Spring

“As you’re all aware, the highest ranking Evermore of the reigning season traditionally gives a speech at the beginning of each year. Please give a warm welcome to the Spring Court Prince, Hellebore Narcissus.”

I look to Eclipsa, prepared to pepper her with a million questions—

She’s frozen, mouth twisted into what could either be shock or rage or something rawer.

What the frick? I’ve never seen her look so . . . unnerved. Her nostrils flare, her dark eyes unblinking, mouth parted slightly as she glares at the stage.

I follow her death stare to the Evermore male ascending the dais, expecting the pageantry I’m used to for high ranking Evermore.

Instead, I’m met with an alarmingly handsome blond male wearing fashionably frayed dark-wash jeans and a salmon-pink shirt that’s just tight enough to flaunt his heavenly abs and muscular chest. His hair is the color of aged honey. Styled to be edgy, the thick strands are cropped short on one side and fall to the tip of his ear on the other.

A male sprite with spiky platinum locks and delicate black wings flits just above him.

It’s rare to see a male sprite at the academy. Because males possess stronger venom, they’re typically used as guardians to royal Evermore babies in the nurseries.

On my shoulder, I feel Ruby sit up and suddenly take interest.

I slide my focus back to the Spring Prince. He’s not bulky like Rhaegar, whose strength is marked by his size, nor does he possess Valerian’s lupine strength.

No, there’s something dangerously magnetic about him, like a filthy rich bad boy who knows his money, power, and charm can buy him almost anything.

His I’m-special-just-because aura is nauseating. Especially as he casually rests his hands in his pockets, looks at the crowd, and curls his lips into a sensual smile.

And, whoa, that grin is like watching a flower bloom. Even the teachers seem to melt a little, male and female.

“Sweet baby Faeries,” Ruby whispers into my ear. “That boy can water my garden any day.”

Before I can help myself, a laugh trickles from my throat.

Prince Hellebore’s blue eyes slide to meet mine. They linger just long enough to ignite my insides before sweeping over the crowd.

“Students of Evermore Academy.” The arrogant, syrupy drawl is exactly what you’d expect from a spoiled Spring Court prince. “Thank you for opening your school to the students of Whitehall. I know, in the past, we’ve been adversaries, but I think we can all agree the darkling infestation is a common enemy.”

Growling, Eclipsa storms off, the violence seething from her willowy figure sending the nearest Evermore careening back, as far away from the enraged assassin as possible.

I watch her rip open a portal and disappear. There’s definitely a story there. Resolved to ask her about it later, I search the crowd for Inara and her deranged crew, but they’re missing.

Maybe the prince killed them after all. A girl can hope.

I take another, harder look at the Spring Court Prince, trying to reconcile the charming, laidback male on the podium with someone who could single-handedly disarm the Six. Full sleeve tats cover both forearms, an intricate pattern of vining flowers that must have taken weeks to create.

On any other male, flowers would look ridiculous, but not on Prince Hellebore. He possesses the natural beauty of the Fae. Large, seductive sky-blue eyes. Sharp, elegant features. Full, entirely too-kissable lips.

Every detail is constructed like plants in a garden to work harmoniously together to . . . what?

Lure people in? Disarm them?

For some reason, I think about Valerian. Whereas the ice prince’s beauty is disconcerting, almost overwhelming, Hellebore’s is soothing, Venus flytrap style.

He reminds me of the tale of the Fae who appears near the Shimmer and lures mortal girls away with his promise of love only to cage them in glass, like butterflies pinned to a board.

“For the most part,” Prince Hellebore continues, “I want to honor your traditions. But, considering the incident with the shadow who turned darkling, I’m implementing a few . . . changes.”

Again, his near-turquoise eyes alight on me, their unnatural brightness unnerving. Is he seriously staring at me again?

The subtle tick of his lips confirms my paranoia that he is, in fact, speaking directly to me. “At Whitehall Academy, shadows are expected to meet the highest of standards. But, more importantly, they are supposed to know their place. What I’ve witnessed implies the opposite. Your shadows are defiant. Untrained. Undisciplined. A few even managed to bypass the rigorous acceptance standards to gain a coveted spot here.”

Whoa. Now there’s no doubt he’s talking about me. His gaze lingers, long enough for whispers to grow and my cheeks to flame with embarrassment.

Mother trucker.

“From this day forward, shadows must earn their spot in a series of trials.”

Dread fills my veins as I look at Mack. Her face is pinched, mirroring my growing worry.

Yells erupt as the Evermore students react to that bombshell. Most are, if not fond of their shadows, used to us and the many benefits we bring.

“What gives you the right to come here and make new rules?” a dark haired Unseelie quips. I recognize her as one of Inara’s friends.

Hellebore doesn’t even look at the girl as he says, “The laws of your academy, actually. Right, Headmistress Lepidonis?”

The Headmistress gives a pained nod. “The covenants say the ruling Evermore of the current season can make changes to the academy, as long as they do not go against the bylaws or unduly favor their court.”

My stomach clenches . . . then plummets as he returns his focus to me, his lips twitching cruelly at the corners. “Another thing. Shadows caught sleeping with the Evermore for favors will be branded a Fae whore and treated as such.”

My mouth goes paper dry. The options for a shadow after being labeled a Fae whore are cringy at best. Most end up on the front lines, used to entertain the Fae soldiers, or in the Winter King’s clubs after he buys out their contracts.

I don’t know which option is worse. Moreover, I can’t understand why the human world would even entertain letting creatures like the Fae reside in their cities when such travesties still happen.

I have to think most of the human world doesn’t know. They tried to erase my memories of this place when I was expelled, so they probably do that to most human Shadows that survive.

That explains why Nick and Sebastian never really worry about Mack. If they truly remembered all the awful things that transpired, they would have moved heaven and earth to buy off her Fae contract somehow.

The human world has no idea how cruel the Fae really are.

“That’s not a new rule,” a male Dusk Court Fae calls.

I blink, pulling myself out of my ragey thoughts to see the spring bastard’s stare still parked on me.

“No,” Prince Hellebore admits. “But up until now, it hasn’t been enforced.”

My forehead furrows as I scowl. Ugh. Why are you singling me out, jerkwad?

I clench and unclench my fists as the murmurs and stares grow. Mack tries to grab my hand, but I gently pull away.

I don’t want her tainted by association with me.

“Now that we’re clear on how shadows are to behave, let’s discuss the trials. At Whitehall, we ensure only the best shadows attend beside us by holding three gauntlets. These trials are meant not to simply cull the deserving from the undeserving, but to remind them of their place in Everwilde. They are beneath us. Slaves bound by magic to do our bidding and enhance all of Faerie.”

They. He’s talking about us like we’re not here. Like we’re non-entities.

I thought there was no one I could despise more than Inara.

I was so fricking wrong.

“Because of its mortality rate, the final gauntlet is required for fourth years only,” Hellebore adds, as if this somehow makes him a hero.

The Unseelie Evermore Courts look rather ambivalent about the whole speech. As long as their favorite form of entertainment—watching us die—is still in place, they don’t seem to care one way or another who’s in charge. The Seelie Courts glance around, shocked but not exactly disappointed.

Prince Hellebore is a Seelie Fae, after all.

“One last thing.” Prince Hellebore smiles. “Fail any of the gauntlets and you’ll be expelled from the academy and sent to fight the scourge.”

Well, crap.

In one sentence, this Spring Court jerkwad just jeopardized my entire future.

My hand flutters to my throat where a giant lump forms. Expelled? Sent to an almost certain death fighting the scourge?

That can never happen.

7

The rest of the school day passes in a blur of nervous chatter as everyone scrambles to learn what they can about the Spring Court gauntlets. Even the fourth years are worried.

What sort of contest will the trials be? How dangerous are they? How many students pass, on average?

No one seems to know anything, but I can’t help assuming the worst. All my plans, all my grand ambitions for my future, and this Spring Court pretty boy dickwad comes and ruins everything.

If the contest was fair, I would pull my crap together and do whatever it took to succeed. But after Inara’s threat, everyone has a vested interest in seeing me fail.

The only bright spot in my day is that Mack shares every class after lunch with me. Since the last four periods are when shadows attend school with the Evermore, I prepare myself for more hazing, but Inara and her homicidal gang don’t show up until the last class, Advanced Properties of Magic.

I can’t help but grin as I watch Inara, Kimber, and Lyra slip quietly into the auditorium right as Professor Lambert begins to talk. Rhaegar and Basil follow.

All of them file into the back row, subdued, missing their usual arrogant I-own-the-school grins.

No one even notices them. The entire classroom’s focus is riveted on Hellebore and the girl he sits next to. Like him, she’s dressed casually in black leggings and an oversized gray tee, artfully ripped at the shoulders and frayed in the hem. Her hair is a shade lighter than his, the uneven ends tinted pastel purple, making her gray eyes pop.