Winter

“No,” I say, swiping at my cheeks. “You do not get to come in here and act concerned. It’s too confusing. You hate me. You like me. You want nothing to do with me. Then you come in here without a shirt looking concerned and—just enough. Enough. I can’t take it anymore.”

His nostrils flare, his jaw flexing as he just stares at me. Then he nods, reaches for the door handle, and leaves.

As soon as my door quietly shuts, I cry and cry until the flood of emotions washes me into my dreams.

“I killed her.” The words I wake up screaming echo off my bedroom walls. I thrash in my bed. Sheets tangled around my legs. Hair pasted with sweat to my forehead.

“I killed her I killed her I killed her.” I can’t stop saying that as the nightmare I just wrenched from invades my mind. Oh, God.

For some reason, I’m not surprised to see the prince in my room. His eyes glow faintly silver, their depths impossible to read. “It’s a nightmare, Summer. Just a nightmare.”

I pull my knees to my chest as tears pour freely down my face. “I was back at the farmhouse and the children were there. It was Christmas Eve. We were all gathered around the tree when . . . I looked outside.” My voice catches. “My mom was out there. My real mom. But she was different. I knew immediately she had changed. Become one of . . . them.”

“A darkling?” he asks softly. His voice is still heavy with sleep, but there’s a gentleness to it I can’t ignore.

“Yes. She—she tried to get inside. Clawing at the doors with her fingernails. Then she called my name and . . .” I wipe at my face. “I took a knife from the kitchen, the one we use to carve meat, and I killed her. She didn't even try to stop me.”

He watches as I try to pull myself together. As I slowly force my brain to accept that it isn’t real. I didn’t kill my mother. I would never kill my mother. I may not have memories of her and I, but I know we loved each other deeply.

“I would never kill her,” I say. “Never.”

Through my wet, clumpy lashes, I search his face for disdain. For cruelty. For all the emotions I imagined he would feel if he saw weakness on my part.

But the only thing I catch inside his eyes is sorrow. A sorrow so deep it could fill an ocean.

“What time is it?” I whisper, if for no other reason than to take his intense focus off of me and my red, crumpled face.

“Nearly dawn.” He reaches for me, hesitates, then brushes his knuckles over my wet cheek. “Go back to sleep. I’ll stay here and if you have another nightmare, I’ll wake you.”

I blink through bloodshot eyes at him, unsure leaving him in my room while I sleep is a good idea. He must think I’m scared of him because he retreats a few steps. “Trust that I won’t hurt you, Summer.”

“Won’t you?” I whisper.

He gets my meaning immediately. I can see that by the way his mouth tightens at the corners. He shoves a hand through his hair and takes a final step back to rest against the side of the wall.

Then he fixes me with a long, piercing stare. “Go to sleep, Summer. You’re safe with me.”

As I lay back on the pillow and close my eyes, I’m sure I’ll never fall asleep with the most powerful Fae in existence watching over me. But I do.

Not only that, but it’s the most peaceful sleep I’ve had in weeks.

44

When I wake up, the prince is gone. But there’s a note. Scrawled across the cream stationery in elegant penmanship are four words:

Be ready by dusk.

~W.P.

Okay, that’s a bit bossy. I exhale and then stare at the paper. What could he be planning?

But as much as I hate surprises, I find myself counting down the clock. I try to study but I can’t concentrate. I take a shower but end up using conditioner instead of shampoo, twice.

I spend two hours of my life I’ll never get back playing a Fae card game version of Go Fish with Ruby. Usually I catch her cheating, but this time I’m too consumed by anticipation to notice until I’ve lost all of the Twizzlers Mack sent me.

Damn.

By the time five rolls around, I’m practically coming out of my skin. The moment I feel the tugging sensation I know means the prince is close, I jump from the couch downstairs and run out the door.

He meets me on the porch, his eyes hard to read. “Grab a coat.”

It takes until we’re almost to the winter orchard where I first met the prince for me to realize where we’re going. My heart lurches. “Wait, are we going . . . ?”

I can’t finish that sentence. The words carry too much hope.

The Winter Prince smiles softly. “You can’t speak to them or get near your house. But I thought, maybe, if you could see they’re safe . . .”

Now it’s his turn to let his words trail away.

Excitement builds inside my chest as we weave through the trees. Once we cross the Shimmer, the trees grow smaller and less dense. I find one of my old paths, the familiarity eating at me as my boots trace a line toward home.

Home.

He follows behind, hesitant. Or maybe that’s not the right word. Perhaps he can feel the difference in this world and it bothers him.

My gaze falls on the snow. It’s nearly dark, the merciless Texas sun I remember a shadow of itself.

Can it already be winter here? But of course it is. Being in Everwilde made me lose all track of time.

I’ve been gone over six months.

Noises give me pause. Laughter, high and squealing.

The kids.

My heart clenches. I leave the trail and use the denser parts of the forest for cover. Ten feet from the edge of the forest, I stop. The prince pauses next to me. Through the cracks between the thin sycamore trees, I catch movement.

I see the twins first, Juliana and Gabe. They’re building a snowman. A really sad imitation of one with a lumpy middle and no head. They’re both wearing mismatched mittens with holes, their faces hidden by threadbare scarves and woolen hats too big for their heads.

I’m reminded of how hard the winters here are. The way the cold seeps into every crack and pore of the old farmhouse. How we never have enough coats and boots for everyone, nor enough food to sustain our shivering bodies.

“Come inside and warm up for a bit, tiny heathens,” Aunt Zinnia calls. At the sound of her high voice, the breath catches in my chest.

I spot Jane sitting on the rickety porch swing, her braids sticking out beneath a green and red striped hat. She’s pretending not to watch the younger kids play in the snow, even though she wants to join them. Chatty Cat sits on her lap, looking like he might attack anyone who comes near. I can hear his weird purr-growl from here.

My stomach clenches at the sight of everything. The normalcy of it all. Even the old farmhouse tugs at me. With its sagging porch, the siding in desperate need of a good painting, the flickering porchlight.

I glance up at my bedroom window and immediately wish I hadn't. It’s dark, the curtains drawn.

It feels like a thousand years ago that I snuck out onto that sloping roof and changed my life forever.

Only the lawn wasn’t full of snow then. I frown. “I don’t think it’s ever snowed this early here.”

“How else could I get them out here?” he says, staring at the children playing. “You humans are so fragile when it comes to the cold.”

“You did this?”

“It was nothing.”

I wonder what’s going on inside his head. Does he think I’m silly for needing this? Needing to witness them alive and safe and okay?

“Would you like to see more snow, Princess?” he asks, watching me carefully.

“Yes.”

Snow begins to fall. I peer up at the sky and watch the fat snowflakes twirl down between the trees. In this moment, I’m not sure I’ve ever experienced a more beautiful sight. I feel like I’m staring into a recently shaken snow globe, only I’m on the outside of this magical world looking in.

Across the lawn, the kids whoop with joy. They’ve ignored Aunt Zinnia completely. Shocker.

I smile. She’ll come out two more times, then she’ll enlist the help of Aunt Vi.

A few minutes later, I watch Vi herd them inside. The sound of Christmas songs fills the night. Without looking, I know they’ll be gathered around the tree opening presents.

Aunt Zinnia will sing along with the holiday tunes, and Aunt Vi will roll her eyes, a steaming mug of hard cider spiked with moonshine in her hand. The twins will argue over their presents while Jane pouts in the corner. And they’ll all act incredibly surprised and grateful when they unwrap their gifts and see their hand-me-down clothes.

I let out a ragged breath. God I miss this. So very, very much.

“They’re nice,” the prince offers, his eyes squinted in the house’s direction. “For mortals.”

“They’re not nice, but . . . they’re mine.” Thinking about my family leads to a question. “Why aren’t you, you know, off doing stupid Faerie holiday traditions with your family?”

He pulls at a wavy strand of hair that’s fallen over his sharp ear. “My father remarried. For the fifth time. He’s spending the Winter Solstice with her.”

“I’m sorry,” I say, unsure how to weave this new layer into what I know about the prince. “I’m sure that’s tough.”

He chuckles, but it’s a raspy, bitter sound. “When you live as long as we do, you learn that disappointment is a way of life.”

“And how long have you lived, exactly?”

There’s a long pause. “Three-thousand-five-hundred years.”

He grins darkly, obviously enjoying the way my jaw drops. Then he reaches into his shirt and pulls out something—a necklace. The silver emblem is shaped like an owl’s head holding a sapphire in its beak. A soft blue glow emanates from the stone.

“My soulstone,” he says, his fingers reverently stroking the sapphire. “All Evermore get one for their renewal ceremony. It’s sacred.”

My hands twitch to go to the necklace around my neck. The one that’s almost exactly like the prince’s, right down to the delicate silver chain and infinity clasp. The only thing different is his is shaped into an owl and mine is a wolf.