Spring

“And yet,” she continues, “despite the risks, the imprisonments and attacks I endured, the attempts on my life by my own husband, I now own more land, businesses, and real estate in your world than any other Evermore. And do you know what that gives me?”

I do know. It’s the one thing every Fae in existence thirsts for. “Power.”

“Yes. With the darkling attacks affecting more and more cities, I now possess the keys to every court’s safety, and no one, not even my husband, can intimidate me.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because my firm needs mortals like yourself. Mortals unafraid to stand up to the Fae who still believe in the old ways of doing things. The Fae who believe your kind are nothing more than animals to serve them.”

Her speech drags my emotions from earlier to the surface, and I struggle to my feet before she can see my distress. “Thank you for the water and the advice, Queen.”

“Don’t thank me, Summer. That implies you owe me, and you do not.”

“My mistake,” I mutter. Stupid Faerie law.

Right before I exit her office, my gaze snags on the exquisite oil painting above her desk, housed in a modern silver frame. The same delicate star-shaped white flower on Hellebore’s arm—the one he’s weirdly obsessed with—is painted against a black backdrop.

A fat bead of blood drips from one of its slender petals.

“Do you like it?” my quasi-mother asks. “The flower is called a Bloodstar. One drop could fell an entire Fae army. A queen from my line once even demanded her husband buy the rare, expensive flower and have a perfume made from it.” She waves her hand, and the centaur waiting behind her perks up, ready to get back to business. “Now go. And don’t disappoint me, Summer. I expect to see your name on that list the next time I check.”

I murmur something as I leave, my mind reeling.

Bloodstar. She called the flower a Bloodstar.

Where have I heard that name?

Bloodstar. Bloodstar. Bloodst—

Oberon’s beard, I have it. That’s the flower Evelyn mentioned. I sag against the wall outside the queen’s door.

When asked who was controlling her, Evelyn couldn’t say a name. At least, not an Evemore’s name. Instead she named a flower, the Bloodstar. The very same flower Hellebore is obsessed with. The one only he owns. The one he prizes above all things.

It doesn’t take a genius to make the connection.

Prince Hellebore is her master. He’s working for the Darken. He sent the darklings to steal the piece of the Worldslayer. Evelyn couldn’t say his name, so instead she managed to speak the name of the flower he wears on his body.

She must see it every time he gives her an order.

Holy Fae, I’ve found something that can hurt him.

I turn the corner just as the class is gathering across the hall. Hellebore and I lock eyes.

He dons that arrogant, asshole-and-proud smile that deserves to be punched from existence. The one that screams, You can’t touch me.

I return his smile with one of my own.

I know your secret now, dickwad, and I’m going to use it to take you down.

34

“Stop fidgeting,” Mack whispers as we stroll through the tables full of Winter Court diners toward the Sylverfrost’s private dining room.

“This dress hates me,” I hiss, tugging the velvet hem down as low as it will go—which is shockingly not a great length.

Or not shocking, considering Valerian picked it out.

Ruby sticks her head out of the black clutch I’m carrying. “Kid, that dress is doing you—and your glorious ass—a favor.”

She finally figured out how to access the dog toy I stuffed with vanilla frosting—the kind made to keep pets busy—and her face is caked with the stuff.

Mack shoots me a scolding look. “I can’t believe you brought her.”

I might have forgiven Ruby for the darkling mess, but Mack hasn’t. “Ruby hasn’t been off campus in years.”

“Have you ever considered there’s a reason for that?” Mack mutters as she follows a willowy hostess with frosted skin, cobalt blue hair, and pillowy white feathered wings up a flight of spiraling stairs to a glass room above.

“Everyone can change.”

“Apparently.” Mack cuts her eyes at Ruby, who finally figured out the hollow dog toy I filled with vanilla frosting—to keep her busy—and is stuffing her face with it. “Wasn’t she emo a few weeks ago?”

I laugh, thankful that Mack gets a night away from the stress of school. She’s been stressed lately, studying late into the night. And she’s lost weight.

Sometimes when I get up in the morning for my training sessions, she’s still awake, highlighter poised over a textbook. I keep meaning to ask her if she’s okay, but our schedules are so conflicting right now that it’s hard to find the right time.

The hostess waves her hand over the frosted enclosure, which is basically a long rectangle of ice, and a door appears. “Enjoy dinner.”

Her crystalline eyes look me up and down before she glides back down the stairs.

So far, we’ve gotten the same indignant look from every patron we passed. Although I’m starting to suspect the anger is directed at me, not Mack.

The mortal girl rumored to have Valerian Sylverfrost under her spell.

Mack enters first. I smooth down the dress Valerian sent me—the one custom fitted to fit my every curve and dyed the same color as his midnight-blue hair—and enter.

A long marble table veined in silver stretches the length of the room, showing off a stunning centerpiece of frosted roses of ice. Delicate snowflakes drizzle from above.

They melt as soon as they meet my warm skin, leaving a slight iridescent imprint that soon has my entire body glowing.

Head high, I fight the urge to tug down my dress as I scan the seats.

My gaze locks on Valerian at the head. For a choked breath, he doesn’t move, doesn’t blink as he takes me in.

An emotion too brief to catalogue ripples over his countenance. When he stands, though, it’s impossible to miss the approval in his eyes.

Asher and Eclipsa do the same, their mouths parted.

“Holy Fae hells, Summer,” Eclipsa murmurs. “Every male below just had a heart attack when you walked by.”

Asher lets out a gravelly chuckle. “I think it was a different organ that was affected.”

“Careful, dragon,” Valerian warns.

Eclipsa rolls her eyes. “Males, always thinking with their least attractive appendage.” To drive home her point, she stabs a summer sausage from a platter and deposits it on her plate. “You guys hungry?”

Valerian pulls back the chair next to his, his gaze never leaving mine. “You look . . .” His lips twitch at the corners. “Beautiful.”

I never thought one word could nearly undo me. But when Valerian Sylverfrost declared I was beautiful with that rich, deep voice, those intense silver eyes peering into my fricking soul, I’m pretty sure one of my ovaries self-combusted.

Asher does the same with Mack’s chair, and we all sit. I’m thankful as an army of waiters descend with drinks and appetizers. As soon as they leave, the room begins to rise.

My stomach flutters—and not just because of the sudden movement.

When the floor settles and the frost clears over the walls of ice, I gasp.

Our room now looks out over the restaurant, which is set into a mountainside. The pale lights of the Winter King’s resort twinkle from the basin below. Snow-crusted peaks rise all around us, engraved against a sky brimming with stars.

Eclipsa holds out her crystal glass filled with golden plum wine. “To Yule, the Winter Solstice, new beginnings”—her eyes slide to me—“and new people.”

I follow suit, my heart as full as the wine glass I hold. Looking around the room at these people—Fae and human—I know just how lucky I am to have them in my life.

After that, I fall into the banter and camaraderie as Eclipsa, Asher, and Valerian all tease each other and reminisce. Any worries that I would disrupt their tradition somehow float away as the night progresses.

And, oh, does it ever. Ruby entertains us by juggling the candied winter berries on the sweets tray and performing an adorable dance every time she eats something particularly amazing. Mack makes us laugh when she tells us the story of her dads’ water sprites, which were finally rehomed to an aquatic Faerie creatures rescue center.

I even share some of my family’s Christmas traditions, confusing everyone but Mack when I try to explain Santa.

When the main course is delivered, the waiter hands Valerian an extra plate. Eclipsa winks at me as he studies the bowl. “What’s this?”

I grin. “SpaghettiOs with meatballs, aka the poor man’s heaven in a can.”

I can’t say that the expression on his face is blissful after he takes a bite, but he doesn’t spit it out like the ramen noodles the other day, so I consider it a win.

Finally, when there’s a lull in the conversation, I make sure the room is spelled from eavesdroppers before divulging what I learned on the field trip.

When I finish explaining the link between Hellebore and Evelyn, Eclipsa sets down her wine glass, her eyes livid. “Why didn’t you tell us Evelyn mentioned the Bloodstar flower?”

“Honestly, I forgot about it when I first woke up, and then I assumed Mack had already mentioned it.”

I cringe. Way to throw your bestie under the bus.

Mack taps her fork against her plate, the food untouched. Has she eaten anything since we arrived? “There was so much going on, and I was worried for Summer.”

Eclipsa downs her wine in a single gulp and then pours another glass. She’s still raw when it comes to Hellebore.

Valerian jumps in. “Now that we do know this information, we need to find a way to expose him.”

Asher growls under his breath. “I’ve always hated that pretty-boy bastard. Exposing him would be a pleasure.”

“But why would someone from the Seelie Court work to bring the Darken back?” Mack asks, toying with the red strap of her dress. “I mean, he basically started a war to destroy the entire Seelie side of the Fae, right?”