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As if taunting me, a snowflake lands on the tip of my nose. I sigh, my annoyance growing. My tormentor demanded I be here at exactly midnight, yet now he’s the late one and I’m freezing my lady balls off.
The second that thought hits me, something moves between the trees.
I peer through the flurry of snow and make out a man on a moon-white horse lurking near the base of the closest tree. Actually, not a man—I need to remember that—and he’s not on a horse.
He is a horse, sort of.
“Centaur,” I breathe, sure I’m still dreaming as I watch my breath crystallize in front of me.
The Evermore glares. I stare up at him, too enamored to care that he obviously finds retrieving me an insult. From the waist up, he appears completely normal. Or as normal as a Fae can look.
His features resemble a human’s, but brighter somehow, like he’s been painted with chromatic pigment deeper and richer than anything used on us. Large moss-green eyes watch me, set deep in a proud bronzed face. Vibrant red hair falls to his mid-back, twisted and braided with silver ribbons.
“Done staring?” he drawls, but the proud tug of his lips tells me part of him enjoys the attention. “You mortals always stare, in the beginning.”
I nod, but I’m not done ogling him. How could I be? From the navel down, he’s a horse. A mother-freaking horse.
Then there’s the line of humans strung out behind him. They’re linked together in pairs, their wrists restrained by chains. Another delicate chain connects the entire human line to part of the centaur’s armor.
By their slack faces and distant, glassy stares, they’re glamoured.
He holds out a hand and shifts toward me, the powerful muscles of his hindquarters trembling beneath his soft ivory fur.
“Who are they?” I ask.
“Recruits. They’re going to the front to fight the scourge.”
Cutting my eyes at the poor humans, I try to hide my skepticism, in case there’s a part of them that can still see. They do not look ready to fight an army of darklings.
He jerks his chin at me. “Hop on.”
Yeah, that’s not going to happen. I plant my silly, mittened hands on my hips. “I’m good, but thanks. I can walk like the rest.”
He grins. “Unless you want to freeze your butt off here, I’d suggest doing what I say.” When I still hesitate, he adds, “By the laws of the academy, I can’t glamour you to obey. But those rules also don’t specify I have to bring you to the academy alive.”
Touché. Stupid Fae reasoning.
Frowning, I reach out a hand and let him help me onto his wide back.
He’s warm, at least. I shift, trying to get comfortable. Pretend this is a real horse. “Is this okay?” I ask, flexing my fingers. “I’m not . . . hurting you?”
I’ve never thought to ask such a thing to an actual horse, but they’ve never been able to talk back, either.
An equine ear flicks back, and the rumble of his laughter seeps into my thighs. “You, hurt me? Is that an attempt at a joke?”
Impatience quickens his voice, but his laughter has nothing of my tormentor’s cruel edge, and I make a mental note.
If I’m going to survive this place, everyone I meet has to go in one of two boxes: potential friend or enemy.
He waves his hand in the air. A moment later, a fiery blue and orange circle erupts, growing until it’s as tall as my ride. Another world of ice coalesces inside the flames. Red-tipped mushrooms sprout beneath the circle, the magic seemingly drawing them from the snow.
“What is that?” I ask.
“A portal. You didn’t think we’d walk all the way there?”
I shrug, having no idea where there is.
Apparently deciding I’m hopelessly ignorant, he says, “Look. This is Winter Court land. If we were to walk to Evermore Academy from here, that would take us weeks. Plus, the Winter Court frowns upon members of the other courts wandering through their territory so . . . we take a portal.”
