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Feisty and mean? Pfft. I roll my eyes.
Cronus peers down at the scroll for a breath, frowns, and then rolls it up. “Any takers for this human?”
Wow. This is sad. Worse than all those times I was chosen last in gym class.
Compared to the illustrious bios of the other humans—private schools, numerous awards, speaks five languages, already accepted into Ivy League colleges—mine is pitiful, and if I didn’t recognize how lacking my life was before, I’m all too aware now.
I’m tugging at my hoodie when a voice rings out . . . no, make that two voices.
“I claim her,” both voices say.
Sure I misheard, I whip my head up to see who spoke . . . as does the rest of the crowd. The second I take in the Summer Evermore, Rhaegar, striding toward the stage, my face breaks into a sloppy grin.
The other Evermore walks on the opposite side of Rhaegar. She’s the Lunar Court girl I admired earlier, the one with the crescent jewelry and beautiful silver hair.
Someone wants me. Two people, in fact. I barely manage to keep from fist pumping the air in triumph.
I. Am. Wanted.
I’ve already decided that if I get to choose, I’m going with the Summer Evermore. But I have no idea how this works. None of the other candidates had more than one Fae claim them.
“I claim this mortal for the Winter Prince,” a third male voice chimes in.
Whoa. I glance to my left and nearly die of shock. My former tormentor and rooftop crush stalks to the stage, his silver cloak rippling out across the snow behind him.
Where did he come from?
Everyone has gone completely still. I recognize the emotion tightening their faces: fear.
Everyone but Inara, who somehow manages to look even more homicidal than before as she watches him approach me. Maybe she has a thing for the Winter Prince’s lackey.
For his part, he seems oblivious to the effect his presence has on the crowd.
Those arresting eyes lock onto mine and another strange shock carves up my spine, similar to what I felt when I touched the lock earlier and somehow broke it. A raw emotion burns through me, expectation and something . . . else.
Something so close to desire that I take the inside of my cheek between my molars and bite, hard, just to make it disappear.
When the metallic taste of blood chases away all emotions except loathing, I allow my gaze back on the offending Fae. He’s still watching me as he strides up to the stage.
I match his glower with one of my own. I’m not afraid of you.
But my heart hammering in my chest says otherwise, and I’m ninety-nine percent sure he can hear it because a menacing grin carves his sharp jaw.
The cruel lilt of his lips chills my blood.
Cronus is looking from my potential Fae masters to me, his ears flickering back and forth. His expression a mixture of confusion and shock that undoubtedly matches my own.
Cronus waits until all three of the Fae are standing in front of me before he says, “We’ve never had three claimants before. I need to check with the sprites on what the academy guidelines state.”
As Cronus confers with a swarm of sprites who yell over each other, I wait for my future to be decided.
Rhaegar cuts his eyes at my tormentor. “I thought the Winter Prince didn’t lower himself to have mortal shadows.”
My tormentor shrugs without tearing his gaze from my face. “The Winter Prince thinks having a mortal shadow might be fun.”
Fun? I grind my jaw to keep from saying something stupid. I’ve already pissed off enough Fae today. Last thing I need is to publicly antagonize the emissary to the Winter Prince, or whatever title my tormentor carries.
“More like he wants to present his mate with a human plaything,” the Lunar Court girl points out, glancing back at Inara, who looks ready to traipse up here and murder me with her bare hands.
