Winter

“I mean, I’m glad the prince bought you a nice gown. You deserve it, truly. But . . .” She hesitates, worrying her hands. “I’ve seen the way you look at each other. Just remember, whatever happens, you cannot fall in love with him.”

“Love has nothing to do with it.” My voice comes out way more defensive than I planned.

I tug my lip between my teeth. That’s not what this is, right? But as soon as I tell myself that, I know it’s a lie.

Oh, God. I think I am falling for him.

How is that possible?

I’ve never believed in love at first sight. I’ve never even thought much about love at all, other than the knowledge it wasn’t in my cards. At least, not for a long time. And I would have never guessed someone like the prince could be the one.

Love is supposed to be this beautiful thing. It’s supposed to happen after you get to know a person. It’s supposed to feel inevitable, something you see coming.

But there it is.

Unexplainable.

Undesirable.

Undeniable.

I am falling in love with him . . . and I hardly know him.

Fuck. I’m falling in love with a Fae prince, and I think he’s falling for me too, and none of it makes any sense.

The horrifying realization must show on my face because Mack says, “Oh, no.” Her hand flutters over her mouth, the breath she releases rushing through her fingers. “I have to go to the ceremony. Just . . . we’ll talk about it later.”

“Wait?” I tilt my head. “What ceremony?”

That’s when I notice she’s wearing makeup—a lot of makeup. And her dark chocolate hair is shiny and curled into loose spirals that show off her new silver and indigo highlights.

“Didn’t the prince tell you?” she calls over her shoulder as she plucks a black sheath dress from her closet. “There’s a banquet tonight for the Evermore and their families. Shadows are supposed to attend. It starts in like twenty . . .” Her gaze flicks to her watch. “Oh, shit, like five minutes.”

Five minutes? My heart stutters into a frenzy. Crap. The prince failed to mention a banquet tonight, but he must have been busy preparing for his father’s visit. I glance in the mirror and sigh. I need a shower and a come-to-Jesus with Mack’s makeup palette before I can do anything.

Especially since the prince’s father is here. The prince’s father, King of the Unseelie.

Definitely not ready for that. Definitely not ready for any of this.

Anxiety settles squarely between my shoulder blades. Grabbing Mack’s pink shower caddy, I rush for the communal showers with the promise to meet them at the banquet.

Thirty minutes later, my hair is wrangled into a wet bun on top of my head, and I’ve managed to dab on lipstick and mascara. None of Mack’s dresses will fit me, so I run barefoot to Evelyn’s room, praying she has a dress I can wear and maybe some shoes.

Not that I won’t rock my Salvation Army combat boots if I have to.

Buried deep in a pile of clothes on the floor is a slinky coral mini-dress that barely covers my butt. I glance at the clock, a frustrated breath rushing out.

Tiny stripper dress it is.

I shimmy into the dress, nearly break my arm trying to zip it, then slip into some black three-inch heels a half size too small. Right before I run outside, I check my reflection in the mirror.

The dress might be short, but it hugs my curves in all the right places.

My gaze travels down and snags on something inside Evelyn’s small metal trash can. I drop to a knee and peer into the pile of tissues, sifting through a few cans of Diet Coke her parents must send her.

There’s a box with a pregnant woman on the front . . .

Oh, no. No. No. No. I dig deeper into the tissues and my fingers catch on something long and hard. I hold up the pregnancy test, my heart in my throat.

I stare at the results. Then I grab the box to see which mark means pregnant, even though I’m already pretty sure. Once I’ve confirmed what the two lines mean, I drop the box back into the trash and let out a deep breath.

No. She can’t be . . . she can’t be.

My brain whirls with questions like who and how far along, but I’m already late to the ceremony, and I want to make a good impression on the prince’s father.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

I’m torn between finding Evelyn and going to the banquet, but she should be there. If not, I’ll make up some excuse and go find her. The prince and his father will just have to deal with it.

As I rush from Evelyn’s room and take the stairs two at a time, I pray Evelyn is there tonight. I can only imagine how scared and alone she feels.

49

The commons have been transformed for the Winter Formal. Blue and silver streamers hang from the walls along with stringed lights. Giant crystalized snowflakes descend from the high cathedral ceilings, and what looks like real snow covers the ground, paths carved through the pristine white.

I’m rushing so I don’t have time to appreciate all the decorations, but Evelyn must be proud.

My heart sinks a little at that, but it’s hard to focus on her when my nerves have now twisted into a giant knot in my stomach. The idea of talking to the Unseelie King is terrifying. And a tiny part of me wonders why the prince didn’t tell me about tonight.

What if . . . what if he doesn’t want me here.

Swallowing, I place a clammy hand on the curved door handle to the great hall, and pause. My hand is surprisingly slick. Through the pounding of my heart, I hear muffled noises from the other side.

The door opens easier than I expected, meaning I practically slam it open. Awesome.

As soon as the heavy oak door slides shut behind me, I freeze. The room is full of Fae dressed in gorgeous attire. The long banquet tables are grouped by court. Before I can flee—which is exactly what I plan to do—an attendant appears and takes my elbow, guiding me through the rows of tables.

I can feel every eye following me, the weight pressing down on my shoulders. I fight the urge to stare at my feet, or to cross my arms over my chest. When we near the prince’s table, I see an empty spot by the prince. His father, the king, sits with what must be his new wife, a petite, pretty girl with thick black hair and empty eyes.

But she’s a mere shadow in the Winter King’s presence. Unlike the silvers and blues his son prefers, this king wears all white. From his armored breastplate to his tunic embellished in silver to the cape flowing from his wide, imposing shoulders. Even his hair is white, falling well past his shoulders. Deep-set pale eyes blanched of color watch me above thin, cruel lips.

I lock eyes with the prince, and a shock goes through me. He’s annoyed. His mouth pressed into a grim line. Eyes tight. The muscles of his neck are corded with anger.

Oh, hell. As the realization hits home, I feel my cheeks flare with heat.

He doesn’t want me here.

But it’s too late. Too late to run. Too late to hide. They’re all staring at me as I slide into the spot beside him.

The prince is on my right, the king on the other side. He hasn’t stopped staring at me. I don’t want to look, but with the way he’s watching me, it would be awkward not to. Gathering my strength, I drag my eyes to meet the Winter King.

A tiny puff of air escapes my lips. My reaction to his face uncontrollable. There’s something about him, a familiarity, that I can’t deny. And not in a good way.

I fight down a rush of nausea, my body instinctively recoiling from him. Pinching my fingers inside my inner thigh, I squeeze so hard my hand trembles.

Once I focus on the pain, my body forgets everything else, and I manage to wrangle my face into a smile.

The king doesn’t smile. He just stares at me with that terrifyingly unreadable expression until I’m forced to look away.

My focus flickers to Cronus as he walks to the center of the dais at the end of the chamber. He pinches a microphone between his fingers and leans into it. “Evermore, the most important ceremony of the year has arrived. The Three Seers have declared they have three bonded pairs of souls.”

I look around, trying to recall this ceremony from my studies. But I draw a blank.

Three hunched figures draped in black, frayed robes make their way slowly to Cronus. When they stop and face the crowd, a wave of applause crashes over the room. Deep cowls shroud their faces in shadow, but I have no doubt that’s for our sake.

The cacophony of cheers is so loud it almost feels like I’m drowning in the sound.

Together the crones lift their hands, twisted and gnarled with age, and hold up a swirling ball of fire. It’s so bright that I can’t look directly into it, like they’ve carved out a piece of the sun. “Three have the eternal fire found bonded together,” they chant. “Three has it claimed for its purposes.”

I feel someone grab my arm, the force of the act startling. The prince brushes his lips over my ear, his breath cool as he orders, “Leave. Right now, Summer.”

“What?” I say, twisting my arm away. Why would he want me to leave, unless . . .

Oh. Bonded souls. Like mates. I suddenly recall all those times Inara claimed he was her mate. That’s what this is. A mating ceremony. And he doesn’t want me to see him and Inara formally claimed.

A surge of anger ripples through me. Anger and shame. I’m angry because the thought of the prince and Inara being bonded for life makes me sick. And I’m ashamed because I shouldn’t care. If he truly is Inara’s mate, then I’m an idiot and a fool.

The crones chant something in Faerie-tongue. Then six creatures of light spring from the fire inside their wrinkled palms. Beautiful wings of shimmery iridescent mist open and close as the magical butterflies flutter toward the tables.

Two muted orange ones seemingly made from autumnal leaves break off in search of their choices. Two vibrant iris-purple butterflies swirl and dive.

But the last two . . . they’re completely different. One has wings of silver, like strings of ice weaved into a delicate tapestry, tiny snowflakes raining in its path. The other is a vibrant green, its gossamer wings longer and more graceful than all the others.