I’m laughing, and the sound is like music to him. A drug.
The hedge-maze.
Pain shoots through me as I remember how it felt when he said he loved me. The rush of promise for our future, together.
My mate.
Now my mate conjures those broken promises, that brittle and shattered future, and turns it into a weapon of ice magic. The blast that cracks the thick layer of ice below splits the cruel winter air, parting the curtain of snow and casting moonlight over this entire horrifying affair.
I watch, helpless and screaming and struggling to move as the water envelopes him.
The cold paralyzes with swift efficiency. Every muscle in his body locks, contorting his limbs, constricting his chest. Driving the last shred of oxygen from his throat.
From mine.
His immortality protects him from the swift death of drowning, but even immortals can only stand so long under water.
With a single thought, he could stop this. The pain. The drowning. The flood of panic as the searing lake slams into his lungs.
Instead, Valerian Sylverfrost sinks, sinks, sinks until the black expanse scrubs any trace of me from his wounded Fae heart. Only then does he surface.
But each time it takes longer.
And each time I feel him die a little more.
2
When I was just a mortal shadow, returning to school was simple. Pack the few supplies I could afford, show up the first day for a little juvenile hazing, wear the same clothes from last year. But apparently being an Evermore student comes with more bells and whistles than a prize pig at the county fair.
A month before the start of my third year, the whirlwind started. I spent mornings surviving mind-numbing tailor appointments for my custom outfits to match the reigning season. Afternoons I practiced Fae etiquette with the tutor my mother hired, an ancient Centaur named Diona. Evenings were spent writing letters of appreciation for the back-to-school gifts from Seelie Fae. Not thank you notes, because that would imply a bargain for the gifts.
The appreciation letters are all worded to ensure they remain gifts—not favors.
“So you had to return the sprite?” Mack asks, her gaze bouncing from shop to shop. We’re below Park Ave in one of the Fae markets. Mortals can only enter with the express permission of another Fae, and we’ve only seen one since we descended the stairwell, hidden inside a quaint bookshop on Madison Ave.
“It was either that or let Ruby battle the poor creature to the death.” I stop in front of a window displaying backpacks and messenger bags. Yellow eyes pop open on a green scaly pack, and it hisses until I retreat a few steps. “The Summer Queen was furious.” I lower my voice. Anytime I go out in public now, paparazzi follow, looking for anything to put in the Fae tabloids. “Apparently, the Sprite was gifted by Rhaegar’s mother, wife of the Summer Court General.”
“Then it was most likely a spy anyway.” Mack laughs as a coral pink messenger bag drops from the highest shelf and presses itself against the glass. The gorgeous embossed leather wriggles and twerks for attention, and Mack drops to her knees, cooing. “If only I could afford you, you divine little creature.”
“Why not put it on my tab?”
Mack jumps to her feet, dusting off her knees. “You can’t be serious. That’s genuine basilisk leather imbued with high-level magic by Lyrican Starwick. Only the most famous Lunar Fae designer in the city.”
I shrug. “My mother owns half this city. Fae hells, she probably owns this underground market. I promise, she won’t even notice.” When Mack still hesitates, I bring out the big guns. “You took care of me when I had nothing. You’ve given me hundreds of gifts. Let me do this for you, Mackenzie Fairchild.”
“You don’t fight fair,” she mutters, but she’s grinning ear-to-ear as we enter the boutique to buy the clingy accessory. After a quick deliberation, I choose the least magical item—a simple black leather backpack that’s charmed to alert me if any assignments are due and keeps my pencils sharpened.
A female shifter Fae with dark chestnut hair and green eyes spots me in the checkout line, and she whispers something to her friend. Habit has me ducking my head and averting my eyes. I thought I would get used to the attention, but somehow it’s only gotten harder to deal with.
“What are they looking at?” Mack growls, shooting the girls a glare.
“It’s fine. At least they’re not sneering. I think they’re just curious.”
Mack’s having none of it. She swivels to face the staring duo. “Haven’t you ever seen a Fae princess before?”
If Mack were here alone or with a lesser Fae, that would not have ended well for her. But she’s not. She’s here with me.
I grin as the two inquisitive Fae scurry from the store.
“That’ll make headlines tomorrow,” I mutter as we reach the cashier, and I dump our items on the polished granite counter.
“Good. My dads will freak when they see me on the front page.” Her teal and pink streaked chocolate hair goes flying as she whips around and yells, “That’s Mackenzie Fairchild, dickwads, if you didn’t already know.”
Mack’s a little testy after the last tabloid called her my “common mortal companion.”
The tall Autumn Fae behind the counter slides his bored gaze from Mackenzie to me, and I shrug. His expression livens up when he sees my credit card with my mother’s name: Aster Larkspur. Then he’s much more attentive.
It’s a perk I’m still getting used to.
The hunt for school supplies takes another hour, and by the time we exit into the subway, I’m ready for the New Orleans-style iced coffee from nearby Blue Bottle Coffee. Because my every second is basically controlled by my a-hole fiancé, it’s rare that I get so much time with Mack in the city.
I want to make the most of every second with her before school starts. No one has explained in detail how my life at the academy will be different now, but I do know I’ll be expected to live in Evermore accommodations and that after lunch, I’ll take regular Evermore classes.
I’m halfway up the steps to the street, the Empire State building visible, when my new Fae senses prickle.
I halt, struggling to tune out my mortal senses and focus on the tiny twinge I feel, like an itch deep inside. It’s only happened a few times, and the sensation is always so subtle that I half-suspect I’m imagining it.
The twinge becomes a flutter.
My slowed pace causes Mack to freeze, two adorable furrows etched between her dark brows. “What is it?”
She has reason to be concerned. Every time I’m around this many Fae, the chance that I’ll accidentally steal one of their powers and expose my magic increases.
“I don’t know.” I pivot just in time to catch the flash of silver darting in the shadows of the subway tunnel behind us.
Something about it—
“Eclipsa!” I leap down the steps two at a time, a very confused Mack trailing behind me.
My strappy gold sandals slip on a crushed McDonald’s cup. “Eclipsa!”
A shadow stretches out over the gum-flecked concrete, and then the Lunar Assassin appears. I’m expecting the Lululemon-obsessed-yoga Eclipsa, and I have to fight not to recoil from this version. Supple black leather hugs her lithe body, metal glinting from the various weapons that drip from her form. Her moon-white hair is pulled into a severe bun atop her head, and she can’t quite hide the wariness in her tight lips.