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I’m pretty sure Ben is about to piss his pants. When he can’t come up with a solution, Richter holds up her hands, a clever look on her face. “Weapons have their place. But these”—she wiggles her fingers—“will always be with you, and they should be your most honed weapon.”
After that very convincing display, she sends us to do laps around the gym. We end the session with pushups and burpees, and I’m not entirely sure how I don’t vomit. My head spins. My stomach churns. I assume we’re done until Richter leads us through a small padded room into another even larger gym.
There’s no equipment here other than mats. Mirrors line the far wall. Our keepers wait on a large mat, stretching. They all wear similar tight black workout gear and are sweaty like they’ve been here a while. Except their sweaty and ours is entirely different.
They’re like the models on sports magazines who have been sprayed with droplets of water to get a picture. Gorgeous. Every hair in place. Not breathing hard at all. Skin all dewy and crap.
The Elite Six are off in a group by themselves. All except Eclipsa, who stretches over in the corner. Inara and her twin brother, Bane, whisper as they watch me. Meanwhile, Lyra, Bane’s lycan girlfriend, shoots daggers at me from his side.
I glance over at the wall of mirrors. Patchy red spots dot my chest, the hair from my ponytail pasted all over my head and neck like limp noodles. My tight black outfit reveals every angle of my body, highlighting my thin arms, sharp hip bones, and starved muscles.
Rhaegar calls me over. As I take my place beside him, I feel the Winter Prince’s cold gaze scouring my flesh. Inara notices too and a near-imperceptible frown tugs her lips. Bane flicks a quick look my way and frowns with her.
Something about him creeps me out . . . even more than Inara does.
Mack hip checks me, bringing me back to the now. “Stop staring at them.”
She stands next to Basil, who’s wearing special shoes to keep his hooves from damaging the mat.
“I think they’re the ones staring at me,” I counter.
She chuckles. “They have that right; you don’t. If you want to survive this class, keep your head down and try not to grab their attention.”
Good point.
I tear my focus from the Six to the Seelie Fae next to us. Now that we’re close to our keepers, I notice how big both men are. Their black uniforms, stretched comically over swollen muscles, could be painted on. Rhaegar has taken out the jewelry that usually adorns his ears, his thick mane of gold hair twisted into a man bun.
Take away his impossibly good looks and godly body, he could almost pass for human.
A broad grin plays over Rhaegar’s lips as he notices me checking him out. “Feeling better?”
“Yep,” I lie, trying super hard not to sound out of breath from earlier. I rip my gaze away from his perfect physique and swallow repeatedly, trying to draw moisture back into my dry mouth.
The Winter Prince walks to the other end of the mat, one hand held behind his back. In contrast to the Summer Court males, he’s all lithe muscles and broad shoulders, his waist tapering to a beautiful ass. Unlike Rhaegar’s raw power, he glides gracefully across the mat, his every movement controlled yet rippling with an undercurrent of explosive power.
I’m used to the prince’s presence drawing my attention. The tug of familiarity and longing I feel around him that I’ve chalked up to some weird form of Stockholm syndrome.
Rhaegar’s grin melts into a scowl as he notices me checking out the prince. “All that power, all that promise . . . wasted.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, never taking my eyes off the prince. He has a way of doing that when in a room; demanding undivided attention just by being.
Rhaegar lets out a soft breath. “Nothing. Just that it’s a shame the most powerful Fae in centuries is Unseelie and couldn’t care less for furthering our race.”
Basil grunts. “The Six wouldn’t dare rule without him. With him gone . . . the academy would be a better place.”
For solidarity, I try to look as annoyed as Rhaegar. But as I watch the prince, I find my traitorous lips tugging upward.
By the graceful, proud way he moves, he knows every eye is on him.
Eclipsa saunters over to stand next to him and then faces us, arms crossed, a fierce grin brightening her face. Asher Grayscale follows. I haven’t seen much of the prince’s dragon-shifting best friend, but the dark look he graces us with lives up to his Elite Six status.
“Attention, shadows,” the Winter Prince calls, his icy gaze sweeping over us. “If you haven’t heard, I run this part of the class, and Eclipsa and Asher are my assistants.” Both Eclipsa and Asher frown a bit at that. “We’ll be helping you learn to work as a team with your guardian.”
Holy Fae ears. Who the heck would put this psychopath in charge? I scour the room for Richter, but she’s already left. Beside me, Rhaegar’s jaw goes taut.
I have the distinct feeling this won’t end well for either of us.
“How is he our instructor?” I whisper to Mack. Mack finishes readjusting her high ponytail; half her hair is too short to reach and it falls to her shoulders. “He may seem like a jerkoff, but when it comes to fighting, the Winter Prince is a god. I hear he trained directly under his grandfather, the Darken.”
