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Only when the heat blisters his thumb does he finally release my photo. The moment my image disappears inside the licking orange flames, a ragged sigh escapes his lips.
Flicking his hand toward the fire, he sends a howling wind of ice and snow to snuff out the flames.
When he glances at himself in the mirror, I nearly scream.
The Winter Prince stares back at me, and it feels like those mournful eyes are looking straight into my soul.
It feels like he can see me.
I don’t know if it’s the pure terror hurtling through my veins, but whatever connection I have to him severs. I’m no longer in his room, but back in mine. Standing right where I was before, by the window, my hands pressed against the cold pane.
Only now it’s freezing inside our room, and when I turn around to flee back to my bed and its mound of covers, I see why.
The magical fire that never extinguishes has died.
18
I’m a bundle of nervous energy as Mack and I walk to class through a wooded path, shadowed by one very angry sprite. Her name is Ruby, but I’ve learned little else about her. It’s hard to make conversation when she’s continuously rattling off what have to be curses in a totally different language while darting around our heads.
I also watched her chug a tiny thimbleful of brambleberry liquor earlier and then give the world’s largest belch.
Mack’s sprite, on the other hand, is actually helpful. Thornilia delivered Mack a flaky raspberry tart this morning, and she must have hustled because it was still warm, steam curling from the paper sleeve around it. Then Thornilia helped Mack pick out an outfit, steamed it, and braided her hair, weaving tiny winter roses through her dark strands.
She even did some cleaning spell on my hoodie and jeans.
Of course, she got the go-getting, hair-braiding, sober sprite while I got the tiny trash-talking lush.
A large group of human shadows from the second Seelie dorm walk up ahead. When Mack and her sprite hurry to join them, I slow down, enjoying the moment to myself.
My sprite wandered off a moment ago—I actually think she may have passed out beneath a tree. Normally I’d be worried, but the path from our dorms to the main campus has a warm shell of magic around it, and most of the snow has been cleared.
Aside from the crunch of my boots on the gravel trail, the forest is quiet.
With the sudden silence, last night’s events flicker across my mind. The entire ordeal seems like a dream. So much so that I’m starting to wonder if it was one. Only the fire did, in fact, go out, and the dorm monitor said he’d never seen that happen before.
That can’t be a coincidence. Right?
Inside the main academy, we cut through the commons to grab breakfast. Other than a few humans, the wood-paneled halls are empty. It’s nearly noon—Fae don’t rise until late—and my stomach has been growling for hours.
After wolfing down two hard rolls, a strange yet heavenly winter fruit called a pink-melon, and an odd assortment of nuts and cheese, I glare at the spread of tea packets and hot water, beyond disappointed in the lack of coffee.
Of course the Fae drink watered down varieties of tea. Most I’ve never even heard of.
My caffeine addiction aside, I’m starting to relax. They’re actually feeding us. And no one has tried to freeze me in place and part my head from my body. So there’s that.
Once we make it to the lower levels where the mortal studies take place and I see that the hall is packed with humans but very few Fae, the knot of unease that’s been tightening with every step deeper into the academy loosens.
Maybe I won’t have to see the Winter Prince today.
Maybe he’s forgotten all about me and the Nocturus, and I can just avoid him for the rest of my life. Although that’s going to be hard if I keep falling into his mind.
I still can’t get over how weird that was, even if, when it happened, it felt so normal. Like I had done it hundreds of times before. Like it was . . . natural to slip inside the mind of the most terrifying Fae on campus while he’s naked and in bed with another girl.
And, holy Fae balls. If Inara knew I somehow jumped inside her boyfriend’s head and witnessed her march of shame as he kicked her out—well, I’m pretty sure she’d claw out my eyes.
“Hey. You okay?” Mack asks as she smooths an already perfect strand of chocolate-brown hair behind her ear.
Biting my lip, I shift the backpack across my shoulders. The books weighing down my new, hunter green backpack came this morning, along with the bill for said items, and a schedule.
