Winter

“Anything,” he pledges, his voice thick with excitement.

The chill of his cool breath against my ear makes me sigh. “Don’t hurt me.”

A long pause. “I promise to always protect you.” He punctuates his answer first in the form of a languid, penetrating kiss. Then with his fingers as they glide between my breasts, across my stomach, between my thighs, and inside me.

“Always,” he repeats. “No matter the price.”

We don’t have sex, but the acts we do are just as intimate. Maybe more. And through it all, he kisses me. My neck. My lips. My breasts. Other places. Until there isn’t a spot on my body his lips haven’t claimed.

That gentle act sprinkled between the passionate, almost desperate clash of our bodies is enough to undo me completely.

In this tiny sliver of time, I am his and he is mine.

Hours later, I fall asleep against his chest, so tired I couldn’t move if my life depended on it. When I finally come to, the prince is whispering my name. “Summer.”

“Sleepy.” I bury my head in a pillow to avoid the silvery light trickling from the crack between his heavy blue drapes.

“I have to leave,” he says. “Feel free to stay as long as you need.”

With his voice comes reality. A startling, sobering reality.

I am naked and the room is freezing and . . . oh my God, the others must be so worried about me.

Fisting the plush duvet between my fingers, I drag the covers around my body and sit up. The prince sits in bed, naked, sipping some type of fragrant tea from a gilded teacup. But all his attention is on me.

I can’t tell if the gleam in his eye is from amusement at my shyness or his memory of last night.

Holy hell, last night. A spark of desire rushes through my middle, and warmth blooms over my chest.

Without breaking my gaze, he sets the teacup down on his nightstand, leans forward, and kisses me.

The kiss isn’t a morning-haven’t-brushed-your-teeth-yet kiss. It’s a full blown, sexy, third date kiss.

A knock on the door finally breaks us apart. Eclipsa peeks her head in the room. When she sees us in bed, her eyes narrow. “Time to go, Sylverfrost. I’ve been waiting hours for your ass.”

“I’ll be down in five,” he promises. She gives me one last look before leaving.

As soon as the door shuts, he prowls across the wood floor, oblivious to the chill, or the fact he’s completely nude, and dresses. He has to go to the Winter Court to speak with his father, he explains. Despite my newfound shyness, my body still burns with need for him. My throat is parched, my flesh feels feverish and tender, and my stomach aches with hunger.

I’m half sure I’m going to wake up and realize this has been another dream.

When he’s dressed in his Winter Court finery, he approaches me. For a moment, he just stares. I can’t read the emotions filtering through the mask he wears. Can’t break through to the person I connected with last night.

Then he leans down, a few wavy locks of his hair brushing my cheek, and whispers, “Valerian. My name is . . . Valerian Sylverfrost.”

52

Is it possible to become someone else in a single night? To transform so completely that you don’t even recognize yourself in the mirror? That every breath you take, every step, every laugh feels as if it comes from a stranger?

I meet this stranger’s eyes in the full-length antique mirror. Her face looks nothing like I remember: Mack’s golden highlight shimmers across my full cheekbones, my gold-flecked hazel eyes bright and clear. The amethyst dress cascades from my tall frame, showing off my healthier figure. My arms are badass, rippled with lean muscle. Even my hair looks shinier, pulled into a plaited concoction atop my head by Ruby.

She even surprised me last minute with miniature silver peonies she weaved into the strands of my pale blonde hair and the folds of my dress. The magic that makes them hold imparts a soft lily scent.

I wave my arms, just to be sure this is me and not some magical mirror that shows you a better version of yourself or something equally dumb. But there’s no denying it. The gaunt, sickly girl who entered the academy over nine months ago is gone.

Maybe I am a totally new person.

Ruby cat-calls from the corner of the room, giving her seal of approval the only way she knows how. “Kid, if you were a steak you’d be well done.”

I laugh. “Are you . . . hitting on me, Ruby?”

“Just saying, kid. My lips are like skittles.” She waggles her eyebrows. “Wanna taste the rainbow?”

“It’s true,” Mack confirms, coming up behind me. “You’re practically glowing.”

I meet her eyes in the mirror. The veiled accusation in her words matches her gathered eyebrows. She frowns, holding my stare a second longer than comfortable. I shift on my feet, digging the pointed heel of the amethyst pumps the pixie gave me into the wooden floor.

She exhales, her face softening into a smile, and touches my arm. Then she crosses the room and digs her Louboutin platform heels from the ever-growing clothes pile on the floor. They’re studded with crystals and spikes.

I watch her slip the platforms on, my shoulders sagging. When I came home this morning, Mack darted across the floor and wrapped me in a tight hug. She and Ruby were so worried about me that they were about to report me missing.

Worse, still, the headmistress had come by to talk about the ‘incident,’ as she termed it. Being out of the dorms past curfew was bad enough, but I had no idea how to explain where I was last evening.

Selfishly, I had totally forgotten about them—or anything—the entire night. This thing between the prince and me is so all-consuming that when he’s around, I lose track of everything else. Even those I care about deeply.

The thought makes my stomach clench with unease.

My guilt only multiplied as I fended off their questions with an excuse about the prince wanting to make sure I was safe. After multiple assurances that he didn’t kidnap me, I steered the topic away from the prince and to Evelyn. I didn’t spill her secret, though.

That’s not mine to share.

The others agreed that her recent moodiness was out of character. A quick search found her in her bed with the drapes closed. She said she was sick but was going to try to make it to the dance tonight.

If I didn’t know the truth, I would have believed her; she looked ill. Her skin was pale, clammy, and splotched with red marks, her hair lifeless and greasy, and bruise-blue shadows pooled beneath her dull eyes. And skinny—she had dropped like ten pounds in a matter of days.

I wanted so badly to stay and tell her I knew she was pregnant, but I decided to wait until after the dance.

She needs to enjoy this night like everyone else. Tomorrow I’ll go to her and we’ll sort it out. Tomorrow I’ll sort everything out.

I hear the music before anything else. Loud, rhythmic, Fae techno music that vibrates the walls of the commons. When we reach the great hall where the dance is set up, a quick flashback of last night hits me. I remember running from this place and all the hateful, angry stares.

And then . . . the prince and I . . .

A surge of prickly heat blooms over my cheeks as I follow the others into the hall. Asher wears a gorgeous ensemble over his massive body; green and gray scales converge over his chest in some type of ceremonial armor, his soft brown hair for once teased out of his green eyes. He has an arm slung around Mack’s shoulders.

I’ve never seen her eyes so sparkly or her smile so big.

Evelyn, on the other hand, sags against Richard. Her gold empire dress is loose around the middle, but I swear I can see the outline of a bump. How far along is she?

The moment the doors swing shut behind us, I’m enveloped in a winter wonderland. Snow—real fricking snow—drizzles from the high ceilings and pools on the floor. The tiny snowflakes catch in our hair and the folds of our dress. But it doesn’t melt.

They’ve been spelled to stay perfect.

The walls, too, have been spelled to look like a snowy forest surrounds us. But there are real trees too, scattered around the enormous room, owls swooping from their branches.

I touch Evelyn’s arm, shocked at how cold she feels. “This is beautiful.”

She regards me quietly with dull, uncomprehending eyes.

Richard looks at me and shrugs. “I’m going to grab us some drinks. That might pep her up.”

I watch her stumble across the dance floor with Richard. Poor Evelyn. All this preparation, all this planning, and she can’t even enjoy it.

The dance floor writhes with Fae and humans. Some of the Fae are half-shifted, and most wear outlandish clothes that I’m sure are the latest fashion. Small white moths with glittering wings flutter above the throng of students. Higher up, sprites dive and twirl in frenetic, choreographed moves.

The sprites’ bodies have been spelled to glow; it’s like watching the stars dance.

Mack and I stand by a crooked tree while we wait for Asher to bring us our drinks. Against my will, my gaze scours the dance floor for a certain prince. Part of me celebrates when I can’t find him. But a much larger part of me mourns.

If anything, after last night, that tether between us has only grown stronger. More insistent. And now that I know his name . . .

Where are you, Valerian? I remember his father, how terrifying and imposing he was, and shiver.

Asher comes back with steel goblets brimming with a metallic silver liquid. Already his lips are stained with the stuff, making him look like he wears lipstick. His eyes drift to Mack, a little smile playing across his face. “Ready to dance?”

She looks at me, torn, but I gesture to the dance floor.

“Go,” I say. “I’ll be fine.”

Minutes pass. I sip the drink, but whatever’s inside makes my head spin and my pulse quicken dangerously fast, so I toss it. The students on the dance floor don’t feel the same way. Their lips and chins are stained silver, the mercury-colored liquid glowing softly beneath the neon lights.

The music grows wilder. The dance floor pulses with charged energy. I see a few of our professors acting as chaperones, but they retreat as the party becomes crazier by the second.