And through the portal to the finish line.

47

The applause back on the other side is so loud that it vibrates the earth. I blink against the sunlight, the throng of Fae on the field around us. Cronus has already grabbed Mack and is herding her toward the palace courtyard, where the winner’s stage awaits.

Winner. She won.

A surge of contrasting emotions flood through me. I’m happy she won her place back at the academy. I am. But I can’t shake this feeling . . . this heaviness.

As the crowd pushes me toward the stage, I shove the feeling aside. Hellebore will undoubtedly make me wear something awful, something humiliating and cruel.

But I can handle that.

If he isn’t already in chains. I glance around as we near the stage. Garlands of yellow aconite and purple and white crocus are hung above us. Monarch butterflies dance in the air. Refreshments are laid out on tables. Four stands have been set up in each corner surrounding the stage, and the royals from each seasonal court watch as Mack is guided to the stage.

Where is Hellebore?

I shove as close to the front as I can. Mack looks bewildered, still in shock from what happened at the end.

Cronus slides a wreath of daffodil and hyacinth over her head. “Mackenzie Fairchild, winner of the first annual Evermore Academy Final Gauntlet.”

Once the applause subsides, two hobs guide Mack off the stage. I start to follow—

“Summer Solstice.” Cronus’s voice rings loud over the courtyard. “Please come to the stage.”

Crap. Is there a prize for coming in second place?

For some reason, it’s hard to drag in enough air to satisfy my lungs. Wiping my sweaty palms on my suit, I make my way to the stairs leading up to the podium.

Fine. Everything’s fine. This is just a formality.

Cronus beckons me to center stage. He doesn’t hold a second place wreath. He doesn’t hold anything except a strange look that sends my heart into overdrive.

And then I see Hellebore standing just off to the side, hands in his pockets, lips pressed into the softest of smiles . . . and my body goes cold. No.

I turn to slip off stage, but two Spring Court guards block my path. More make themselves known surrounding the dais.

Trapped.

Turning, I march toward Hellebore, working to calm my nerves. He doesn’t know. This is him humiliating me.

“Surprised to see me?” he asks softly.

He knows. He knows. I clench my jaw, forcing the fear from my face. “What is this?”

He shrugs. “Fulfilling your end of the bargain. Or did you think I’d forgotten?”

I swallow, throat painfully dry. Whatever embarrassment he has in store, I can take it. “Go ahead. I’m ready.”

He beckons to a hob in the corner who shuffles over, carrying something on a golden velvet pillow.

A makeshift crown of ivy, poppies, and bellflowers. But the ivy is withered, the leaves brittle and browned along the edges, and the flowers have lost their bloom and lay wilted and limp.

Hellebore regards the crown of flowers before sliding his unreadable gaze to me. “Put it on.”

I drag in a shaky breath. What game is he playing? Perhaps the crown is spelled with magic that will make me do silly things like strip off my clothes. Oh, God . . .

The bargain stipulates the item cannot be imbued with magic that would harm me, but not embarrass me. I should have thought of that, but one can’t die of embarrassment, right?

Lifting my chin, I reach for the crown. Whatever he has in store, it cannot break me. He hardly seems to breathe as my fingers close around the ivy base. I swear the tangled vine moves beneath my touch.

“Put it on your head,” he commands.

I look out into the crowd. They want to see a spectacle? A show? I’ll give them one.

Silence descends as I lift the crown and settle it on my head. I stand there, feeling silly and awkward. What’s supposed to happen? I feel nothing.

A pink-skinned nymph in the front covers her mouth with a hand. “She wears the Summer Princess’s crown!”

Another cries, “The flowers—they’re blooming!”

Blooming? A collective gasp shatters the stillness. And then, as if synchronized, every single Fae in the audience drops into a bow.

Oh, no.

A whisper of panic hits me.

Hellebore wasn’t trying to humiliate me. He was trying to expose me.

“Nice to see you again, Princess Hyacinth Larkspur,” Hellebore whispers in my ear before slipping his arm in mine. I’m frozen, paralyzed with surprise and dread as he addresses the crowd. “Fellow Evermore, I’ve found the lost Summer Princess, the fiancé promised to me by her father, King Larkspur.”

All I hear is, the fiancé promised to me, and then my mind goes blank with horror.

Mack is in the crowd. We lock eyes. Her skin has lost all color, her mouth gaping in complete, utter confusion and shock. I spot Inara, Bane, and a few others close by.

Their expressions match Mack’s, although their faces have the added tinge of fear as they slowly realize the mortal they’ve been taunting was actually a Summer Court Princess.

That’s right, Fae-holes. Even in my ever-growing desperation, I manage to find a kernel of happiness in their terror.

After that, everything spirals into chaos. My mother springs to her feet, the Summer King rising behind her. Their court breaks into angry shouts while the Spring Court guards surround me. More guards grab me by the arms and drag me from the stage. The crush of bodies is disorienting.

I try to fight, but I might as well be struggling against boulders for all it does.

I kick and buck all the way to the palace. Hellebore laughs at my struggle, as if watching me be manhandled against my will is a delightful game.

“Where are you . . . taking me?” I pant.

He tsks. “Don’t be impatient. Can’t I surprise my fiancé?”

That word in connection to him makes me want to vomit. My feet drag over the tile floor as the guards push through a set of tall mahogany doors into a throne room. My gaze skips over the massive chandelier made from butterflies, the parquet floor of interlocking tiles in the shape of the Spring Court’s sigil, and onto the spectacle in the middle.

Oh, God, no.

Terror spikes my heart. Valerian, Eclipsa, and Asher are caught in the grasp of thick, thorny vines that sprout nearly fifteen feet into the air, held aloft like macabre decorations, and when I see their faces—

A flood of horror makes me nearly double over. “What have you done to them?”

They look . . . dead. Lifeless. Faces drained of blood and tinged a deathly blue. Lips purple. Eyes shut like they’re sleeping.

Please be sleeping. Please . . . I swallow down my cry when I realize that I don’t feel the bond with Valerian.

I feel . . . nothing.

A cold, dark emptiness that floods me with fear

“They’re not dead,” Hellebore offers blithely. “Yet. That’s up to you.”

“Poison,” I whisper. My insides twist. My skin both hot and cold, almost feverish as reality sinks in.

My mate and friends are poisoned . . . near death. At the mercy of a madman.

“Very good.” Hellebore approaches Valerian, held aloft in the middle of Asher and Eclipsa, and reaches out his hand—

I strain against my guards. “If you touch him, I’ll rip you apart!”

“Such a feisty thing you are, Princess,” Hellebore scolds as something small and black scuttles from the bottom hem of Valerian’s pants and onto the Spring Court heir’s waiting palm. He does the same with Eclipsa and Asher before crossing to me. “Feisty is good, but useful is better.” He holds up his hand. “Like these misunderstood creatures. Their use as silent, stealthy assassins are unparalleled.”

I recoil from the three arachnids crawling over his hand. Small and dark, they resemble black widows with their spindly legs and fat, round bodies. Each horrible little creature wears an iron thimble with a stinger on the end.

“I still had to get the creatures close, of course, but Inara was more than happy to plant them on your friends for me. Seems her love for the Ice Prince has soured.”

“The council will—”

“Do nothing. My creatures only pricked the Ice Prince and the others with the Bloodstar poison once they broke into my vault, as is my right, by law.”

Bloodstar. No. Panic claws through my chest. “How did you know?”

Footsteps draw my attention to a figure approaching behind me. The Winter King. The air cools around us as he nears, drawing goose bumps over my feverish skin.

“I told him.” Valerian’s father’s pale eyes glitter above a cunning grin.

“What?” My throat clenches. “Why?”

“My son apprised me of his suspicions that Prince Hellebore stole my father’s soulstone. When I realized that my son was bringing both the Lunar assassin and Asher Grayscale here . . . well, it wasn’t hard to determine his motives. Breaking into the Spring Court palace.”

“You had your son poisoned!” I growl as fury builds beneath my sternum, filling the hole that panic has already carved. “You betrayed him.”

“No dear.” The king shakes his head, as if I couldn’t begin to fathom his reasoning. “Betrayal would have been letting him give up everything for you. When my son came to me wanting to end his betrothal to Inara Winterspell, I suspected who you were. The drink you sipped during the ceremony at the academy confirmed it. Only someone with Fae magic could resist the lethal toxin I had the bartender add.”

The toast. I shiver, knowing how close Mack came to drinking the spiked cocktail. Fresh, bitter rage builds inside me. If I had talons I would claw the king’s eyes out right now, guards or not.

“If you had agreed to mate with my son, things may have been different. After all, your powers are rumored to be wondrous. But, when my spies told me you’d rejected him that night instead, after he’d already made an enemy of half the Winter Court for you, I knew there was only one way to rectify the damage. A deal with Prince Hellebore.”