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He gets my meaning immediately. I can see that by the way his mouth tightens at the corners. He shoves a hand through his hair and takes a final step back to rest against the side of the wall.
Then he fixes me with a long, piercing stare. “Go to sleep, Summer. You’re safe with me.”
As I lay back on the pillow and close my eyes, I’m sure I’ll never fall asleep with the most powerful Fae in existence watching over me. But I do.
Not only that, but it’s the most peaceful sleep I’ve had in weeks.
44
When I wake up, the prince is gone. But there’s a note. Scrawled across the cream stationery in elegant penmanship are four words:
Be ready by dusk.
~W.P.
Okay, that’s a bit bossy. I exhale and then stare at the paper. What could he be planning?
But as much as I hate surprises, I find myself counting down the clock. I try to study but I can’t concentrate. I take a shower but end up using conditioner instead of shampoo, twice.
I spend two hours of my life I’ll never get back playing a Fae card game version of Go Fish with Ruby. Usually I catch her cheating, but this time I’m too consumed by anticipation to notice until I’ve lost all of the Twizzlers Mack sent me.
Damn.
By the time five rolls around, I’m practically coming out of my skin. The moment I feel the tugging sensation I know means the prince is close, I jump from the couch downstairs and run out the door.
He meets me on the porch, his eyes hard to read. “Grab a coat.”
It takes until we’re almost to the winter orchard where I first met the prince for me to realize where we’re going. My heart lurches. “Wait, are we going . . . ?”
I can’t finish that sentence. The words carry too much hope.
The Winter Prince smiles softly. “You can’t speak to them or get near your house. But I thought, maybe, if you could see they’re safe . . .”
Now it’s his turn to let his words trail away.
Excitement builds inside my chest as we weave through the trees. Once we cross the Shimmer, the trees grow smaller and less dense. I find one of my old paths, the familiarity eating at me as my boots trace a line toward home.
Home.
He follows behind, hesitant. Or maybe that’s not the right word. Perhaps he can feel the difference in this world and it bothers him.
My gaze falls on the snow. It’s nearly dark, the merciless Texas sun I remember a shadow of itself.
Can it already be winter here? But of course it is. Being in Everwilde made me lose all track of time.
I’ve been gone over six months.
Noises give me pause. Laughter, high and squealing.
The kids.
My heart clenches. I leave the trail and use the denser parts of the forest for cover. Ten feet from the edge of the forest, I stop. The prince pauses next to me. Through the cracks between the thin sycamore trees, I catch movement.
I see the twins first, Juliana and Gabe. They’re building a snowman. A really sad imitation of one with a lumpy middle and no head. They’re both wearing mismatched mittens with holes, their faces hidden by threadbare scarves and woolen hats too big for their heads.
I’m reminded of how hard the winters here are. The way the cold seeps into every crack and pore of the old farmhouse. How we never have enough coats and boots for everyone, nor enough food to sustain our shivering bodies.
“Come inside and warm up for a bit, tiny heathens,” Aunt Zinnia calls. At the sound of her high voice, the breath catches in my chest.
