Winter

He swallows, his jaw softening. “Summer, if I hadn’t been there—”

“But you were,” I finish. “Because you’re always there. Scowling and looking all hot and pissed.”

A flicker of surprise animates his otherwise livid expression. His lips press together, and then he murmurs, “Hot?”

Shit.

His gaze falls to my mouth, which has parted slightly. I become acutely aware of how near he is to me. Close enough that I could reach out and run my fingertips over the jagged cliffs of his cheeks.

Close enough that I could kiss him—if he wasn’t a Fae and I wasn’t a human and we didn’t despise one another.

He jerks his focus from my lips, almost violently, and schools his face into a disdainful scowl. “You should go inside, Princess. Your body reeks of the pheromone drink.”

His cruel nickname drives the dagger of his loathing even deeper. You don’t call someone who shops at the Salvation Army princess unless you want to wound them deeply.

I’m about to tell him as much when Mack, Evelyn, and Callum come rushing from the front doors, dragging my attention to them.

Evelyn sees me first and shouts, “She’s alive . . . and alone.”

Alone? I glance back, but the prince is gone.

Mack throws her arms around me. “Where did you go? We thought someone took you.”

“I’m . . . someone had the decency to bring me home,” I half explain.

“Someone?” Mack says, reluctantly releasing me. “Who?”

“Just some Fae,” I insist. “Thankfully, he’s immune to my druggy charms.” I can’t help but wonder how much you have to despise someone to not react to a massive dose of pheromones.

“We should go,” Callum insists. He’s posted in front of me, arms crossed over his massive chest, staring down imaginary threats. “Until the drug leaves your system, you’re not safe.”

Callum decides to spend the night outside our room, in case any Fae follow my intoxicating scent here, while Mack gives me a talk about not drinking anything without first knowing what it does.

Then I take the world’s hottest shower, scrubbing hard to try to rinse any residual pheromones from my body, and hop into bed.

Mack gave me a pajama set to wear, but the silk shorts barely cover my butt, the cami ending above my navel. Still, it’s better than sleeping naked, and I sink into my sheets, grateful for a soft bed and roommate who’s legit awesome.

Things could have turned out much worse.

Sleep drags my eyelids down, but my mind keeps going over tonight.

Why can’t I just hate the prince? I don’t even have a thing for dickhead bad boys.

“Mack,” I whisper.

The top bunk shakes and then she’s peering down at me with a tired, grumpy expression. “What?”

“Have you ever liked someone who was bad for you?”

Silence. When it stretches out into minutes, I assume she must have fallen asleep. But then the bed frame above wiggles and she says, “Sure. I once thought I liked my dad’s personal trainer. He had full sleeve tats, rode a Ducati, and smoked weed.”

“How’d you make it go away?”

She yawns. “I slept with him and realized his bad boy persona compensated for a dull personality and tiny dick.”

I snort. I’m fairly certain that’s not the case with the prince. “It doesn’t matter, he hates me anyway.” I stretch under the covers, yawning, “Good . . . night.”

I fall into a restless sleep, and everywhere I turn, every new dream I spin, the Winter Prince is there. Haunting me with his cruel smile.

35

My first day back at school as the prince’s shadow, my stomach is in knots. I spent all morning agonizing over what it will be like today. The hundreds of ways the prince will torment and tease me. Mack left early to finish an assignment, and I stayed an extra hour after my lesson with Eclipsa at the gym doing squats, deadlifts, and timed sprints.

At first I stayed because I didn’t want to go back to an empty dorm before school. Then, as my physical exhaustion took over, I stayed because when I’m working out so hard I’m close to puking, nothing else matters.

It was a sweet release, but I’m paying for the exertion now. The continual slide of my backpack over my shoulders makes me groan, and my thighs cry with every step I take.

And I still have to make it through the second half of the day with the prince. What torturous things will he have me do?

You can do this.

Students whisper and point as I pass. The entire student body must have heard about the Nocturus by now. Or maybe the videos of me being practically mauled to death last night has made the rounds.

Really, it’s a toss-up.

It’s even worse in the lecture hall of our Gaelic Studies class. I sit with Mack and Evelyn and a boy named Jace. Reina sits two rows back, not even bothering to whisper as she trickles poison in everyone’s ear.

“She’s sleeping with both of them,” Reina asserts to the large group of Unseelie shadows surrounding her. Our teacher, Professor Spellwart, left the class for a moment, and Reina’s taking the opportunity to spew lies. “That’s the only reason they would both fight over her. You should have seen her last night, trying to grab every male’s attention with a pheromone elixir. It’s pathetic.”

I glare back at them in time to see her sidekick, Lily, add, “I hear she got pregnant with Rhaegar’s baby and that’s why the prince destroyed him.”

Anger heats my face. But Mack shakes her head and I let it slide.

“They’ll forget about it soon,” she promises me.

I’m not sure that’s true, but the incident with the basilisk takes some of the focus off of me. Lunch is worse. The minute Mack and I take our usual table by the windows, the room goes quiet. Evelyn stops before she gets to our table, looking like she might, for once, realize I’m a social pariah and abandon ship. In class our seats are assigned, but here, she has a choice.

To her credit, she scoots beside Mack and weathers the storm of whispers and stares.

Fae ears, I hate being the center of attention.

By the time my Modern World class rolls around, I’m ready for anything. I manage to march down the Evermore corridor to my class with my shoulders back and head held high. Inside, I’m freaking out.

All I can think about is the power the prince wielded, the way it rocked the world and spun Rhaegar like a toy.

And then, when he protected me at the club . . . correction. That wasn’t protection. That was a dog guarding its favorite chew toy.

The class goes silent as I pass through the doorway. Professor Lochlan slides a quick glance over me. I cringe, ready for a lecture on tardiness followed by whispers.

Only none of those things happen.

Instead, the professor nods and the students—Evermore and human alike—look away.

On habit, I go to stand next to Rhaegar’s seat—

It’s empty. I let out a relieved breath, unaware until now how much I was not looking forward to seeing him. What if he hates me for giving him the book? Worse, what if he blames me for losing?

That’s when I feel it. The cold presence of the prince. He sits near the back, long arms slung behind his head, legs crossed at the knee. His midnight blue hair is tousled, the top of his tunic unbuttoned and a bit wrinkled.

As always, he wears a lazy, amused grin.

For the billionth time, that invisible string between us jerks taut. He has to feel it too, right?

Hard to tell when he hasn’t graced me with a single look. But I’m not buying his carefree, couldn’t give a flying frack attitude. Not anymore. Not after watching him play everyone like a fool, including me.

No. Everything he does is to distract. To hide. I know that now—although I have no idea yet what he’s hiding.

36

Clearing my throat, I flick my eyebrows up, impatient for a command. I’m used to Rhaegar being very clear about where I’m supposed to stand or what I need to hold. But the prince barely meets my eyes before gesturing with a jerk of his chin toward the closest chair.

The breath catches in my throat as I slide into the desk chair and set down my stuff. After that, it only gets weirder. I was expecting horribleness. Mistreatment. To have to stand by his side and fetch him meaningless stuff while everyone secretly laughs at me.

But none of that happens. Instead, I’m largely left . . . alone.

All the classes are like that. Not that I’m complaining. It’s just disconcerting. Like waiting for the punchline to an awful joke I know is coming. If he said cruel things, if he mocked me or abused me, that would almost have been better than this.

When I ask to run to the restroom—thanks, tiny bladder—he gives me a weird look and then explains I never have to ask permission for such things. He carries his own stuff, makes sure I have my own chair in every class, and never, not once, says anything unkind.

The jerk.

When he’s not going out of his way to prove he’s decent, he ignores my presence. As does everyone else. It’s not hard to determine he’s protecting me.

The moment the bell rings and school is over, I go to follow him, expecting to shadow his every move like I did Rhaegar’s. But he stops me, his eyes never truly meeting mine. “Go. You’re free.”

“Forever?” I joke.

“For the rest of the day,” he amends. Is that amusement I see in his eyes?

“Just checking,” I call as I dart down the stairs to the doors.

Two whole hours. That’s how long I have to myself before combat class. Mack and I celebrate by spending the entire one hundred and twenty minutes—not that I’m counting—cramming Cheetos and Sour Patch Kids into our mouths and talking.

Ruby, who’s just awakened from one of her twenty-seven naps she takes a day, grabs a green sour patch before Mack can swat her away.

The topic eventually veers to Rhaegar and the Nocturus. “They say Rhaegar is on probation with the Summer Court. That he might leave school.” Mack frowns. “The whole thing just feels . . . wrong.”