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It’s almost comical how fast the Fae students scatter to form a circle around us. Then it’s just Rhaegar, the Winter Prince, and me.
Through the dwindling visibility, I spot Inara with her flunkies by the nearest frozen fountain, watching everything unfold with rapt attention. In fact, the entire courtyard stares, entranced, as the snow rages around us.
Once again, I’m the focus of attention. Fabulous.
Someone laughs, and I turn to see Eclipsa Skywell saunter over and clap the prince on the shoulder. “Oberon’s beard. If you’re going to kick off a war between Seelie and Unseelie, I want to be invited.”
I tense, expecting the prince to react badly to Eclipsa’s touch. So does everyone else, apparently, because the silence turns into palpable fear. Every eye is riveted to the Winter Prince, and that’s when I truly realize just how powerful he must be.
But instead of agitation, Eclipsa’s presence seems to calm him. His muscles uncoil as he flashes a boyish grin at her. “Trust me. If the Winter Court wages war, you’ll be the first to know, Eclipsa.”
Well, now I know what it sounds like when an entire crowd sighs with relief. Just like that, the blizzard stops. With the threat of a fight gone, murmurs break the silence as students stop holding their breath and begin to whisper.
“Oh, good.” Eclipsa rolls out her shoulders before sliding a pointed glance at the prince. “For a moment I thought you two idiots were about to fight. But it’s just a testosterone-fueled stare down. Gotcha.”
Despite my annoyance at the situation, her sarcasm makes me smile.
Rhaegar opens his mouth to speak then seems to think better of it. Instead, he switches his focus to me.
Whatever he sees, it must not be good because pity flashes across his handsome countenance, his green eyes widening.
God, I hate that emotion.
“Summer, I’m sorry. I didn’t know . . . and why in the scourge aren’t you wearing a coat?”
“Because she can’t afford one,” the prince reminds him. “She came from the Tainted Zone, remember? And in case you aren’t familiar with humans, they aren’t like the lesser Fae slaves your father keeps. They do need sustenance and the occasional rest. Even the poor ones.” it’s almost like she knows Cal Miller.
After that class, I fall into rhythm as Rhaegar’s shadow. I hold his books, type in his notes, and follow him through the hallways as he makes conversation with every Seelie student in existence. He doesn’t talk to me much, but I don’t mind, using the time instead to take in this new world.
Rhaegar moves within the Seelie circle, and he seems to know a little something about everyone. He asks a pixie boy who comes up to my waist about his sick mother. He flirts with a girl from the Autumn court, peppering her with compliments until the flesh of her cheeks goes from turquoise to pink.
It’s almost like he’s campaigning, although I have no idea for what. Perhaps all Fae are constantly maneuvering like this. Forming alliances.
Either way, it’s exhausting. By the time we make it to our last class, Properties of Magic, every step down the auditorium stairs sends my head spinning. When was the last time I drank water?
Ironically, I still have to pee. Crossing my legs, I carefully interrupt Rhaegar mid-conversation. He rips his gaze away from the four female fauns he was talking to, but the moment he recognizes me, his annoyed expression changes back to his pleasant mask.
“Do you need something?” he asks in a honey-sweet voice.
“I . . . can I use the restroom?” I ask, hating that I have to get his permission.
He frowns before sliding his lips into a tight smile. “Class is about to start, but tell you what . . . I need my tablet charger out of my locker. Grab it for me, will you? And if you have time, you can do the other thing.”
I flee before he can change his mind as the Fauns praise him for being so kind to me.
I’m not sure letting me answer the call of nature deserves sainthood, but who am I to judge?
My boots pound the wooden floor as I race down the corridors, desperate to unload my bladder. His white charger is in his locker just like he said. With the cord firmly in hand, I sprint to the bathroom.
The old clock above the wall says one minute till 6:30 p.m. Shit.
I make it just in time. Ah, sweet God in heaven.
When my bladder is gloriously empty and my hands are washed and smell of the school’s verbena and lavender soap, I dart out the door and jog for the stairs.
Please don’t be late. Please don’t be late. Please—
Voices snag my attention. I halt next to a stairwell, where the voices emanate, and press against the wall. From where I stand, whoever is speaking can’t see me.
