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47
The applause back on the other side is so loud that it vibrates the earth. I blink against the sunlight, the throng of Fae on the field around us. Cronus has already grabbed Mack and is herding her toward the palace courtyard, where the winner’s stage awaits.
Winner. She won.
A surge of contrasting emotions flood through me. I’m happy she won her place back at the academy. I am. But I can’t shake this feeling . . . this heaviness.
As the crowd pushes me toward the stage, I shove the feeling aside. Hellebore will undoubtedly make me wear something awful, something humiliating and cruel.
But I can handle that.
If he isn’t already in chains. I glance around as we near the stage. Garlands of yellow aconite and purple and white crocus are hung above us. Monarch butterflies dance in the air. Refreshments are laid out on tables. Four stands have been set up in each corner surrounding the stage, and the royals from each seasonal court watch as Mack is guided to the stage.
Where is Hellebore?
I shove as close to the front as I can. Mack looks bewildered, still in shock from what happened at the end.
Cronus slides a wreath of daffodil and hyacinth over her head. “Mackenzie Fairchild, winner of the first annual Evermore Academy Final Gauntlet.”
Once the applause subsides, two hobs guide Mack off the stage. I start to follow—
“Summer Solstice.” Cronus’s voice rings loud over the courtyard. “Please come to the stage.”
Crap. Is there a prize for coming in second place?
For some reason, it’s hard to drag in enough air to satisfy my lungs. Wiping my sweaty palms on my suit, I make my way to the stairs leading up to the podium.
Fine. Everything’s fine. This is just a formality.
Cronus beckons me to center stage. He doesn’t hold a second place wreath. He doesn’t hold anything except a strange look that sends my heart into overdrive.
And then I see Hellebore standing just off to the side, hands in his pockets, lips pressed into the softest of smiles . . . and my body goes cold. No.
I turn to slip off stage, but two Spring Court guards block my path. More make themselves known surrounding the dais.
Trapped.
Turning, I march toward Hellebore, working to calm my nerves. He doesn’t know. This is him humiliating me.
“Surprised to see me?” he asks softly.
He knows. He knows. I clench my jaw, forcing the fear from my face. “What is this?”
He shrugs. “Fulfilling your end of the bargain. Or did you think I’d forgotten?”
I swallow, throat painfully dry. Whatever embarrassment he has in store, I can take it. “Go ahead. I’m ready.”
He beckons to a hob in the corner who shuffles over, carrying something on a golden velvet pillow.
A makeshift crown of ivy, poppies, and bellflowers. But the ivy is withered, the leaves brittle and browned along the edges, and the flowers have lost their bloom and lay wilted and limp.
Hellebore regards the crown of flowers before sliding his unreadable gaze to me. “Put it on.”
I drag in a shaky breath. What game is he playing? Perhaps the crown is spelled with magic that will make me do silly things like strip off my clothes. Oh, God . . .
The bargain stipulates the item cannot be imbued with magic that would harm me, but not embarrass me. I should have thought of that, but one can’t die of embarrassment, right?
Lifting my chin, I reach for the crown. Whatever he has in store, it cannot break me. He hardly seems to breathe as my fingers close around the ivy base. I swear the tangled vine moves beneath my touch.
