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“I’m aware.” She glares. “I’m not good at this, okay?”
“Didn’t we just establish that?”
“I mean, having friends. Caring. It’s not natural to me. In the Everwilde, we’ve been taught from birth how to betray and manipulate our way to power. It’s all that matters in our world, and having friends when everyone is a potential enemy is a liability.”
“It can be that way in the human world too,” I admit. “Too bad there isn’t a soulbond for friends. That would make it so much easier.”
“But that’s what makes friendship so strangely . . . wonderful.” Her sneakers are quiet against my floor as she approaches. “It’s like the Bloodstar vine. It needs constant watering and care or it withers into dust.”
I’m not sure how I feel about Eclipsa comparing our relationship to the most poisonous flower in Everwilde, but I’ll take it.
“What I said in front of Hellebore,” she continues, her silver brows gathered. “He is an expert at learning what someone cares about and using that against them. If he truly understood how much I like you, he would use that knowledge to destroy both of us—and I can’t bear the thought of him taking something I hold precious and turning it into a weapon.”
I bounce on my toes, the urge to hug the prickly assassin warring with my pride. “I know, and you’re right. I just wasn’t expecting what you said to be so harsh or hurt so much.”
“Summer, the rules of the courts and power come to me easily, but the rules of friendship are . . . new to me. I’m still learning. Do you forgive me?”
“Yes!” I throw my arms around her. “How else can I ensure you never murder me?”
“Fair point. Now that that’s out of the way, we should probably go save the Winter Prince and Asher.”
I jerk back, eyes stretched wide. “They’re here too?”
But as I jog down the stairs, I recognize the twinge in my belly that I only feel around Valerian. Like a thousand butterflies of ice beating against my ribcage.
The odd scent of blueberry muffins and gunpowder permeates the air downstairs. Valerian and Asher are holed up in the dining room, looking more prisoner than guest as they endure Zinnia’s rapid barrage of offers for beverages and food, aka Southern hospitality at its finest. Their massive frames swamp the antique table and chairs, a family heirloom passed down for generations on Vi’s husband’s side. Both Evermore wear the faint but unmistakable look of unease.
Perhaps it’s the two watermelon-sized groupings of buckshot that pepper the wall just over their heads. Or Vi, who’s watching them from the kitchen, and boy, oh boy is she pissed. Evidenced by her beloved shotgun, Betsy, held low at her waist.
Not happening. This is not happening.
Vi’s furious stare bounces from the Evermore to Zinnia, as if she can’t decide who to blast first. The Fae sitting at her beloved dining table using her precious china and linen placemats reserved for special guests, or the sister who’s cheerfully serving them.
Valerian’s gaze slides to me, locks. His unease softens, giving way to that startling familiarity we share. My stomach muscles clench, and I fight the way my body reacts.
Softening. Warming. Aching to draw nearer to him as if caught in his physical orbit. I’m suddenly all too aware of my pulse, my breathing, my sensitive skin reacting as the light elastic waistband of my sleep shorts rubs against my hips . . .
Whoa. Panic trills through me at the thought of Vi realizing my feelings for an Evermore—especially a royal one.
Setting my jaw, I drag my stare from my mate and park it on my newly reinstated friend. “Why are they here?”
Considering their freakish supernatural hearing, I don’t bother whispering.
“I couldn’t reach you, Summer,” Eclipsa scolds. “Did you really think they would let me come alone?”
“You could have called my home number. The school has it.”
“And you could have answered my one thousand, three hundred and seventy nine texts, but c’est la vie. We’re here, no one’s dead, and it’s the perfect time to discuss details on why you entered the gauntlet in the first place.”
“Right now?” I demand, still ruffled by the shock of seeing Valerian and Asher in my house.
Eclipsa side-eyes Zinnia, who’s marching toward the dining room with a pan of blueberry muffins between her oven mitts. “As soon as we enter the Spring Court, we have to assume every conversation is monitored. So unless you prefer we go there without a plan, which is like charging into battle without a weapon, by the way, and a really stupid, painful way to die, we talk here.”
Right. Tucking my hair behind my ears in a failed effort to hide how tangled it is, I slide into the chair farthest from Valerian. Quiet descends as Zinnia offers muffins and coffee to the group, probably for the twentieth time.
“Zinnia, it’s fine,” I protest, glancing around for signs of Jane. She’ll have already found a weapon, no doubt. “They don’t like our food.”
“I’ll have one of those, please,” Valerian drawls in that elegant, smooth voice. His impeccable manners grate on me. “And a cup of coffee would be delicious, Zinnia.”
