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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.
