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“You were supposed to make sure she was yours,” an agitated male voice says.
“And she would have been, if you hadn’t jumped in,” a sultry female voice counters. “Rhaegar would have conceded to me. He was only doing it to get a rise out of the Unseelie. But once you entered the equation, he’d rather die than give her up.”
“Well, he’ll get the chance soon enough.” The smarmy voice sounds familiar, and I still my breathing as I strain to listen.
I grin as an oof sound—like the girl hitting the boy—makes its way to me.
“I still think bringing her here was wrong,” the girl snaps.
“I didn’t have a choice. Not with tracker wolves so close.”
The girl sighs. “She’s not ready for this—for any of it.”
“Then you have to make her ready.”
They must lower their voices because all I can hear are muffled whispers.
Then the girl says, “You’re sure about her?”
I lean closer, only to be disappointed when I can’t hear his reply. More garbled words follow, then, “Prince, promise you’ll stay away from her.”
Prince? Curiosity overrides my survival instinct as I peek around the corner, unable to help myself. I barely hold back a gasp as I recognize Eclipsa. She leans against a marble post on the first landing, her silver eyebrows bunched together.
And the Fae male talking to her . . .
Even with his back to me, I would recognize that haughty stance and blue-black hair anywhere. His hair is cut short, tempering what I imagine would be curls into unruly ends that fall against the creamy skin of his neck. The tips of his sharp ears poke through his messy hair like daggers.
What would it be like to touch them? As soon as the thought comes, I shove it down deep. What the Fae is wrong with me?
As if he can feel my stare, he begins to turn around, revealing the severe line of his jaw . . .
The air sucks from my chest as I dart for the nearest door—a janitor’s closet. The lemon and vinegar tang of all-natural cleaners slaps me in the face and makes my eyes water. When I’ve waited at least five minutes—long enough for my heart to slow into an even pace—I leave my hiding place and hurry to class . . .
Late, of course.
The professor, Mr. Lambert, pins me with a stern stare as I stand in the aisle next to Rhaegar. I would sit in the chair next to him, but his backpack and headphones occupies that seat, and he doesn’t offer to move them. Heat rushes up my neck and pools in my cheeks. Rhaegar says nothing as I hand him the charger, but his disappointment is clear in the downturn of his lips.
And four rows behind me, the Winter Prince’s chilly stare bores into my back like icepicks.
21
Once class is over, we follow the crowd to the lower courtyards. My legs feel like Jell-O from standing, and my arms shake from holding Rhaegar’s stuff. Well that and the negative wind chill.
Groups of students congregate around orbs floating above pedestals, the warmth barely making a dent in the cold. Mack is there with Basil, and she looks just as worn out as I feel. But her fur-lined gloves and winter coat keep her warm, at least, and Basil thought to bring her a mug of hot cocoa with marshmallows . . . freaking marshmallows.
Meanwhile, Rhaegar hasn’t looked my way in an hour. He’s engrossed in a discussion with a group of fauns about their treatment in the courts. I don’t blame him; it’s not his fault his shadow can’t afford proper clothes or isn’t used to standing all day.
I bite my cheek, using the jolt of pain to focus on staying upright. I think the combination of not eating lunch—thanks, gory face-eating video—not sleeping, and more physical exertion than I’ve done in years, has caught up to me. And my sweatshirt just isn’t made for this type of cold.
All at once, a wave of dizziness crashes over me, and my vision pirouettes in jarring circles. I try to hold onto Rhaegar’s books, which he brings along just in case his tech isn’t working. The last thing I want to do is drop them in the snow.
Suddenly the weight lifts from my hands. Blinking away the shadows, I see the one person I was hoping not to: the Winter Prince.
He holds the books in one arm, an elegant midnight blue eyebrow arched. “You okay, Princess?”
Princess? “Of course,” I lie through gritted teeth. “Although I’d be better if you gave us some sunlight.”
With a scoff, he marches over to Rhaegar, who’s still deep in conversation with a faun, and shoves the books into his surprised arms.
