Spring

My throat shudders as I try to swallow, everything inside me—everything—recoiling from his suggestion. “What? Now?”

“No, not now, Summer.” His intense gaze slides to my traitorous lower lip, which I’m shocked to discover is trembling. “What fun would that be? But there will come a time when I demand you give me permission. This agreement will guarantee you do.”

My thoughts race as I try to understand his game. I know allowing him to touch me gives him some sort of power over me—and that all of this is probably just some twisted Fae possessive crap. Two boys in a sandbox who are surrounded by toys but only want the same one.

It doesn’t matter that the shovel is broken and doesn’t even hold sand. It doesn’t matter that the shovel doesn’t want to be played with. It doesn’t matter that there are a million newer shovels.

All that matters is that Hellebore wants to take something from Valerian.

Of course I’m going to say hell to the no.

Hellebore gives an impatient sigh, and then a tendril of ivy slides along the edge of my jaw, curls over my chin, and forcibly turns my head to look into his strange eyes.

“Do not think for a moment that denying me permission to touch you will somehow make your life easier. You’re already trapped in my web, struggling will only make it worse. You can either make it fun for the both of us or simply fun for me.”

I grit my teeth as the end of the vine drags across my bottom lip, but deep down I know he speaks some truth.

Valerian would absolutely, without a doubt, drag his court and kingdom to war for me.

The thought makes me sick. And yet, as much as I want to give in and stop this madness, I know I will never willingly let someone gain that kind of control over me.

Ever.

He might make me his slave, but he can’t control me unless I let him.

I sink against my ivy prison, ready to deny his request and screw the consequences, when Ruby zips toward us with her teeth bared. She’s holding a stick bigger than she is and promising Hellebore’s death.

Behind her, Hellebore’s beaten up sprite tries to follow. One of his iridescent wings is shredded, his face a bloody pulp where I’m assuming Ruby hit him with her stick. Repeatedly.

My heart swells with pride as she wedges herself between Hellebore and me, a mouse facing off against a lion.

“Take one more step toward my master,” she cries, “and I’ll cast a spell that will make your shriveled up little sausage limp for a century.”

Despite facing mortal peril, I choke out a laugh.

It can’t be coincidence that both Ruby and I both threatened his junk, because guys—and Fae—like him think that’s what makes them a man.

Hellebore appraises her with a curious expression. “You would die for this mortal?”

“I would,” Ruby declares, and I make a mental note to give her all the candy in the world if we survive this. “She’s claimed me, which means I belong to her and she to me.”

Hellebore turns to look at his loyal sprite, still wavering in the air beside his master looking seconds from falling over dead. “Nerium, I see you met your match.”

Nerium says something to Hellebore in one of the old languages, and then Hellebore lifts him from the air and settles him on his shoulder.

The act almost makes Hellebore seem, if not kind, then decent. Until he turns to me, at least, and his face is anything but kind. “Your choice, mortal. Make the bargain or lose your spot in the academy and become a slave of the Spring Court.”

I look from him to Ruby . . . and, slowly, an idea forms. One that, if worded just right, might let me make this bargain on my own terms.

Without being controlled like a puppet by a flower-tatted BDSM serial killer.

“I’ll bargain with you . . .” I wait until his lips part with expectation, his eyes gloating, and then add, “on one condition. Actually, no, two conditions. First, you tell Inara and her friends to call off the attacks. No more pranks, no more trying to make me fail. Unless you can’t make her listen to you—”

“Done. And the other?”

“Second . . . I choose the part of me you touch.”

His eyes narrow.

Shoot. I gave in too easily. I should have protested more. “Or not. If you don’t want to bargain—”

“Yes,” he says too quickly before he regains his lazy composure, his mouth twitching into that arrogant grin that makes him so throat-punchable. “Now, say it. What are you agreeing to?”

I pull in huge amounts of air, trying to chase away the feeling that I’m drowning.

Talk slowly. Think before you speak.

After I’ve gathered my thoughts and have my statement ready, I say, “I agree that, when the time comes, I’ll give you permission to touch a part of me that will be specified right before the act itself.” I peer up at him, terrified he’ll hear the pounding of my duplicitous heart and know I’m tricking him. “Your turn.”

“I agree to my part of the bargain. You will remain at the academy, and Inara won’t touch you.”

A wave of magic rolls over us as the bargain is struck, leaving a metallic taste in my mouth and doubt in my heart.

His eyes glitter with dark intent as he adds, “No one will touch you until it’s my turn.” I flinch as he suddenly leans so close I can feel the heat of his lips against my ear. “And then, Summer, I promise you, it won’t matter where I touch you, do you understand? You’ll be ruined, utterly, completely, permanently destroyed, and the Winter Prince will watch.”

I force my eyes downcast. Let him believe I’m cowed into submission. That he forced me into a terrible bargain I now regret. Whatever it takes to feed his demented soul long enough to keep my spot in the academy.

Once he fulfills his end of the deal, I know he’ll wait before demanding I fulfill mine. Savoring the secret, shared knowledge that he can touch me whenever he wants. Have me whenever he wants.

Typical Evermore, using a mortal as an unwitting pawn in a game where we couldn’t begin to fathom the rules.

But I’m not a mortal—not technically, anyway—and if my hunch was correct, I’ll beat him at his own twisted game.

If not, I’m so very, very screwed.

25

“Again,” Valerian orders. He’s posted on the far side of the gym, arms crossed and legs spread wide. When Eclipsa hesitates, he repeats, “Again, Eclipsa.”

I flash her a panicked look, and she mouths, sorry, before sending a wave of magic rolling across the mat toward me. Taking a deep breath, I square off to face the churning darkness as it rises, transforming into a hulking troll.

It’s an illusion spell. I know the troll isn’t real. I know it can’t hurt me.

And yet, my mind and body freak out as if it were real. I scream and duck, searching for a weapon. Pleading with them for anything to fight this monster. The troll barrels closer, and I can actually smell its rotten egg stench and feel the mat shake beneath its large, hairy feet.

Sweat pours from my body. I’m terrified, helpless to do anything but watch as it swings its huge, spiky club at my face—

“Enough!” Eclipsa snaps.

I must have closed my eyes, and when I open them, everything is sideways. Oh—that’s because I’m curled in the fetal position on my side, arms hugging my legs, trembling so hard my thigh slaps softly against the padded mat.

Relaxing, I stare up at the ceiling. The troll is gone and once again, I produced no magic.

None. Not even a tiny little whisper of the stuff.

Both Valerian and Eclipsa rush over to help me up, but when Valerian gets close, Eclipsa checks him with her elbow. “She needs space.”

He freezes, his face twisted with emotion. Agony and rage swirl inside his silver eyes as he slowly meets my stare.

It’s been two weeks since Hellebore kidnapped me in front of Valerian and my class. Two agonizing weeks of working every night to coax out my magic. Two weeks of looking into Valerian’s face and seeing his gut-wrenching guilt for not being able to stop Hellebore.

That plus the seething fury buried beneath the shame convinces me that I made the right choice.

If I’d let Hellebore take me to the Spring Court, Valerian would have burned the Everwilde to the ground, no matter the cost.

“It’s okay, Eclipsa,” I protest, even though my heart still races and my body is weak from doing this same thing for the last four hours. A nightmarish, never-ending game called let’s-scare-Summer-until-she-uses-magic or pees her pants.

My sanity isn’t the only victim. The nights after training that were supposed to go toward operation-get-to-know-Valerian are now horror-filled scenarios that leave me sweaty and shaking.

Not exactly how I envisioned getting to know Valerian better.

But Eclipsa’s wrong. I don’t blame Valerian for trying to help me control my powers. Control means I can keep my identity safe and—if needed—can protect myself from psychopaths like Inara and Hellebore.

I’m just convinced it’s a waste of time. I’m broken. My mortal body unable to harness the power tethered to my soulstone.

They’ve tried everything. Orcs. Lycans. Trolls. I even agreed to using the spider creatures from my hallucination, which ended disastrously with me dry-heaving on the ground.

At this point, I’d let Eclipsa conjure Satan himself if it helped draw out my magic so I can learn how to control it.

Valerian’s hand is cool as he pulls me to a stand. “I’m sorry, Princess. I—” Frowning, he looks away. “It’s well past midnight. We’ll try again next session.”

“No,” I protest, willing my legs to stop shaking. “I want to go again.”

“Not happening.” His voice is gentle now, like I might break apart any second, and that’s almost worse than his frustration. “You need to rest.”

“Prince,” Eclipsa says, toying with the pigtail braid over her left shoulder. “There’s something I want to try with her . . . alone.”

“We’ve pushed her too hard already.”