Page 6 of Fae Trials

“Look at me when I’m talking to you.” When I turned to meet her cold eyes, she continued. “When you startled poor Tarragon, the flames he would have belched from his ass backfired.”

“I’m sorry for—”

“Wait!” She raised her hand.

The breeze swirled and cooled and coalesced toward her outstretched palm until it formed a lump of ice. Smirking like a lunatic, she directed her other hand to the ice. Despite the sudden cold, sweat trickled down my forehead. A lot of high fae could draw moisture from the air, but only those aligned to the Winter Court could freeze it.

When her ice became apple-sized, she said, “Rub this on his anus.”

I didn’t need magic to know how this scenario would end. After levitating me to the drake’s behind, she would cancel the enchantment sealing its anus, releasing a spray of molten shit. From the snickers of the non-humans in the crowd, they were already thinking the same.

This was dire. Get cursed or suffer second-degree burns.

Sicily gave her head a minute shake. The magic protecting humans from fae malevolence ensured that no magical punishment would be disproportionate to the offense. Besides, even if the faerie turned me into a rat, the spell would eventually wear off.

But there was nothing magical about getting burned.

I sucked in a deep breath and readied myself to get cursed. “My Lady, I must refuse—”

“Gala,” drawled the prince.

A breath caught in the back of my throat. Gala. Short for Galanthus Nivalis, the youngest daughter of the Duke of Nevermore. That was the name of one of the Fated. Four beautiful faerie maidens destined by magic to marry the four sons of the king and queen. This twisted creature would be the High Lady of the Autumn Court.

I pitied everyone she would one day rule.

“Hold on!” she snapped.

The prince folded his arms. “If we miss out on those iPads because you wasted time on a human—”

“Oh!” She spun on her heel and hurried toward the drake. “See what she made me do?”

Prince Rory held her by the waist, and they both levitated to the creature’s saddle. I held my breath, waiting for her to twist around and throw a curse.

With a happy roar, the drake galloped down the road. Every ounce of tension left my body in an outward breath so fast, I bent forward and had to brace my hands on my knees.

The crowd drew closer, presumably to hear what I would say about my encounter with Prince Rory’s fated mate.

Sicily placed her hand on my back. “Are you al—”

“Let’s go home.”

* * *

I pushed the door open to our two-roomed stone dwelling with woolen walls, rushed to the corner sink, and turned on the tap. Spring water spluttered out, and I splashed the cool liquid on my face.

The door slammed shut, and a hand rubbed my back. “Unity, you’re in trouble!”

“Sorry, Sis.” I gulped a mouthful of water. “If I had diffused the situation earlier—”

“What will Lady Gala of Nevermore do when she realizes the box of iPads only contains apples? She’s the type who will need a scapegoat to work out her anger.”

I groaned and turned off the tap. “Shit.”

Sicily paced up and down the front room. It had been our bedroom while Mom and Dad lived here, but with Elijah’s help, we refashioned it into a comfortable living area large enough to accommodate eight paying customers to watch our DVDs.

“You have to leave Doolish,” she said.

“What?” I grabbed a cloth and dabbed my face.