Winter

Jeez, it’s almost like she knows Cal Miller.

After that class, I fall into rhythm as Rhaegar’s shadow. I hold his books, type in his notes, and follow him through the hallways as he makes conversation with every Seelie student in existence. He doesn’t talk to me much, but I don’t mind, using the time instead to take in this new world.

Rhaegar moves within the Seelie circle, and he seems to know a little something about everyone. He asks a pixie boy who comes up to my waist about his sick mother. He flirts with a girl from the Autumn court, peppering her with compliments until the flesh of her cheeks goes from turquoise to pink.

It’s almost like he’s campaigning, although I have no idea for what. Perhaps all Fae are constantly maneuvering like this. Forming alliances.

Either way, it’s exhausting. By the time we make it to our last class, Properties of Magic, every step down the auditorium stairs sends my head spinning. When was the last time I drank water?

Ironically, I still have to pee. Crossing my legs, I carefully interrupt Rhaegar mid-conversation. He rips his gaze away from the four female fauns he was talking to, but the moment he recognizes me, his annoyed expression changes back to his pleasant mask.

“Do you need something?” he asks in a honey-sweet voice.

“I . . . can I use the restroom?” I ask, hating that I have to get his permission.

He frowns before sliding his lips into a tight smile. “Class is about to start, but tell you what . . . I need my tablet charger out of my locker. Grab it for me, will you? And if you have time, you can do the other thing.”

I flee before he can change his mind as the Fauns praise him for being so kind to me.

I’m not sure letting me answer the call of nature deserves sainthood, but who am I to judge?

My boots pound the wooden floor as I race down the corridors, desperate to unload my bladder. His white charger is in his locker just like he said. With the cord firmly in hand, I sprint to the bathroom.

The old clock above the wall says one minute till 6:30 p.m. Shit.

I make it just in time. Ah, sweet God in heaven.

When my bladder is gloriously empty and my hands are washed and smell of the school’s verbena and lavender soap, I dart out the door and jog for the stairs.

Please don’t be late. Please don’t be late. Please—

Voices snag my attention. I halt next to a stairwell, where the voices emanate, and press against the wall. From where I stand, whoever is speaking can’t see me.

“You were supposed to make sure she was yours,” an agitated male voice says.

“And she would have been, if you hadn’t jumped in,” a sultry female voice counters. “Rhaegar would have conceded to me. He was only doing it to get a rise out of the Unseelie. But once you entered the equation, he’d rather die than give her up.”

“Well, he’ll get the chance soon enough.” The smarmy voice sounds familiar, and I still my breathing as I strain to listen.

I grin as an oof sound—like the girl hitting the boy—makes its way to me.

“I still think bringing her here was wrong,” the girl snaps.

“I didn’t have a choice. Not with tracker wolves so close.”

The girl sighs. “She’s not ready for this—for any of it.”

“Then you have to make her ready.”

They must lower their voices because all I can hear are muffled whispers.

Then the girl says, “You’re sure about her?”

I lean closer, only to be disappointed when I can’t hear his reply. More garbled words follow, then, “Prince, promise you’ll stay away from her.”

Prince? Curiosity overrides my survival instinct as I peek around the corner, unable to help myself. I barely hold back a gasp as I recognize Eclipsa. She leans against a marble post on the first landing, her silver eyebrows bunched together.

And the Fae male talking to her . . .

Even with his back to me, I would recognize that haughty stance and blue-black hair anywhere. His hair is cut short, tempering what I imagine would be curls into unruly ends that fall against the creamy skin of his neck. The tips of his sharp ears poke through his messy hair like daggers.

What would it be like to touch them? As soon as the thought comes, I shove it down deep. What the Fae is wrong with me?

As if he can feel my stare, he begins to turn around, revealing the severe line of his jaw . . .

The air sucks from my chest as I dart for the nearest door—a janitor’s closet. The lemon and vinegar tang of all-natural cleaners slaps me in the face and makes my eyes water. When I’ve waited at least five minutes—long enough for my heart to slow into an even pace—I leave my hiding place and hurry to class . . .

Late, of course.

The professor, Mr. Lambert, pins me with a stern stare as I stand in the aisle next to Rhaegar. I would sit in the chair next to him, but his backpack and headphones occupies that seat, and he doesn’t offer to move them. Heat rushes up my neck and pools in my cheeks. Rhaegar says nothing as I hand him the charger, but his disappointment is clear in the downturn of his lips.

And four rows behind me, the Winter Prince’s chilly stare bores into my back like icepicks.

21

Once class is over, we follow the crowd to the lower courtyards. My legs feel like Jell-O from standing, and my arms shake from holding Rhaegar’s stuff. Well that and the negative wind chill.

Groups of students congregate around orbs floating above pedestals, the warmth barely making a dent in the cold. Mack is there with Basil, and she looks just as worn out as I feel. But her fur-lined gloves and winter coat keep her warm, at least, and Basil thought to bring her a mug of hot cocoa with marshmallows . . . freaking marshmallows.

Meanwhile, Rhaegar hasn’t looked my way in an hour. He’s engrossed in a discussion with a group of fauns about their treatment in the courts. I don’t blame him; it’s not his fault his shadow can’t afford proper clothes or isn’t used to standing all day.

I bite my cheek, using the jolt of pain to focus on staying upright. I think the combination of not eating lunch—thanks, gory face-eating video—not sleeping, and more physical exertion than I’ve done in years, has caught up to me. And my sweatshirt just isn’t made for this type of cold.

All at once, a wave of dizziness crashes over me, and my vision pirouettes in jarring circles. I try to hold onto Rhaegar’s books, which he brings along just in case his tech isn’t working. The last thing I want to do is drop them in the snow.

Suddenly the weight lifts from my hands. Blinking away the shadows, I see the one person I was hoping not to: the Winter Prince.

He holds the books in one arm, an elegant midnight blue eyebrow arched. “You okay, Princess?”

Princess? “Of course,” I lie through gritted teeth. “Although I’d be better if you gave us some sunlight.”

With a scoff, he marches over to Rhaegar, who’s still deep in conversation with a faun, and shoves the books into his surprised arms.

“If you’re going to have a mortal shadow, Rhaegar, you might remember that she is mortal.”

Annoyance darkens Rhaegar’s normally gorgeous face as he takes in the prince. “What do you care?”

“She’s on loan to you,” the Winter Prince points out, the smarmy dickwad. “But in a few moon cycles, she’s mine. Perhaps I don’t want you to break her before it’s my turn.”

Bastard.

A snarl rips from Rhaegar’s chest. “You’re the one with a track record of killing those you love.”

At those words, the prince goes still . . . but it’s a predatory stillness. He watches Rhaegar without blinking. Without breathing. Every ounce of his focus is on the Summer Fae as giant snowflakes begin to fall.

The trickle quickly becoming a blizzard.

Adrenaline surges through my frozen veins. Any moment now I expect the prince to strike.

It’s almost comical how fast the Fae students scatter to form a circle around us. Then it’s just Rhaegar, the Winter Prince, and me.

Through the dwindling visibility, I spot Inara with her flunkies by the nearest frozen fountain, watching everything unfold with rapt attention. In fact, the entire courtyard stares, entranced, as the snow rages around us.

Once again, I’m the focus of attention. Fabulous.

Someone laughs, and I turn to see Eclipsa Skywell saunter over and clap the prince on the shoulder. “Oberon’s beard. If you’re going to kick off a war between Seelie and Unseelie, I want to be invited.”

I tense, expecting the prince to react badly to Eclipsa’s touch. So does everyone else, apparently, because the silence turns into palpable fear. Every eye is riveted to the Winter Prince, and that’s when I truly realize just how powerful he must be.

But instead of agitation, Eclipsa’s presence seems to calm him. His muscles uncoil as he flashes a boyish grin at her. “Trust me. If the Winter Court wages war, you’ll be the first to know, Eclipsa.”

Well, now I know what it sounds like when an entire crowd sighs with relief. Just like that, the blizzard stops. With the threat of a fight gone, murmurs break the silence as students stop holding their breath and begin to whisper.

“Oh, good.” Eclipsa rolls out her shoulders before sliding a pointed glance at the prince. “For a moment I thought you two idiots were about to fight. But it’s just a testosterone-fueled stare down. Gotcha.”

Despite my annoyance at the situation, her sarcasm makes me smile.

Rhaegar opens his mouth to speak then seems to think better of it. Instead, he switches his focus to me.

Whatever he sees, it must not be good because pity flashes across his handsome countenance, his green eyes widening.

God, I hate that emotion.

“Summer, I’m sorry. I didn’t know . . . and why in the scourge aren’t you wearing a coat?”

“Because she can’t afford one,” the prince reminds him. “She came from the Tainted Zone, remember? And in case you aren’t familiar with humans, they aren’t like the lesser Fae slaves your father keeps. They do need sustenance and the occasional rest. Even the poor ones.”