Page 49 of Prince of the Sun

Daerios pulls back, eyebrows knitting in confusion. “What?”

“We—we shouldn’t have done this.”

As soon as the words leave my mouth, I recognize the truth of them. What am I doing? I’m neverattracted toanyone, let alone someone completely off-limits. Why now? Why him? It’s as if some strange, lust-driven part of my brain switched on, sweeping me away in a tide of primal desire.

“We shouldn’t have?” he asks.

“No.” I shimmy out from under him. “We’re friends, remember?”

Daerios doesn’t move. His body hovers over mine, eyesunblinking. Lifting one hand and running it down the side of my face, he whispers, “Is that what you want?”

No.

“Yes.”

“Oh.” He leans backward, settling onto his knees. “Right. Okay. No more of that.”

Please, more of that.“Right.”

“Should we… brainstorm?”

“No,” I say quickly. “I’m tired. I should go to bed.”

“Oh.” Pause. “Alright.”

Daerios stands slowly, as if waiting for me to tell him not to go. I don’t. I stand too, leading him over to the door. After pulling it open, I press my back to its face and wait for Daerios to pass.

I clear my throat. “Well.” I look down at my shoes. “Thanks for the donuts.”

“You’re welcome.” His feet don’t move.

After a long heartbeat, I look up and meet his gaze. His eyes glow so brightly it hurts.

“Well,” I say again.

“Well.” He reaches up and catches a strand of my hair, the way he did in the courtyard. “Goodnight, Quinn.”

“Goodnight.”

He disappears down the staircase. I let the door swing shut.

This is good. It’s better than good, actually. It’snecessary. What the hell was I thinking, telling myself that I was ready to give up in my search for answers just to know Daerios? My mission isn’t just some petty revenge scheme that I can throw away. My brother’slifeis at stake here. He might still be alive, and if he is, Daerios is the best source of information I have to figure out where. I can’t forget that. He’s a source. Someone I’m using. Nothing else.

I spin around, pick up the box of donuts, and throw theminto the garbage, hoping the ache I feel for the man who brought them will disappear, too.

I spend the rest of the week thinking about that kiss.

I go to class; I think about the kiss. I eat lunch; I think about the kiss. I lie awake, eyes on the ceiling, and think about his lips on mine, my pelvis on his, grinding into him as if the friction between our bodies could make our clothes disappear.

After Daerios left on Tuesday, I hastily threw together a midterm proposal inspired by Dr. Infix’s lecture the week before. Daerios and I plan to scour the English and Lukkarin language to see if we can find any morphological overlap. In other words: is there any evidence that humans and elves have crossed paths before they came to Earth, one hundred years ago?

I know it’s a cop-out. Elves and human evolved in completely different realms. The odds of there being any crossover are next to nothing. In all likelihood, we’ll do a cursory search of both dictionaries and come up empty-handed. But for some reason, when I show Daerios the proposal before class, his eyes widened.

“What?” I demanded. “You don’t like it?”

“No,” he said. “It’s not that.”

“Then, what?”