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“A guest of honor, huh?” I keep reading the lovely handwriting. “And I get to bring my ladies?” I ask. “This handwriting is near perfect, long strokes curving in all the right places. I’m fond of a fine written word.”
“Aamako wrote it.” She shrugs. “I scribbled. He wouldn’t let me send you my scribbles.” June and Augusta grew up on a farm where time spent perfecting one’s cursive writing was better spent farming and keeping a roof over your head. Watching them navigate the riches and power of the court has been eye-opening.
“After tonight’s dinner, I’ll tell Evie the good news.” Mingling with the Winter fae will be no small task, but a husband can be found there.
Augusta’s gaze falls on the figurines on my nightstand.
“Nice work,” she says as she makes her way toward them. She takes one and examines it. “Have you met the Nightbound Soldier?”
I shake my head. “I’m not sure. Maybe I have.”
“You have. He’s cryptic.”
“And creepy,” I add.
“That too. Can I have one of these?”
No! I collect them. “Yes, of course you may.”
Augusta walks toward the window and stands there, her back to me while the wind blows back her veil and skirts.
“He is already here to pick you up,” she says.
“He who?”
“The notturno delegation that will take you to the Winter Court.”
The flare of Augusta’s magic nearly blinds me, forcing me to close my eyes.
When I open them, she’s gone. Lying on the wood of the windowsill is a figurine of a female lying on a blue bed. She has golden hair, and I would think someone carved me if not for her hands, which are neatly folded over her large pregnant belly.
The fates are reminding me to be grateful for what I have. And I am.
Yet I yearn for more. For a fae-ted mate who loves me unconditionally, for a house full of magical children, and a life dedicated to raising them. But I was born into wealth and power, and one shouldn’t want for more.
Perhaps the fates find me greedy and have taken from me that which I want most. Or is it that I want babies because they’re out of reach for me?
I don’t know which, but I do know that Augusta wouldn’t have left me with a figurine of a pregnant blonde girl out of cruelty. She left it for a reason. I examine it more closely. The blonde girl’s eyes are closed. She’s sleeping, and this is a reminder of Augusta’s warning.
Should I stay in the Summer Court? Not accept the invitation?
The door bursts open, and I spin around and screech, nearly coming out of my robe. I grip the figurine in both hands and bring them to my chest so my heart doesn’t run away scared for its life.
Evie’ navy robe that matches mine flutters around her feet as she rushes into my chamber, brown eyes wide, face flushed. She flings open the window, nearly causing the glass to shatter.
“Holy fates and mother of fates. Fleur, look.”
In the distance, against the moon, a flock of birds is flying our way, their wings batting with fury. I listen along with Evie.
“Those aren’t birds,” she says.
“They’re bats.”
“Even weirder.”
“Milady,” a soldier says from the door, “please get away from the window.”
“Tell your males to stand down,” I say, knowing the property is full of fae guards.
