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He has a flair for the dramatic, all grins and bows, but I can feel his anxiety all the way from here.
Right there with you, guy. I shift on my feet, nerves making it hard to stand still. My gut twists, and I wrap my arms around my chest to keep my arms from shaking. Now I know how cattle feel when they’re auctioned off at livestock shows.
Maybe no one will choose me? What happens then?
My sprite zips above my head and hands off a tiny scroll to Cronus.
The Master of Ceremonies squints down at the scroll, held between his delicate blue fingers, and begins to read from it. “This human female is eighteen years old. She hails from the Tainted Zone. Her hobbies include hunting and stealing, and she was kicked out of her high school for assault. She’s thin, but with proper food she could look decent.”
I glare up at the sprite. Who made this bio?
“Although untrained in the fighting arts, she’s feisty, mean, and prone to violence. All useful traits when you need your shadow to travel to the scourge lands for rare herbs, or desire protection from a darkling.”
Feisty and mean? Pfft. I roll my eyes.
Cronus peers down at the scroll for a breath, frowns, and then rolls it up. “Any takers for this human?”
Wow. This is sad. Worse than all those times I was chosen last in gym class.
Compared to the illustrious bios of the other humans—private schools, numerous awards, speaks five languages, already accepted into Ivy League colleges—mine is pitiful, and if I didn’t recognize how lacking my life was before, I’m all too aware now.
I’m tugging at my hoodie when a voice rings out . . . no, make that two voices.
“I claim her,” both voices say.
Sure I misheard, I whip my head up to see who spoke . . . as does the rest of the crowd. The second I take in the Summer Evermore, Rhaegar, striding toward the stage, my face breaks into a sloppy grin.
The other Evermore walks on the opposite side of Rhaegar. She’s the Lunar Court girl I admired earlier, the one with the crescent jewelry and beautiful silver hair.
Someone wants me. Two people, in fact. I barely manage to keep from fist pumping the air in triumph.
I. Am. Wanted.
I’ve already decided that if I get to choose, I’m going with the Summer Evermore. But I have no idea how this works. None of the other candidates had more than one Fae claim them.
“I claim this mortal for the Winter Prince,” a third male voice chimes in.
Whoa. I glance to my left and nearly die of shock. My former tormentor and rooftop crush stalks to the stage, his silver cloak rippling out across the snow behind him.
Where did he come from?
Everyone has gone completely still. I recognize the emotion tightening their faces: fear.
Everyone but Inara, who somehow manages to look even more homicidal than before as she watches him approach me. Maybe she has a thing for the Winter Prince’s lackey.
For his part, he seems oblivious to the effect his presence has on the crowd.
Those arresting eyes lock onto mine and another strange shock carves up my spine, similar to what I felt when I touched the lock earlier and somehow broke it. A raw emotion burns through me, expectation and something . . . else.
Something so close to desire that I take the inside of my cheek between my molars and bite, hard, just to make it disappear.
When the metallic taste of blood chases away all emotions except loathing, I allow my gaze back on the offending Fae. He’s still watching me as he strides up to the stage.
I match his glower with one of my own. I’m not afraid of you.
But my heart hammering in my chest says otherwise, and I’m ninety-nine percent sure he can hear it because a menacing grin carves his sharp jaw.
The cruel lilt of his lips chills my blood.
