking the note in my pocket, I grab the tray of food and hurry back down to the ground floor. I refuse to give Eero another reason to tease me all day long.

What does he intend to do with me at the training grounds, anyway? Was he being serious about training me? I've barely escaped strangulation. Now this? I'm not really sure why I agreed in the first place, but there's no getting out of it now.

Surely he wouldn't be bringing me down here to embarrass me. Will he make me face William again?

My heart tells me Eero wouldn't do that. He's been nothing but kind to me—if not a bit moody.

But the much larger, smarter part of me reminds me that Eero's still human.

Greedy.

Conniving.

Malicious.

I can't forget what he is while I'm learning who he is.

I repeat those three descriptors in my head, trying to force myself to remember how all humans are.

Except... that's not how the humans I've met are. At least, not all of them. When I think of greedy, conniving, and malicious, the only person that comes to mind is Zula.

Amaia couldn't be malicious if her life was on the line. She'd readily go to the gallows for me if it meant I'd be okay.

Josef isn't conniving. At least he wasn't when he sat on the edge of my bed and gave me advice.

Sam isn't greedy; he made me glass daisies to ward off loneliness.

On the surface, Eero isn't any of the things I imagined he'd be. It's not fair to keep assuming an entire group of people behave the same way.

Maybe it's time to admit to myself that not all humans are bad.

By the time I make it across the grounds to the training area, I'm breathless and covered in sweat. The autumn heat has already risen to a record high, and humidity settles on my arms and neck like a wet blanket. It drags my curls down and makes my baby hairs stand on end.

And it's only morning! How does Eero intend to function in this kind of heat wave?

I push the door to the armory open and nearly collapse into the cool shade within. A dull thumping sound echoes from the other side. Is he... beating someone up? Maybe William is here. If he is, I'm going to punch him in the groin.

Again.

When I exit the other side of the building, though, all I find is Eero. He's standing near a row of dummies—armless and legless and slightly creepy as they lean on the stick that holds them in place. As I watch, Eero strikes one of the flour sack stomachs with a long sword, snapping the wooden beam in two. Then he tosses the sword to the ground and shakes his fingers out. Without even glancing my way, he moves onto the next one.

For a moment, I just stand there and watch him. He's not shirtless this time, but the humidity clearly affects him. Sweat glues the thin white shirt to his back, revealing the outlines of more tattoos and the curves of his shoulders. Like his arms and chest—both of which I saw unwillingly, I might add—his back is well-worked and muscular.

Today, his hair is pulled all the way up, tied with a string of brown twine. Curls have sprung out all around his face and neck. The sweat has made them look like dripping noodles. When the sun catches on them, it looks like Eero's shimmering in the morning light.

The anxiety of my investigation disappears as I watch him attack the next dummy. This hit is gentler but just as fast. If he'd hit a human instead of a sack of flour, it'd be dead; there's no doubt. Eero dances back a few steps, moving so lightly on his feet that he could be flying. How does he do that when he's so... large?

And why am I not scared of him?

The man's a lethal weapon, and I'm standing here ogling him.

Stupid girl and her stupid infatuation.

After setting the tray on the bench, I cup my hands around my mouth and call out, "Are you going to keep beating up that poor dummy, or would you like to eat?"

Eero spins to face me, and after a second's hesitation, a smile cuts his face in half.

Even more of my reservations about him slip away. He looks so much younger when he smiles, so much more harmless. So...

Divine, honestly. He looks warm and gentle and soft.

Please, don't look at me like that, I want to scream. I'm still here to kill someone. I just don't know who yet.

Eero pushes his hair out of his face and jogs over to me, the smile melting into a more "professional" one, the look I see in his office every day. The one I'm used to. It's stern and serious.

"You're late," he says.

"I wouldn't have been if you were in your study," I respond, motioning to the tray.

"This makes—what? The second time you've been late?"

I scowl at him as he sits on the bench and reaches for the roll of bread Josef prepared for him. "The first time wasn't my fault, either. You woke up early."

He tears the roll open and smears fresh butter across the still-warm inside. My mouth starts watering instantly. I skipped breakfast this morning when I overslept. As the smells of his breakfast hit me, I regret that slip-up. Josef has to be the most talented cook I've had the pleasure of dining with, and here I am skipping meals for a silly book.

"Don't drool on my breakfast," Eero says playfully, jerking me out of my daydreaming. Had I been staring at his food?

My cheeks burn pink. "I wasn't!"

Eero tears the roll in half, popping the biggest chunk in his mouth. Then, he extends the other piece to me.

I shake my head. "I could never. That's yours."

"Did you already eat?" he asks, putting the roll on the bench and moving on to the lightly seasoned fish. Instead of using the silverware I brought, he picks it up with his fingers. Maybe the sweat adds extra flavor.

Might as well be honest. "Um, last night I did."

Eero shakes his head and shoots me a dark look. "Sit," he growls between bites.

I do, folding my hands in my lap.

"Eat."

His voice is obsidian grit as he offers me the half-roll again.

"I really couldn't, Prince Eero."

He glares at me. "If you don't eat right now, Ari, so help me, I'll force feed you."

My arm moves of its own accord as it snaps out and grabs the food. The tone in his voice left no room for questioning. I don't doubt he would have followed through if I refused. Popping the bread into my mouth without another word, I avert my gaze to the training field so I can avoid his burning look.

He called me Ari.

Ari.

He's never done that before. It's always "rød fisk." Always.

Why use my name? Why now?

It doesn't sound wrong, though. Doesn't make me squeamish like I thought it would. Instead, I want to hear him say my full name, want to hear the way it rolls off his tongue.

I try to slap that nasty thought away and fail miserably. It runs laps in my brain as we fall into a comfortable silence and eat together. With every bite, Eero offers me half. The remainder can't be enough to fill him up, but he never complains. Instead, he nods appreciatively and continues feeding me. Before long, the tray's empty and he's finishing off his tea.

He doesn't offer me any of that, thank the Divine, because I don't want to get that close to him today.

"Ready for your first lesson?" he asks, setting the cup down.

I shrug. "Are you sure you want to do this? I don't want to waste your time."

With a smirk, Eero stands up. "Trust me. You're no waste of time."

Such a small compliment, but I still smile.

Stupid girl.

"Then, I guess I am," I say, rising to stand beside him. "But I'm not cutting you any slack just because you're a prince."

He barks out an uncharacteristic laugh. "Good! I wouldn't expect you to." With a glance down at his uniform, he adds, "Tie that skirt up. We're going to be moving. A lot. I'd hate for you to trip."

I kneel down and do just that while he goes back to the line of flour-sack dummies. It's then that I notice Magnus leaning on the far wall. His head's tilted back, and his eyes are closed. Did he see our little breakfast fiasco? The palace would absolutely have a feast with those rumors.

The more I stare at him, though, the more I think he's sleeping. Which is odd. Shouldn't he be guarding the prince?

"Lose the dagger, rød fisk," Eero calls, making me nearly jump out of my skin. My head jerks up to find him scowling at me. Only the smallest shred of my dagger's blade can be seen. A little glint of metal on my calf. Did he see it? Or did he already know? And if so, how long has he known?

Panic starts to choke me, and my hand moves toward the handle.

Is my cover blown?

Eero stalks back to me, looking for all the world like a hurricane advancing on the coast.

"How?" I ask breathlessly, fingers teasing the obsidian.

He kneels on one knee in front of me. Both of his hands prop themselves on that knee as he leans forward. "How, what?" he asks, voice as soft as mine.

"How did you know about my dagger?"

He smirks. "You honestly thought I wouldn't feel it when I carried you back to Amaia's? I'm not stupid."

I scowl at him. "But you never..."

"What was there to say?" He shrugs. "Let's just say I slept a lot better knowing you were keeping yourself safe in the palace. As long as that dagger of yours stays away from my back, we're good." He pauses and looks at the metal showing against my skin. "You won't need it around me, though, so leave it on the bench."

I glance at Magnus, causing Eero to huff.

"Magnus is here as a formality. He wouldn't hurt a fly."

Pretty sure Magnus would be insulted to hear his prince say that, but for some reason, I believe him. I reach up to untie the dagger, but Eero stops me.

"Let me," he whispers, voice tight.

My entire body stiffens as he reaches out and tugs the edge of my dress up further. His fingers are light on my skin, tugging at the scraps of fabric. Every nerve ignites, every pore opens, every breath abandons me. All I can do is stare at his face as his brows furrow in tense concentration.

When his fingers slip under the knot, coming to rest flush with my thigh, the Divine's warmth swells in my chest, and I push back an overwhelming wave of gold. I suck in a panicked breath, and Eero stops moving.

But his hand is frozen on my leg.

On. My. Leg.

I swallow back the nerves and focus on the ocean in his eyes. Maybe it can anchor me.

The palm of his hand is smooth against my skin, but I can feel the calluses at the base of each finger. The one between his thumb and forefinger is noticeably rougher—the mark of an excellent swordsman.

Eero doesn't budge as I reach up and slip my dagger out of its makeshift holster. Then I lay it to rest on the bench. A reflected ray of sun snaps the prince out of his trance, and for a second, his hand tightens on my thigh. It nearly wraps all the way around, reminding me just how giant this man is.

Stupid, stupid girl.

He stands up quickly and paints a confident smile on his face. "That's my girl," he says. "Now, let's warm up."

And then, without another word, he takes off jogging around the field. I hesitate, wrestling with the emptiness where my blade, and Eero's hand, once sat. It feels wrong to have it off. Wrong to trust him. Wrong to open myself up.

But then I'm reminded of how much everyone in the palace trusts him, including Amaia and Josef. I trust both of them with my life.

And then there's the Divine.

She'd stop me if I was walking into a trap, right?

I tap the glass vial on my neck and whisper, "Don't worry, Finn. I'll get you out. I will finish this, one way or another. To the ends of the sea, remember?"

When I glance down, the little flounder is blinking at me. He looks worried.

"I'll figure it out," I hiss. "I promise."

I have to.

With a sigh, I jog after Eero, digging uselessly for a way out of this stupid agreement that I got myself into with Zula.