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A collective gasp fills the cold air. Basil frowns, worrying his fingers. A few of the Unseelie boo at the option, obviously wanting the prince to kill Rhaegar and be done with it.
I look to Ruby, who’s now wide awake, her mouth gaping at the events.
“What happens if he asks for mercy?” I whisper.
Ruby shakes her head, as if the idea is too impossible to fathom. “He would never . . . such a cowardly thing would make him an outcast from his court forever. He would never,” she repeats.
But he does. The entire ring of onlookers goes quiet as Rhaegar’s voice, broken and ashamed, spills into the meadow. “Mercy. I ask for . . . mercy.”
The prince nods; the cage of ice melts away. The Unseelie side goes wild, a victorious cry rising from their ranks while the Seelie turn their backs on Rhaegar and quickly flee into the woods.
Half in shock, I slide down the tree, not caring that the bark tears at my face and clothes. Not caring that someone might see me. Not caring about anything in this moment but the horrifying truth.
He used me.
He tricked me.
The thought worms under my skin as I turn it over in my mind. The way he gave me the book and let me believe, in his arrogance, he hadn’t read it. That same arrogance was used in the arena to goad Rhaegar into thinking he’d used the last of his power.
In allowing Rhaegar to assume his power was gone, he lured the Summer Fae into letting his guard down. But it was more than that.
Any number of times, he could have ended Rhaegar.
Instead he destroyed the one thing that Rhaegar valued over all else: his honor.
Why? What twisted Faerie game is he playing? More importantly, what sort of person can wield their emotions so expertly, like a weapon honed to perfection?
A Fae prince. I should have expected as much.
The moment my boots crunch the snowy ground, I break into a sprint. Ruby dives into my pocket just in time. I crash blindly through the path, overwhelmed with emotion.
He used me. He played me. And I fell right into his trap. My stupidity ended in the one thing I didn’t want to happen: I am the Winter Prince’s slave and shadow.
We are intimately linked for the next four years.
And now that I know what he’s really capable of . . . now that I know how he wields his emotions to make anyone see exactly what he wants . . .
There can’t be a more dangerous Fae in all of Everwilde.
32
When I finally fall asleep, I tumble into a pit of nightmares. Each one worse than the last. In the first, Rhaegar has completely shifted into his wolf form. He’s injured, curled on his side in the snow, his onyx fur contrasted deeply against the pure white. His voice is a half-howl as he calls for mercy, but the prince runs him through with a sword anyway.
In the other, I’m lost in a blizzard. Slowly freezing to death. The Winter Prince reaches for me but when I take his hand, he turns to ice, his fingers shattering inside mine.
Then I toss and turn on my cot, trapped in that ethereal dream state where I’m not quite sleeping and not fully awake. The fire has blown out and my breath spills from my lips like mist to join the others.
Everyone is asleep, but a slithering noise comes from beneath the metal beds. Like something slowly dragging itself along the floorboards of the gym.
Gathering my courage, I move my head to discover what’s making the noise, but I’m paralyzed. Unable to look, to blink, to cry for help. The slithering grows closer. Closer. Now it’s beneath my bed.
There’s a hiss near my head.
In my periphery, I catch a long, slender nose gliding along my pillow. Dark green scales tipped black glitter in the half-light, a pink forked tongue flickering softly. Finger-length white horns crown a serpentine head.
The basilisk. A black shadowy mist leaks from his orange eyes, his vertical pupils blown wide. He hasn’t looked at me yet . . . but the moment he does, I’ll be turned to stone.
His body crushes mine as he slides over my waist, his heaviness forcing the air from my lungs. He begins to turn. I remember the info on his cage explaining that he pins his victims before forcing them to look into his eyes.
