I suck in a shaky breath. I’m torn between punching him and spending the rest of my life trying to make his lips curl up like that again.

Pouting, I ask, “When is it my turn to test your willpower?”

I have no idea what I’m doing in that department—none—so my suggestion startles me. But something about being around Valerian, about his absolute belief that I am the most beautiful woman in the world, fills me with daring confidence.

His eyes grow heavy lidded, lips parting at the thought, but he murmurs, “Another time. When we have weeks to play, not less than an hour.” I go to argue but he shakes his head, eyes defiant. “You won’t win on this. My mate and her needs will always come first.” Tilting his head, he drags his thumb across my inner thigh, watching with lazy satisfaction as my sensitive flesh prickles with goose bumps. “Now, where were we? Oh, right. Proving what a noisy thing you are.”

Afterward, when he’s proven countless times that I’m hopeless at winning this particular bargain, he leads me from the maze and back into the real world. We sneak around the snoring hobs guarding the human quarters, hand in hand, trying not to laugh as I explain what ILB stands for.

I’ve never seen Valerian so boyish, so hopeful.

It all feels so unexpectedly . . . right.

At my door, he turns me to face him. “Tomorrow, when you enter the gauntlet, remember who you are. Princess of the Summer Court and mate to the Winter Prince and heir. You deserve to be there. Once you pass—and you will, Summer—find me and we’ll travel directly to the Winter Palace.”

“What about the Fae law? The one that prohibits Seelie and Unseelie from being together?”

“Once the bond fully clicks into place, we’ll be powerful enough that it won’t matter. The courts will fall in line.”

“It’s that easy?”

“You have no idea the power caged inside you. After we prove tomorrow that Hellebore holds the missing soulstone and pieces of the Worldslayer, we can destroy the Darken’s soul once and for all and then consummate our bond. You’ll be out of danger, free to announce who you really are, and the courts will kneel at our feet.”

Consummated. Never has such a banal word sounded so naughty. A shiver of anticipation trills through me.

In response, Valerian kisses me so tenderly that I imagine dragging him into my tiny hovel and onto my mattress of pain.

“Titania save me, you’re beautiful.” He winks, running two fingers down the brand marking my arm. “If you thought it was hard being quiet before, just wait until I have you spread out before me with days to draw out the consummation of the bond.”

My, God. This can’t be real life. This can’t be my life.

Groaning, I drag myself away from him and lurch into my room, slamming the door before I can change my mind. I don’t feel his presence leave until after I’m puddled on my lumpy mattress, a hot mess of wobbly limbs and wild thoughts.

Valerian loves me. I love him. We’re mates.

Valerian Sylverfrost, the Ice Prince, loves me.

The gauntlet tomorrow suddenly feels so easy. I’m going to win it, Hellebore will be out of the way, and then I’ll be with Valerian.

Somehow I manage to fall asleep. I dream of Valerian in the hedge maze, his wicked grin and teasing voice. His vulnerable expression right before he kissed me so gently.

But when I speak his name and say I love him, he bursts into a thousand fireflies. I try to catch them, try to put him back together.

Yet the fireflies all end up trapped in little unbreakable jars.

And I’m helpless to do anything but watch as they smash against the glass, trying to get back to me, their glorious light fading until there’s only darkness.

45

The gauntlet starts at dawn. We’re spread out in the sloping meadow behind the palace. Ribbons of pink and orange tangle along the highest branches of the forest in the distance. The Evermore are gathered in wooden stands that flank us on either side, separated by Seelie and Unseelie Courts. Each stand stretches over the length of two football fields.

Even though I know Valerian will be with the other Keepers inside the viewing room of the palace, I search the crowd, last night still fresh in my mind.

It all feels like a dream.

Like a wild, crazy hallucination.

But the tenderness of my lips and the grass in my hair this morning confirms what happened between us was real.

Real.

Instead of Valerian, I spot Eclipsa. She gives me a conspiratorial smile. As soon as we enter the first phase of the gauntlet, she’ll slip away to join the others inside the palace.

Boisterous shouts draw my focus to the Seelie stadium on the right. The lower Fae are positioned in the highest seats while the Evermore fill the coveted lower half of the stadium.

They wave banners and ribbons and sing the songs of their courts.

Rhaegar sits with Basil on the bottom row, marking Rhaegar as a powerful Evermore. But the empty seats around him also mark him as an outcast with his own court.

His head turns to stare at me, and I look away before our eyes can meet, my gaze falling on Mack. My best friend stands a few feet away, the emerald and gray uniform she wears bringing out her bronzed skin. She’s braided her hair, ribbons of chartreuse and charcoal weaving through the ensemble.

Her face leaves little doubt that she’s going to win this gauntlet or die trying. We’ve both quietly conceded to the fact that we each plan to win.

Yet I trust without a doubt that she’ll do whatever she can to help me succeed until the end—and vice versa.

Cheers explode into applause as a giant portal shimmers to life at the end of the meadow. My heartbeat roars in my ears.

I rub my clammy palms down the thighs of my tight ice-blue uniform they dressed me in, to match my Keeper’s court. Dark streaks of sweat stain the stretchy fabric, joining an ever-growing wet spot.

I crack my neck, ready to begin.

Along our waists they’ve tied a spelled leather sack. We’re allowed to conjure two mundane items from it for each phase of the gauntlet to help us, like clothing, food, approved class one and two weapons, or tools.

The Unseelie sigil is pinned just above my heart. Every Unseelie shadow in the meadow wears the same black diamond brooch, a snake consuming its own tail. But it’s not just for show. When pressed, the spelled head of the pin shows a magical map.

A murmur stirs the shadows as Hellebore strolls to the front of our group. He’s in his element. His honey-blond hair is artfully styled to fall on one side, revealing the other half of his skull. Someone hand-painted a spiderweb over the cropped side. Flowers are trapped inside the delicate web, a winter and a summer rose.

Really original, douchebag.

He exudes the energy of the Spring Court: vitality, beauty, life. But I know that just like the flowers here, spelled to stay fresh indefinitely, a hint of rot and death lurk just below his handsome facade.

His sky-blue eyes sweep over us, lingering on me for a too long moment. “Shadows, welcome to the Spring Court’s final gauntlet, a race famous around the world for its ability to cull the weak from the strong. There are forty of you and only twenty victory spots. If you want to pass this year, I suggest you are one of those twenty.” He smiles, making no effort to hide his stare as it locks on me. “Like always, those who fail will have their slave contracts put up for immediate auction right here.”

The stadiums thrum with excitement at the prospect, and I clench my jaw to hide my disgust.

“You will travel through the four seasonal courts by way of portals,” he continues. “If you pay attention, each portal has a clue regarding the season you’re about to enter and the obstacles you might face. Use that information to choose your two items from the pouch at your waist.”

To demonstrate, a servant holds up a leather pouch. Hellebore puts his hand inside. “Field rabbit.”

We all gasp, including me, as he pulls out his hand holding an adorable gray rabbit by the nape of its neck. The creature twitches its nose, oblivious to the monster holding it.

As the bunny goes hopping into the group, a tense hush falls over the meadow. We can all feel the speech coming to an end.

Which means the race is about to begin.

“If you’ve trained and studied to be the very best,” Hellebore continues, “you’ll pass. Otherwise, you’ll fail or die. Both are undesirable options, I can assure you.”

The prick smiles at that. Psycho. I can’t wait for Valerian and the others to expose him for the snake he is.

As if he can feel my burning hatred, he meets my glare with a smug look. “Make no mistake. This race will define every single one of your futures for the rest of your brief lives. Now run, little shadows. Run for your lives.”

Awed murmurs stir the morning air and quickly turn to shrieks. When I see why, I understand that Hellebore was being literal when he said run for your lives.

A swarm of huge blue butterflies the same color as Hellebore’s eyes descend on us from above.

“Caeruleum mortem!” Mack hisses as she shoves me into a sprint. “The blue death!”

Blue death. Blue death. Ominous as heck, but where have I heard that?

I watch one of the delicate blue butterflies land on the arm of the fourth year boy to my right. The fabric of his suit disintegrates as if something eats away at it.

An ungodly scream rips from the boy’s chest. He grabs his arm, blood spurting beneath his fingertips as the butterfly flits in the air and lands on his cheek . . .

I jerk my eyes away before I can witness what happens next, but I suddenly recall where I’ve heard the blue death.

They’re butterflies from deep in the Spring Court territories, and their touch is like acid to mortal skin.

The portal looms. Azure fire licks along the portal’s rim. Not fire. Magic. Snowflakes drift from the other side . . .

“The first phase is the Winter Court!” I yell to Mack. We push through the stampede of panicked shadows as students scream around us.

I need to figure out the other clue. The face of the portal is a metallic silver, like molten steel. I try to peer through the surface, but it’s completely opaque.