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The cloak. The owl pins. The smarmy expression. That explains the crazy reaction I had last night. I’m staring at my tormentor, the one who condemned me to this prison under the name of the Winter Prince.
And he’s smirking at me. Smirking.
Fury overrides my attraction to him. Fury and shame. I should have known last night who he was. Did he laugh with his Fae buddies over my stupidity? What if he felt my strange attraction to him?
I groan internally, but my anger numbs any embarrassment I feel. He thinks I’m here for his enjoyment. He thinks I’m already beaten. Well screw him. I’m a fighter, and I refuse to go down like this. I refuse to give him one more second of pleasure watching me struggle.
Drawing upon every ounce of willpower, I stand, the thin layer of ice cracking, and look Inara straight in the eyes. “I’ll go in the cage.”
A disappointed sigh flees Inara’s lips, but she steps out of the way, waving a slender hand with silver-lacquered fingernails at the cage.
“Run along, little human. I’ll see you again soon . . . if you manage to survive until the Selection.”
Her tone makes it clear she doesn’t think I will. Just like the headmistress. Just like every single Fae in this room.
Time to prove her wrong. Time to prove them all wrong.
13
Only once I’m away from Inara and her friends does the air warm to a tolerable level. My veil of frost becomes water dampening my skin and clothes. Red carpeted walkways divide each court’s side. With my head held high, I find the closest walkway and stride toward the cage.
My former tormentor’s icy gaze bores into my back, and once again I get the feeling he gets off on this. My struggle, my embarrassment and pain.
Annoyingly, there’s also that strange bond connecting us, as if an invisible thread travels from his heart to mine.
Magic. Has to be.
I shake my head to dislodge the bizarre feeling and push on. Each step closer makes it harder to pull in air. But, between my sprite literally shoving between my shoulder blades, my embarrassment, and my resolve, I keep moving forward until my boots clop over the dais.
There are countless people packed inside the golden, bell-shaped cage. White jasmine and ivy cord around the bars and scent the air. A Fae with long tufted ears and a donkey tail grins at me as he pulls open the closest door, the hinges creaking. It’s one of seven doors.
See? Seven doors means seven ways to escape at the first sign of being trapped.
My mind seems to accept this fact just fine, but my body is paranoid. It’s been inside a cage before and it hasn’t forgotten. Cold sweat slithers down my spine, my heart twerking to its own panicky song. A pit of terror slices open inside me.
I’m about to bolt when a pretty girl rushes past the guard and grabs me by the elbow, guiding me into the cage. Her fingers are warm and gentle as they press into my flesh, and something about her easy confidence and beaming smile calm me.
As I pass some of the other humans, they snicker under their breath. A gorgeous girl with long curly chestnut hair and enough makeup on to stock a Sephora says, “Who let Trailer Park in?”
She has the air of someone who’s never even seen a trailer park, much less lived in one. If she had she’d know they’re convenient, economical, and can be moved when necessary.
A boy winks at me, but his lips twist hatefully as he does it. His friend makes a lewd gesture I won’t even deign to describe.
“I’ll help you win if you promise to come by my room later,” he says.
My jaw grinds, but I ignore them. Compared to the Fae, who can actually freeze me with magic, their words barely even sting.
What’s the saying? Ice and snow may freeze my toe, but words will never hurt me. I totally just made that up, but it fits and I’m keeping it.
“It’s not so bad,” my hero says, squeezing my arm. She’s curvy and short, maybe five-two, with a body that makes mine feel boyish in comparison and plump lips meant for smiling. “This is all for show. The Evermore do like their ceremonies.” She gives my arm a nice pat. “Didn’t your parents prepare you for what’s to come?”
I shake my head, hiding the wince from her touch. My tattooed flesh is still a bit tender.
She must see that I’m still really close to panicking, because she says, “Here. Don’t look at the bars. Focus on me.”
I do. Wow. She’s really pretty.
Deep-set cornflower-blue eyes. Thick chocolate-brown hair cut chin-length and streaked hot pink and purple. On either side of a pert nose, a smattering of freckles dust her tawny cheeks.
