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One only I can see. Which is the point, of course.
I convinced Valerian and the others that the Spring Court heir teased me for a while, but after he grew bored, all it took was reminding him of my brand, and he let me go. Valerian suspects the Winter Evermore that came forward to take the blame for the ice magic did so to gain favor in the Winter Court by protecting its heir.
I thought about telling them the truth a thousand times. I’ve typed the words in a text message to Valerian every night since, only to delete it before I hit send.
I just can’t overlook what happens if I tell them. Valerian would kill Hellebore. And the bargain I made to keep Valerian from doing just that would be for nothing.
It’s scary just how much I’m starting to think like a Fae, weighing the truth like something that can be bartered with and manipulated.
I refocus on Eclipsa, determined to discover as much about the Spring Court heir as possible. If I understand him, maybe I can use that to my advantage. “I know you said you don’t want to talk about it, but since you brought it up . . .” I scan her face for anger before continuing. “What happened between you two?”
She goes still; the small silver hairs the wind blows around her face are the only part of her that moves. “We met here, actually,” she finally says, her gaze roaming the garden until she finds a spot beneath a copse of enormous yew trees. “He was to the right of that tree collecting the buds of a rare night-blooming foxglove flower for his renowned collection of poisons.”
Of course Hellebore collects rare poisons instead of doing what normal rich people do and hoarding overpriced wine or vintage cars. I bet he keeps them in his red room of pain. “And then what?” I prod carefully. “And don’t say you two did it over there because, vomit.”
She laughs. “Summer, males like him don’t just ‘do it.’ Not immediately. Sometimes not for years, centuries. They live for the chase beforehand. They only want what they can’t have, and once they have you, they’ve won and the game is over.”
“And he couldn’t have you?”
My question is supposed to be teasing, but I catch the way her mouth tightens. “I belong to the Winter Court. No one can have me—not unless they buy my contract.”
The air seems to thin around us. I imagine the pain I feel wearing Valerian’s brand and being treated like property is nothing to what she’s endured for years.
“I knew the moment I saw him that he was his own type of poison, just like the foxglove blossoms he was so lovingly collecting. I knew he would try to break me, that he would destroy me if he could, but I didn’t care.”
“Why?”
“Because a part of me wanted him to do it. To break me into a thousand pieces so that no one could own me, not him, not the Winter King, not anyone.” She blinks as if coming out of a trance. “I suspected he was only interested in me to hurt the Winter Prince, but when he told me he would buy my freedom . . .” She stands suddenly, wiping at the corners of her eyes. “It’s late. Are you ready?”
As I slide to my feet, I ask, “Why does he hate the prince?”
She cuts her eyes at me, any emotion I thought I saw in her face gone. “You mean, besides the prince’s arrogance and penchant for pissing off other courts?” Her hand waves over the silvery air, her fingers tracing the pale blue outline of a portal. “Hellebore blames the prince for his parents’ death.”
And . . . now it all makes sense. Why Hellebore wants to publicly take me from the prince and then humiliate me. Some Evermore vendetta. I’m not even surprised.
“Is the prince to blame?” I prod.
She shrugs, and I find her non-committal attitude over whether my possible future mate caused the death of two people rather alarming. “All I know is Hellebore blames the prince for something that happened that ended the alliance between his parents and the Summer King. Without the king’s support, his aunt, Queen Maub, could finally have them killed and take the Spring Court throne.”
After that, I don’t ask any questions, afraid my brain will explode if I learn one more thing about the horrible Evermore Courts. Eclipsa portals me straight to my dorms, and I stumble to the room I share with Mack to find her curled up asleep on the ancient moth-eaten loveseat, surrounded by textbooks.
Cool night air blows in through the open window, stippling her bare arms and legs.
After helping her to her bed, I close the window.
Something catches my eye.
Frowning, I pluck the trinket from the windowsill and hold it up to the moonlight, taking in the rounded shape and smooth petals. The rose is carved from amber, the golden material translucent. Half asleep, I look inside . . .
As soon as I make out the long, thin legs and hourglass marking on the spider suspended in the amber, a chill runs through me.
It’s a black widow, perfectly preserved and so lifelike I nearly throw the stupid thing.
You don’t even know you’re trapped in my web yet.
Prince Hellebore’s words reverberate inside my skull, and I know—I just know, this is from him. He’s watching me to see how I respond. Hardly daring to breathe as he waits for me to realize it was him, for me to become afraid.
“Get off on this, you sick pervert!” I hiss, throwing up my middle finger.
