Every flakey, fruity pastry in the five kingdoms are bundled in baskets throughout Shianne's kitchen and a post of stew simmers on the stovetop. I sit with her at the dining table and gulp down a big glass of water. I've helped my mother in the kitchen, but nothing to this magnitude. Baking is hard work, and I will never look at a loaf a bread the same way.

Shianne and I are deep in a conversation about the trials she has faced as a single mother when Blaze, Mia, and Kyron come into the house.

"Don't any of you step foot in my kitchen until you've washed your hands," she says, earning a chorus of moans.

The kids race down the hall toward the washroom, and Kyron enters the kitchen. I'm glad to see his tunic on his body and not in his hand. My self-esteem can only take so many hits a day, and after getting caught spying and then staring, I've reached my maximum. Kyron gives Shianne a sheepish grin and holds his dirty hands up in surrender as he moves to the sink.

"You should be good on wood for more than two weeks. I reshoed the horse and greased the wheels on the wagon. Your trip into town tomorrow should be smooth," he says, lathering his hands with soap.

"As always, you've done more than necessary."

He shakes his head like a belligerent teenager and doesn't say anything. For a man who is godlike at Basecamp, he sure doesn't like the praise. And I get it. Today wasn't about glory but humbling himself and serving the family of one of his fallen soldiers. Joel made the ultimate sacrifice for our kingdom. A small act of kindness in return doesn't compare.

Kyron looks out the window and dries his hands. I can't help but think about when I was sitting in that very spot. Embarrassment courses through me, and I wonder if he is remembering as well.

"Do we have time for one more quick project before we leave?" I ask, the words tumbling from my mouth like a landslide.

"What do you have in mind?"

"No more projects."

I ignore Shianne's protest and step closer to Kyron. "It gets hot in here when the oven is on and the window is jammed. I was trying to open it earlier."

"Good to know. I thought you were bathing in the sink."

I roll my eyes at his jab. He knows good and well I was watching him. "Can we fix it?"

Shianne huffs and mumbles about her children listening better than adults.

Kyron fiddles with the window, pulling on each side to get a feel for the problem. After several minutes, he manages to crack it, but as soon as he lets go, it slams shut.

He points back toward the stove and says, "Grab that can of cooking grease."

I twist off the top and hold it out to him.

Kyron shakes his head and grunts as he lifts. "I'm going to need your help. Slather it in the jambs at the bottom and top while I keep sliding it up and down."

I assess the situation for a moment. Kyron is bent over the sink with a hand on either side of the window. My arms aren't long enough to reach over him and keep an appropriate distance. I glance at the can in my hand and back to him. Why does no good deed go unpunished?

I stand beside him and reach for the sides of the window, but his broad shoulders don't give me much space. My fingertips brush the area but it's not enough to leave a substantial amount of grease, and I can't reach the top at all.

Kyron lifts his arm and motions with his head for me to step between him and the sink. "Get up here like you were earlier."

I squeeze into the tight space, placing my back flush to his front. Images of the lean muscle I admired while he was chopping wood flash through my head. My body grows hot against his, uncomfortably so. The heat I felt while prepping the pastries with Shianne is dull comparison to this. I work quickly to put some space between us and hoist myself onto the counter. Like I did before, I place my feet in the sink. My new position gives me better access to the window, but Kyron is still too close. He leans into me, moving the window up and down as I apply the grease. Each movement of his arms, presses his chest to my back and his breath fans across my nape.

"Almost there," he says, and I fumble with the can.

Statera help me, I'm a complete wreck with him this close. His strange power wraps around me, curling up my arms and sliding down my spine. Perspiration pebbles on my skin and the air around me grows warm and thick. The sensations should be suffocating, but it's not. His gift reminds me of crawling into cozy blankets on a cold night.

The window reaches the top and Kyron slides it open and closed several more times. He looks to Shianne, who stands with her hands on her hips, and says, "Do you have something I can prop it open with?"

With an amused look on her face, she hands him a wooden spoon, and he wedges it between the bottom of the window and the sill. He steps back and I scurry to get off the counter. I flap my arms like I can shake off the feeling of Kyron's gift and work my hardest to maintain a semblance of composure. It is a fine balance and I'm sure I don't succeed.

As if our close encounter didn't rattle him at all, Kyron says, "It's a temporary fix. I'll take care of it properly in a couple of weeks."

"It's much appreciated, General LeFur," Shianne says, breezing past me and bumping me with her hip. Our eyes meet and she winks.

I chuckle. How can I deny the humor found in this day? It started a mess and it ended almost as terrible. Except it didn't. Shianne and her family gave me little reminders of home.

The sun is setting by the time we say our goodbyes to Shianne, Blaze, and Mia. The children take an extra moment alone with him, making him promise he will return in two weeks. I understand the fear driving their need to hear the oath. They've known loss on so many levels, and it's comforting to believe this won't be the last time they see each other. Kyron freely gives them the certainty they crave.

Before the children are finished with the general, Shianne leans into my side and gently squeezes my arm. "I know it's hard to let go of the things we were taught, but I encourage you to look beyond Kyron's black eyes and see the person behind them. He's an excellent leader and a great man, Elle."

I give her a half-hearted smile. "I promise to try."

Shianne hands me a cloth with two apple pastries inside. "Kyron always refuses to take a pastry without paying, but I thought you could use them as a start. Joel always said there was no better way to know someone than sharing a meal with them."

"Thank you, Shianne."

"Stay out of trouble."

I laugh and shake my head, "That's the plan."

Kyron and I gather our horses and head out of the small town. The crescent moon hangs low in the sky, and the stars peek out against the navy-blue backdrop. A gentle breeze carries the sweet fragrance of wildflowers as we pass the lake. Fireflies float in and out of the trees and hover over the tall blades of grass, mimicking the stars. The scenery is set to the clapping of Samson's and Nortus' hooves against wayward stones—a steady rhythm that calms my nerves.

We ride in silence through the woods separating the lake from Basecamp. The tall branches cast haunting shadows on the forest floor, and the brush rattles with unseen creatures. I push Nortus closer to Samson and remain mindful of my surroundings. Holding tightly to the reins, I flex my leg muscles, ready to urge my horse forward if I should need to get away. But it isn't the haunting sounds of the night forest which have me on edge, something more sinister lingers in the air.

A constant flow of power comes from Kyron. Darkness dances around me and warmly brushes against my senses, enticing me to let it in. I let my guard down for a moment and it washes over me. It's not as uncomfortable as I thought it would be to let it in—it's calming, gentle...deceiving. I resurrect my mental block, trying to ignore its presence.

I concentrate on the phantom sounds around us, allowing them to distract me from Kyron's invasive power. Flapping wings, an owl's call, running water—running water? The babbling of shallow water grows louder the further we go. I my have missed it when I road through here earlier. My focus was on keeping up with Kyron. But I doubt I could have missed the sound of water. It is almost overwhelming now.

"Are we going the same way we came?" I ask.

"No."

"May I ask why we are taking a different way?"

Kyron releases a loud quick breath. "We're making a stop."

"Where?"

"You are uninvited on this trip, so you don't get to ask questions."

I gnaw on my lip to keep from pressing for more information. The punishment I received today was mild; the last thing I want to do is invoke a harsher one. Kyron could send me before the king for what I did. I ultimately accused him of conspiring against the crown with no hard facts. Micah is surely livid with me, adding this disgrace to my transgressions would only make it worse.

When we exit the trees, Kyron dismounts and leads Samson to the riverside. "Get down and let your horse drink," he says.

I sigh and follow his command. Leaning on Nortus' side while he laps at the water, I fold my hands inside my jacket and try to ignore Kyron. But it's impossible.

My gaze darts in his direction as he lowers himself to a slab of sun-bleached stone. Propping an arm over his bent knee, he says, "Come and sit."

I glare at him and ask, "Don't you ever get tired of barking out commands?"

"No. Do you ever grow tired of trying my patience?"

As if he understands the slippery slope I'm on, Nortus nudges me with his side. I glace at the saddlebag, remembering Shianne's parting words. I dig out the pastries and sit next to Kyron, leaving plenty of space between us. The buzz of his gift reaches across the small divide and crackles against my skin. I open the cloth and remove the strudels inside.

"I made these with Shianne. She suggested I share them with you."

He accepts the flakey pastry coated in sugar and takes a bite. While he stares out at the river, I pull my knees to my chest, rest my chin on top, and nibble on the food. It is delicious but my stomach's roiling has me cautious to eat too quickly.

"What you do for Shianne and her kids is truly amazing. I don't know many people in a position like yours who would do the same," I say.

It's true; I only know one man who would care for the family of a fallen soldier the way Kyron does. My father. Joel and Shianne's family is an exception to the rule. Not many men and women want to build a life outside of the military. They understand how fragile the balance of duty and homelife is, how danger always looms. The fear of leaving a family behind should they parish in battle is not worth the risk. Most soldiers choose to remain closely knitted with those who understand their plight best—other soldiers. Joel's death would have devastated my father. He would have thought of Shianne and been heartbroken for Mia and Blaze. He would have done everything he could help a family who resembled his own.

"My decisions left Shianne without a husband and Mia and Blaze to grow up without a father. What I do for them is pitiful compared to what they deserve," Kyron says.

The lack of inflection in his voice does little to hide the pain buried in his words. I know that tone, understand the guilt it hides. But he can't let it get to him. If he sinks into that despair for too long, he will cloud his judgement, and another life will be lost, and the cycle will start again.

I carefully choose my words when I say, "Those who hold the responsibility to care for so many don't have the luxury of time to heal or make amends. They live with their mistakes and continue caring for those in their keep. It sometimes makes for messy people, and others it makes for extraordinary leaders. Many believe you fall in the latter, including Shianne and her children. They don't blame you for Joel's death."

"The Statera gifted you with a silver tongue," he says and takes the last bite of his pastry.

I shake my head and hand him the rest of my strudel. "No, the Statera blessed me with great teachers."

We fall silent. Kyron finishes his second strudel, and I stare at the mud clinging to the toe of my boots. The unsettling calm I felt while riding returns. It brushes against my skin like the tips of feathers. I tighten my arms around my legs, attempting to distance myself from the intimate feeling, but it persists. Sitting this close to him, I have no doubt it is Kyron's power.

"What exactly is your gift? I've never felt anything like it before," I say, the words tumbling from my mouth before I can think better of them.

Kyron cocks a dark brow, and says, "I'm an elemental, blessed with three gifts."

"Three?"

"I'm an Ignita, Noctist, and Cognus."

"A Noctist; of course you have a rare gift." If it were earlier in the day, I'd be suspicious of his power to cloak himself in shadows; it makes spying easy. Gathering all the army's secrets would be simple for him, and he could us that information to con his way into my father's place. I don't completely trust him, but I'm also not sure he would do that.

His gift of calling upon fire is common enough, but it's his third gift that gives me pause. My thumb glides back and forth over my betrothal ring. "You're a Cognus too?"

He gives a quick snort. "Don't worry, the gift is weak. I can't bind memories and sort through thoughts. I only sense feelings when I touch someone...or an animal."

I perk up. "You know what animals are feeling?"

"Not all, just those who possess an intelligence comparable to ours. Why? Are you worried Sammy is telling me all the deep-dark secrets you divulge to him during your visits?"

"No," I lie.

Kyron chuckles and says, "Samson doesn't normally let anyone else near him. It's always been just him and me. You won him over."

I pause, taken back by the upturn of his lips. Gone is the hard exterior and in its place sits a smile. He is remarkably handsome when he lets his guard down. So much so I find he's fractured my defenses, and I meet his chuckle with a good-natured response. "What can I say? I'm just that charming."

"Or very generous with the apples."

"That too."

I ponder his words for a moment. He knows I visit the stables regularly. Is he spying on me? I already suspected as much when he placed me next to Greer's room. A little nagging voice reminds me that I shouldn't trust him. He's a Stigian—my enemy. If he found out who I am, he could devastate our kingdom by harming me—the next queen to rule his army.

On the other hand, he shouldn't trust me. I haven't been forthcoming about what exactly I'm doing here, or who I am.

"So, you're a Cyffred?" Kyron asks, pulling me out of my guilty thoughts.

I take a pebble and toss it into the river. "That's right. Nothing more than a meal to some." As soon as the words slip through my lips, I flinch. "I didn't...I don't think—"

"I meet resistance with every recruit who stumbles through my door; I've heard worse."

Of course, he faces the question with each new soldier. No one understands why a Stigian is leading our army. It's unfair to judge him, especially after what I witnessed today, but his eyes tell the story of what he has done. He took something the Statera didn't grant him, even if the owner of the power gave it freely. And there is no way he doesn't still siphon from others. It is well known the mental health of the Stigian becomes unstable the longer they consume other's gifts. Yet they can't turn away from the rush of power, and if they try, rumor has it they die. Of course, it is hearsay, because no Stigian has ever walked away from their kingdom.

And that makes Kyron a complete conundrum. Is he the exception to the rule, or does he have an entire army fooled? I lift my gaze to the stars while sorting through my thoughts. A flash of green and pink slides through the sky. I sit up, holding my breath, and another swirl of purple and yellow fly past.

"Did you see those lights?"

"I saw nothing," Kyron says, leaning back on his hands.

A streak of aqua arks over the mountain peaks in the distance. "Right there! You didn't see that?"

"You're spending too much time with the horses, princess."

I scoot closer to him and point just as more colors waver overhead. "Right the—" I bump his shoulder, and the words leave me on a puff of air. His power punches through me, and it's exhilarating. Every facet is now so clear, the cloaking shadows, scorching flames, and brush of awareness. It is as distinct as the colors in the sky and so strong I swear I could control it myself.

"Aurora. It's a disturbance in the atmosphere. It's common and why I like it here," he says, and my mouth goes slack at his casual explanation of the lights.

He doesn't feel it. All the energy flowing from him to me and he's oblivious. I might as well have asked him if he sees the air we breathe.

As I move away from him, I instantly miss the feeling. I clear my throat and return to our discussion about the lights. "You knew what I was talking about from the beginning. If you weren't the general, I'd—"

"You would what?" He leans back and a strand of dark hair falls over his eye.

"I'd beat your ass."

"Would you?"

"I would."

Kyron laughs and gets to his feet. "I'll tell you what, we'll meet on the sparring field at dawn tomorrow, and if you beat my ass, I'll let you join the morning training sessions with the rest of the new soldiers."

I stand and brush the dirt from my palms. "You have a deal."

He holds out his hand, and I hesitate, staring at his callused fingers. I swallow my reservation about touching him and place my palm against his. A sigh threatens to escape my lips as that glorious power returns, but I fight past it. The shake lasts longer than it should, and it takes everything in me to slide my fingers out of his.

I've secured my opportunity to prove my worth and found my chance to move forward with my plan. I will not yield; this match will be mine for the taking no matter what the cost. I just have to overcome one obstacle—Kyron LeFur.