Winter

That was over two years ago.

My suspicions are further confirmed when I see the condition of the photo. It looks worn. Fingerprints dull the surface. The edges are curled, the lacquer from one side peeling back.

Whoever this is, he’s looked at my picture a lot. I stare at the two hands he uses to hold the photo, careful to only touch the edges. Soft white half-moons ridge his slender, neat fingernails.

Emotions slam through him as he stares at me. Darkness. Confusion. Rage. Despair. And something else. Something so powerful it eats at him. But I can’t decipher the emotion.

What the hell?

Then he calmly tilts the photo toward the fire until one of the edges erupts in flames. A surge of loss rises up inside him, followed by relief as my face burns away to nothing.

Only when the heat blisters his thumb does he finally release my photo. The moment my image disappears inside the licking orange flames, a ragged sigh escapes his lips.

Flicking his hand toward the fire, he sends a howling wind of ice and snow to snuff out the flames.

When he glances at himself in the mirror, I nearly scream.

The Winter Prince stares back at me, and it feels like those mournful eyes are looking straight into my soul.

It feels like he can see me.

I don’t know if it’s the pure terror hurtling through my veins, but whatever connection I have to him severs. I’m no longer in his room, but back in mine. Standing right where I was before, by the window, my hands pressed against the cold pane.

Only now it’s freezing inside our room, and when I turn around to flee back to my bed and its mound of covers, I see why.

The magical fire that never extinguishes has died.

18

I’m a bundle of nervous energy as Mack and I walk to class through a wooded path, shadowed by one very angry sprite. Her name is Ruby, but I’ve learned little else about her. It’s hard to make conversation when she’s continuously rattling off what have to be curses in a totally different language while darting around our heads.

I also watched her chug a tiny thimbleful of brambleberry liquor earlier and then give the world’s largest belch.

Mack’s sprite, on the other hand, is actually helpful. Thornilia delivered Mack a flaky raspberry tart this morning, and she must have hustled because it was still warm, steam curling from the paper sleeve around it. Then Thornilia helped Mack pick out an outfit, steamed it, and braided her hair, weaving tiny winter roses through her dark strands.

She even did some cleaning spell on my hoodie and jeans.

Of course, she got the go-getting, hair-braiding, sober sprite while I got the tiny trash-talking lush.

A large group of human shadows from the second Seelie dorm walk up ahead. When Mack and her sprite hurry to join them, I slow down, enjoying the moment to myself.

My sprite wandered off a moment ago—I actually think she may have passed out beneath a tree. Normally I’d be worried, but the path from our dorms to the main campus has a warm shell of magic around it, and most of the snow has been cleared.

Aside from the crunch of my boots on the gravel trail, the forest is quiet.

With the sudden silence, last night’s events flicker across my mind. The entire ordeal seems like a dream. So much so that I’m starting to wonder if it was one. Only the fire did, in fact, go out, and the dorm monitor said he’d never seen that happen before.

That can’t be a coincidence. Right?

Inside the main academy, we cut through the commons to grab breakfast. Other than a few humans, the wood-paneled halls are empty. It’s nearly noon—Fae don’t rise until late—and my stomach has been growling for hours.

After wolfing down two hard rolls, a strange yet heavenly winter fruit called a pink-melon, and an odd assortment of nuts and cheese, I glare at the spread of tea packets and hot water, beyond disappointed in the lack of coffee.

Of course the Fae drink watered down varieties of tea. Most I’ve never even heard of.

My caffeine addiction aside, I’m starting to relax. They’re actually feeding us. And no one has tried to freeze me in place and part my head from my body. So there’s that.

Once we make it to the lower levels where the mortal studies take place and I see that the hall is packed with humans but very few Fae, the knot of unease that’s been tightening with every step deeper into the academy loosens.

Maybe I won’t have to see the Winter Prince today.

Maybe he’s forgotten all about me and the Nocturus, and I can just avoid him for the rest of my life. Although that’s going to be hard if I keep falling into his mind.

I still can’t get over how weird that was, even if, when it happened, it felt so normal. Like I had done it hundreds of times before. Like it was . . . natural to slip inside the mind of the most terrifying Fae on campus while he’s naked and in bed with another girl.

And, holy Fae balls. If Inara knew I somehow jumped inside her boyfriend’s head and witnessed her march of shame as he kicked her out—well, I’m pretty sure she’d claw out my eyes.

“Hey. You okay?” Mack asks as she smooths an already perfect strand of chocolate-brown hair behind her ear.

Biting my lip, I shift the backpack across my shoulders. The books weighing down my new, hunter green backpack came this morning, along with the bill for said items, and a schedule.

I haven’t even had time to freak out about the debt yet. The moment I laid eyes on my courses, the reality of the next four years all came crashing down.

The paper hasn’t left my sweat-stained hands ever since.

For the hundredth time, I glance down at it, trying to read through sweat-smeared print even though I know my schedule now by heart.

1st Period Faerie Courts and History

2nd Period Gaelic Language Studies

3rd Period Faerie Anatomy and Physiology

4th Period Combat Theory

Lunch

5th Period Understanding the Modern Mortal World

6th Period Mythological Creatures

7th Period Potions and Poisons

8th Period Properties of Magic: Elemental and Soulmancy

9th Period Combat Skills

I’ve also been assigned three extra shadow training sessions a week. The one-and-a-half hour sessions are before regular classes. Thank God the Fae don’t wake up until around noon, which is when school starts, or I’d be condemned to a year of early-morning sparring sessions.

Mack smooths the cute cream jumper she wears and then flashes me a smile. “You’ll do great. Just don’t punch anyone or call anyone a bitch.”

I cringe, wishing I hadn’t eaten the rolls as a wave of nausea crashes over me.

When she sees my look, she grabs me by the shoulders. “You’ll slay your classes. Just take as many notes as possible and I can help later with anything you don’t understand. Okay? See you in Combat Theory.”

Fourth period is our only class together before lunch. I watch her go and then search for my locker. After finally finding it—no thanks to Ruby, who I last saw frolicking in a tray of oatmeal—I run to my class on the second floor.

And, of course, I’m the last one to walk in. Right before class starts.

According to the name scrawled over the chalkboard, my teacher is Professor Hawthorn. She peers at me behind thick, wire-rimmed glasses. She’s tall with prominent ears longer than most Fae, bright red hair pulled into a french-braid, and jade skin. “Glad you could make it . . . ?”

“Summer,” I say as I slide into the only empty seat in the front and begin taking my books out of my backpack. Two girls snicker behind me.

Someone mutters, “Trailer Park.”

I glance back to discover Reina at a desk whispering with another girl I don’t recognize. A white bandage covers Reina’s nose, the skin around the bandage purple and swollen, and she sports two black eyes.

I’d almost forgotten a broken nose did that.

“Wow,” I say. “That looks painful. You should probably put some ice on that.”

Someone laughs, and then Mrs. Hawthorn calls out, “Enough! Any student who speaks out of turn will be glamoured into silence. Do it again and you’ll find yourself in Headmistress Lepidonis’s office. Understood?”

The girl beside Reina frowns at Mrs. Hawthorn. “I thought you were only allowed to glamour us if we try to escape or harm ourselves?”

The smugness of her tone grates on my nerves. Apparently, it does the same to Hawthorn’s because she marches toward the girl, looming over her.

“Lily Wright, this is my classroom and I can do whatever I want to you.”

“I would tell someone,” Lily insists quietly.

“Would you now?” Pushing up her glasses, Mrs. Hawthorn leans down, causing the girl to shrink low in her seat. “How would you do that when I’ve glamoured you into silence?”

The class goes completely still. Lily suddenly clutches at her throat. Her mouth opens . . . but not a word comes out.

Grinning, Mrs. Hawthorn breezes up the aisle and waves her hand, causing one word to appear over the chalkboard: power.

“The first lesson is this,” she calls out. “In Fae society, power is everything. We rise and fall with our ability to create it, wield it, and retain it. What are the three main components of power?” When no one says a word, she adds, “Anyone? Or is this entire class suddenly glamoured into silence too?”

“Magic?” someone calls out.

She nods. “Yes, magic in our society is very important to retaining power. That is why the Evermore, the highest ranking Fae in each court, do what?”

“They make rules allowing only their kind to perform a renewal ceremony,” Reina proudly answers. “Every time an Evermore renews, their power increases, while the magic of the lesser Fae has been slowly weakening over generations as it dies out with them.”

“Yes,” Mrs. Hawthorn says. “Controlled renewal is a controversial yet very effective rule that’s been in place for centuries.”

Renewal? I open my textbook and quickly search the glossary in the back until I find the word.

Renewal: When a Faerie’s soul enters a new body. The soul retains any magic from previous lives, and, over time, can generate powerful magic. The Faerie lifespan typically runs around a thousand years, so renewal ceremonies are held every millennium.