Aria couldn't sleep. The old prophecy burned in her mind:
One to love. One to hate. One to give.
She had hidden the paper under her mattress, afraid of what it meant.
As dawn painted the sky pink, someone knocked on her door.
"Go away," she mumbled, expecting another guard.
"Is that any way to greet your future mate?" Cyrus's voice teased from the hallway.
Aria sat up, suddenly alert. "I'm not your mate."
"Not yet," Cyrus responded. "But may I come in? I have something for you."
Curious, Aria wrapped a robe around herself and opened the door.
Cyrus stood there grinning, a bunch of wild blue flowers in one hand. "Morning, beautiful," he said, offering the flowers with a dramatic bow.
Aria took them carefully. "What's this for?"
"Can't a guy bring flowers to a pretty girl?" Cyrus strolled into her room uninvited.
Aria noticed he'd made an effort—his blond hair was combed, his green eyes sparkled, and he smelled like pine and cinnamon.
