House of Sky and Breath (Crescent City #2) by Sarah J. Maas

“You might rebel all you like, Ruhn Danaan, but you are a Crown Prince, as I am. Our fates are the same. But I know which one of us will rise to meet it.”

Then he was gone.

Our fates are the same. Cormac meant that they would both be kings, but Ruhn knew his fate was more complicated than that.

The royal bloodline shall end with you, Prince. The Oracle’s voice floated through his mind, twisting up his insides. He might very well not live long enough to see himself crowned. His blood chilled. Was it because Cormac would lead some sort of coup?

He shook it off, turning to his father. “Why are you doing this?”

“That you have to ask shows me you’re no true son of mine.”

The words seared through him. Nothing could ever hurt worse than what had already been done to him by this male, the scars he bore on his arms from it, mostly covered by the sleeves of his tattoos. But the words … yeah, they stung.

Ruhn refused to let the old bastard see it, though. Would never let him see it. “And I suppose you think Cormac will become that true son by marrying Bryce.”

His father’s lips curled upward, eyes as lifeless as the Pit. “Cormac has always been the son I should have had. Rather than the one I was burdened with.”





8

“Today’s the big day, huh?”

Hunt turned from where he’d been staring at the coffee machine, willing the grinding of the beans to drown out the thoughts roaring in his head. Bryce leaned against the white marble counter behind him, clad in leggings and an old T-shirt.

Hunt tucked in his gray wings and saluted. “Approachable Asshole, reporting for duty.” Her lips curved upward, but he asked, “How’d it go with your parents?” She’d left well before he was up.

“Perfectly.” She feigned brushing dirt off her shoulders. “Not a whisper about the engagement. I think Randall suspected something, but he was game to play along.”

“Five gold marks says your mom calls before noon to start yelling.”

Her grin was brighter than the morning sun streaming outside the windows. “You’re on.” She angled her head, surveying his daily uniform: his usual black battle-suit for the 33rd. “You should see the decorations that went up overnight—apparently, the city’s rolling out the welcome mat, and sparing no expense. Banners, flowers, sparkly-clean streets, even in the Old Square. Not one drop of drunken-idiot vomit to be seen or smelled.”

“The appointment of a new Governor is a pretty big deal,” he said, wondering where she was going with this.

“Yep.” Then Bryce asked casually, “Want me to come with you today?”

There it was. Something in his chest kindled at the offer. “No hand-holding needed, Quinlan. But thanks.”

Bryce’s eyes glowed—pure Fae predator lurking there. “Remember what we did to the last two Archangels, Hunt,” she said quietly. That was new—the raw power that thundered beneath her words. “If Celestina does something fucked up, we’ll react accordingly.”

“Bloodthirsty, Quinlan?”

She didn’t smile. “You might be heading in there without me today, but I’m a phone call away.”

His chest ached. She’d do it—back him up against a fucking Archangel, Solas burn him. “Noted,” he said thickly. He nodded toward the hallway. “How’s our guest?”

“He looks a lot better this morning, though the broken ribs have some mending left to do. He was still sleeping when I left.”

“What’s the plan?” Hunt kept his voice neutral. He’d slept terribly last night, every sound sending him lurching from sleep. Bryce, of course, appeared as beautiful as ever.

“Ithan can stay as long as he wants,” Bryce said simply. “I’m not turning him over to Sabine.”

“Glad to hear it,” Ithan said from behind her, and even Hunt started.

The male had crept up with preternatural silence. He did look better. Blood still crusted Holstrom’s short golden-brown hair, but the swelling around his eyes had vanished, leaving only a few purple streaks. Most of the cuts were healed, except the thick slash across his brow. That’d take another day or two. Ithan pointed past Hunt. “Is that coffee?”

Hunt busied himself with pouring three cups, passing one to Quinlan first. “A drop of coffee in a cup of milk, just as you like it.”

“Asshole.” She swiped the mug. “I don’t know how you drink it straight.”

“Because I’m a grown-up.” Hunt passed the second mug to Ithan, whose large hands engulfed the white ceramic cup that said I Survived Class of 15032 Senior Week and All I Got Was This Stupid Mug!

Ithan peered at it, his mouth twitching. “I remember this mug.”

Hunt fell silent as Bryce let out a breathy laugh. “I’m surprised you do, given how drunk you were. Even though you were a sweet baby frosh.”

Ithan chuckled, a hint of the handsome, cocky male Hunt had heard about. “You and Danika had me doing keg stands at ten in the morning. How was I supposed to stay sober?” The wolf sipped from his coffee. “My last memory from that day is of you and Danika passed out drunk on a couch you’d moved right into the middle of the quad.”

“And why was that your last memory?” Bryce asked sweetly.