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Bloodstar. Bloodstar. Bloodst—
Oberon’s beard, I have it. That’s the flower Evelyn mentioned. I sag against the wall outside the queen’s door.
When asked who was controlling her, Evelyn couldn’t say a name. At least, not an Evemore’s name. Instead she named a flower, the Bloodstar. The very same flower Hellebore is obsessed with. The one only he owns. The one he prizes above all things.
It doesn’t take a genius to make the connection.
Prince Hellebore is her master. He’s working for the Darken. He sent the darklings to steal the piece of the Worldslayer. Evelyn couldn’t say his name, so instead she managed to speak the name of the flower he wears on his body.
She must see it every time he gives her an order.
Holy Fae, I’ve found something that can hurt him.
I turn the corner just as the class is gathering across the hall. Hellebore and I lock eyes.
He dons that arrogant, asshole-and-proud smile that deserves to be punched from existence. The one that screams, You can’t touch me.
I return his smile with one of my own.
I know your secret now, dickwad, and I’m going to use it to take you down.
34
“Stop fidgeting,” Mack whispers as we stroll through the tables full of Winter Court diners toward the Sylverfrost’s private dining room.
“This dress hates me,” I hiss, tugging the velvet hem down as low as it will go—which is shockingly not a great length.
Or not shocking, considering Valerian picked it out.
Ruby sticks her head out of the black clutch I’m carrying. “Kid, that dress is doing you—and your glorious ass—a favor.”
She finally figured out how to access the dog toy I stuffed with vanilla frosting—the kind made to keep pets busy—and her face is caked with the stuff.
Mack shoots me a scolding look. “I can’t believe you brought her.”
I might have forgiven Ruby for the darkling mess, but Mack hasn’t. “Ruby hasn’t been off campus in years.”
“Have you ever considered there’s a reason for that?” Mack mutters as she follows a willowy hostess with frosted skin, cobalt blue hair, and pillowy white feathered wings up a flight of spiraling stairs to a glass room above.
“Everyone can change.”
“Apparently.” Mack cuts her eyes at Ruby, who finally figured out the hollow dog toy I filled with vanilla frosting—to keep her busy—and is stuffing her face with it. “Wasn’t she emo a few weeks ago?”
I laugh, thankful that Mack gets a night away from the stress of school. She’s been stressed lately, studying late into the night. And she’s lost weight.
Sometimes when I get up in the morning for my training sessions, she’s still awake, highlighter poised over a textbook. I keep meaning to ask her if she’s okay, but our schedules are so conflicting right now that it’s hard to find the right time.
The hostess waves her hand over the frosted enclosure, which is basically a long rectangle of ice, and a door appears. “Enjoy dinner.”
Her crystalline eyes look me up and down before she glides back down the stairs.
So far, we’ve gotten the same indignant look from every patron we passed. Although I’m starting to suspect the anger is directed at me, not Mack.
The mortal girl rumored to have Valerian Sylverfrost under her spell.
Mack enters first. I smooth down the dress Valerian sent me—the one custom fitted to fit my every curve and dyed the same color as his midnight-blue hair—and enter.
A long marble table veined in silver stretches the length of the room, showing off a stunning centerpiece of frosted roses of ice. Delicate snowflakes drizzle from above.
