PROLOGUE
People spoke of him in hushed tones.
Son of the Second Queen.
Stone mage.
The greatest swordsman of their generation.
It washimthat Maya had to eclipse, strongly enough that their instructor at the military academy had no choice but to publicly acknowledge her skill with the sword.
And she would do it, Maya swore to herself, if only because no one dreamed that awoman—much less one who was half Sunvaaran—could be better than a prince who had the blood of royalty running through their veins.
Maya watched while the prince sparred with another cadet, intimidating the new recruits with his swordplay.
She already hated him for being a symbol of the nobility’s obsession with race and magic, but the Prince seemed determined to show off his royal status, even while at the military academy as a cadet. He wore the same uniform as they all did, a dull green jacket over a white tunic, and a sleek pair of black riding pants tucked into boots—but his pants had gold trim on the side, and his boots were a glossy, expensive leather.
Maya watched, and while she wished she could scoff at Luka Kamenev’s reputation as a swordsman, she had to admit—reluctantly—that the man was every bit as good a fighter as rumor proclaimed.
His steel grey eyes gave nothing away of his thoughts, each time he attacked, the thrust was swift and sure and sudden. The Prince’s opponent would admit defeat in a matter of minutes, if Maya was any judge.
She watched and smiled to herself.
This was one challenge she would not lose.
One way or another, Maya would bring down Prince Luka Kamenev.
~
As the soldier before him stumbled, Luka’s arm darted out until his sword rested at the other man’s neck.
The other cadets around them erupted into cheers and sounds of awe, but it was a soft, sardonic chuckle that drew his attention.
It washer.
The daughter of Baron von Rakhmonov, Maya.
The one who had a mother from Sunvaara.
Did she really think Luka hadn’t noticed her hanging around the courtyard whenever he decided to train? Her slight form indolently leaning against a pillar, arms crossed, eyes full of malicious amusement as she watched without a word—
He was going to wipe that perpetualsmirkoff her face.
‘So, you think you can do better, Lady von Rakhmonov?’ Luka called out, his temper snapping as he glared at his fellow cadet.
“IknowI can do better,” the girl drawled in reply, straightening slowly.
“Very well,” Luka gritted out, his voice growing harsher as his anger flared. Their classmates moved quickly aside as he brandished his sword. “Come at me, then.”
Maya von Rakhmonov said nothing, simply looking at him for a moment, and then there was a sudden flash of steel, and Luka had to fall back at the lightning quick attack.
Luka blinked at the equally quick parry to his own thrust.
He had to admit it. His opponent was talented—for a woman with a parent originating from Sunvaara, a country that was historically considered an enemy of his homeland.
Luka smiled. This would be interesting.
Their audience was forgotten as the two of them danced around each other with each parry and thrust and slash, and soon they were both panting from the effort of keeping their equally skilled opponent at bay.
