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He grabs my arm, hard, the talons sinking into my flesh. “Let’s dance.”
No amount of jerking my arm or struggling against him can loosen his grip, and I’m dragged into a clump of bodies. When he finds a suitable spot near the middle, he yanks me close.
“Rhaegar, you’re hurting me,” I hiss. His body is hot, hard, a cage of flesh and bone.
His hand crushes mine as he forces my right arm out; with his free hand, he twists my wrist behind my back. Without any effort at all, he forces me into a stiff waltz.
He presses his cheek into mine. “Did you laugh at me?”
“What are you talking about?” I pant. He’s whirling me so fast that I can barely breathe, or maybe that’s just my panic.
“You and the prince. When you tricked me into losing. You humiliated me.”
He throws me backward. I scream, but his arm slips behind my back before my body can slam into the floor. He leans down, his lips brushing against my ear. His breath feels like fire against my skin.
“Did you really think I wouldn’t know?” He jerks me to my feet. My hand throbs with pain. “Do you know my father nearly disowned me?”
“Rhaegar, please, you’re hurting me.”
He seems not to hear me, his lips twisted with hatred. “Where is your Winter Prince now, hmm?”
I crane my head, searching the wall of bodies for a friendly face. But all I see are the Fae, their eyes wild, laughing and screeching as they dance and dance.
All at once, the music stops. After so much noise, the sudden silence feels wrong. I can hear my heartbeat hammering inside my skull, my breaths in tandem with my erratic pulse.
Rhaegar’s hand slides up between my shoulder blades, soft, caressing, all the way to the back of my head. His fingers are so long that they reach both sides of my jaw. They dig into my flesh as he forces me to look at the stage.
Oh, no. Inara. Her beauty is overwhelming. Her eyelashes are frosted white, her lips painted a deep blue that contrasts against her ivory skin. A gown of frost shimmers around her body, the low-cut ensemble pooling along the floor like snow. Her cobalt blue hair is pulled high atop her head, held up by near-translucent moths.
The effect is mesmerizing.
“Beasties, fiends, and creatures, it’s time to crown the Evermore royal couple.”
A roar rises up from the crowd. My body begins to tremble.
“The queen of the Winter Formal this year is an . . . unusual choice,” Inara purrs. “Before we announce her, I want to play a little slideshow.”
I watch Reina walk to the stage and fiddle with a projector, then the white screen behind the stage lights up, and a video begins to play.
Of . . . me.
My unease surges to wild panic as I watch the video unfold. Every single incident this year plays over the wide screen. I watch myself, the feeling surreal, like watching another person.
Except the videos have been edited to only show certain parts. I’m on my knees in the hallway, arguing with Inara. Then I’m in the club, surrounded by male Fae. But from the angle of the camera, I look like I’m enjoying the attention.
Boos fill the air.
The video of me standing over the bed of the girl who was turned to stone comes next. I’m glaring at the camera, a snarky smirk on my face.
Of course Inara’s comments have been edited out so it looks like I’m somehow responsible for the girl’s death.
My heart sinks as more footage emerges. Moments between the prince and I that I didn’t know were filmed. When the camera pans to a window and draws close, and I see the prince and I inside the gym, my heart sinks. He’s on top of me, my legs wrapped around his waist.
“Fae-whore,” someone yells.
I try to look away from what I know comes next, but Rhaegar’s hand forces me to watch the final footage. I cringe as the girl in the video slinks from the prince’s house, her white-blonde hair messy and matted.
“Yes,” Inara purrs, “she’s still wearing the same clothes from the night before. Classy.” Her crystalline eyes meet mine, and a grin carves into her face. “Time to come up and claim your title, Summer Solstice.”
