Page 11 of Kingdom of Shadows and Wings

Duchess? Tea parties?

Fire sparks in my veins, heating my blood and temporarily overriding my common sense. “It’s too bad about the tea parties,” I snap. “You could use a little sugar to sweeten your foul disposition.”

Remorse kicks in immediately. Shit. Did I really just say that out loud? I clap a hand over my mouth, but of course it’s too late. The words already escaped, and based on the shocked gasps, our audience heard them. I can’t recall the last time my temper ran away from me like this. I blame stress…and this aggravating man. Who knew such a beautiful face could be so damn punchable?

The slow grin spreading across those delectable lips holds all the warmth of a glacier. “Who am I? I’m your worst nightmare, Duchess. My job is to judge you, and I’ll do so whenever and however I see fit. You’d best pray my mood sweetens before I see you in training, because your. Ass. Is.Mine.”

He stalks toward the stable with all the grace of an angry jungle cat. A deep unease squeezes my ribs.

Showing the most animation since we met, Quinnelle shakes her head at me and gives a low whistle. “That was inadvisable.”

As we watch him retreat, the bad feeling in my chest grows. I dread asking my next question. “Who is that man?”

The flash of pity in her eyes warns me that I’m not going to like the answer. “That’s Sterling Thorne. Your flight trainer.”

I squeeze my eyes shut. “Of course it is.”

Sterling Thorne. Expert flyer. Refugee from a war-torn kingdom, though people debate which one. Worked his way up to join King Xenon’s guard and then saved the king from a rogue dragon attack. One of the best dragonriders around. Even I’m not living under a big enough rock not to recognize his name. His last name did come up in one of Leesa’s letters home, but I didn’t make the connection.

The ladies who periodically invaded our castle loved to titter about him. How the king rewarded Thorne with gold and his choice of position within the kingdom. How he was a common fixture in the palace. How incredibly handsome and virile he was, enticing women to flock to him like crows to breadcrumbs.

No one bothered to mention that he’s about as friendly as a hungry snow bear with a toothache, or that he could cut a person to the bone with a single icy glare.

Or that he’d left the palace for Flighthaven to act as a flying instructor.Myflying instructor. Who apparently only needed one good look at me to confirm what I already know is true—that I don’t belong—and that’s before he’s even learned about my terror of flying.

I allow myself a few moments to wallow in self-pity before squaring my shoulders. I’m here now and committed to this course of action. Guess I’ll have to prove us both wrong.

Flyer Quinnelle leads me past a rectangular building and into a huge courtyard. Fluttering motion off in the distance draws my attention to a sprawling field. Within the bed of a dark, sand-like substance, orange-green tendrils wave in the salty ocean breeze. I count at least four guards stationed around the perimeter.

I point. “What’s that?”

“Eyril.”

Though I’ve never seen eyril in plant form before, I figured as much based on the guards. I wrinkle my nose at the odor emitting from that direction, like sugar mixed with a faint hint of decay. The scent both entices and repels.

“These are the dorms.” Quinnelle leads me inside the rectangular building, up a single flight of stairs, and strides past two doors before stopping in front of a third. “You’ll sleep here.”

She raps her knuckles on the door twice and pushes it open, revealing a cramped space filled with three narrow beds, armoires, and tiny nightstands constructed of dark wood. A single desk is pushed against the back wall between two windows, and in one corner, a wash basin sits beneath a mirror. The only splash of color comes from a red, blue, and gold rug—Aclaris colors—stretched across the wooden floor, and the matching curtains framing the windows.

The room isn’t much larger than the quarters shared by the scullery maids at my family’s castle and a far cry from my opulent chamber, but there’s something refreshing about the chamber’s simplicity.

The three beds are another story. I view the evidence of my future roommates with a mixture of trepidation and hope.

Quinnelle gestures to the one closest to the door. “The bed with the uniforms on it is yours. It was your sister’s until she…left.”

Left. Such an innocuous word to describe a person disappearing without a trace. Throat burning, I walk over to the bed and drag my fingers across the blue blanket, as if I can gather lingering traces of Leesa that cling to the wool. Not long ago, my sister stood here, in this very spot. Slept in this bed, stored her clothing in that dresser, washed her face in that basin, and presumably went about her life like every other Flighthaven student.

I open the armoire and peek in all three drawers. Empty. Just like the hanging space at the top. “Where are Leesa’s belongings?”

“Protocol when someone leaves without permission is to hold their belongings in the storage building until the investigation and ruling is complete.”

My shoulders slump. There goes my bright idea to search for clues among Leesa’s remaining possessions. Not that I expected to find much. With the exception of a cup on one nightstand and a book on the other, the room doesn’t boast any personal effects, despite the two other occupants.

“You have two minutes to change into your casual uniform, then I’ll take you to the mess hall. Oh, before I forget, here’s your two-month ration of eyril. Take three drops every morning. Do not take more than your allotment. Overdosing is dangerous and no refills are issued prior to the two-month marker, no exceptions.”

As she hands off the eyril, the hungry way her attention clings to the dark glass bottle makes me wonder if I’m already a few doses short. Not that I care. That nasty stuff isn’t getting anywhere near my mouth.

Quinnelle lingers a beat too long before exiting the room and closing the door. Hurrying, I strip off my gown and pull on the pants and top. I’m lacing up my boots when a roar shatters the air.

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