Both Valerian and Eclipsa rush over to help me up, but when Valerian gets close, Eclipsa checks him with her elbow. “She needs space.”
He freezes, his face twisted with emotion. Agony and rage swirl inside his silver eyes as he slowly meets my stare.
It’s been two weeks since Hellebore kidnapped me in front of Valerian and my class. Two agonizing weeks of working every night to coax out my magic. Two weeks of looking into Valerian’s face and seeing his gut-wrenching guilt for not being able to stop Hellebore.
That plus the seething fury buried beneath the shame convinces me that I made the right choice.
If I’d let Hellebore take me to the Spring Court, Valerian would have burned the Everwilde to the ground, no matter the cost.
“It’s okay, Eclipsa,” I protest, even though my heart still races and my body is weak from doing this same thing for the last four hours. A nightmarish, never-ending game called let’s-scare-Summer-until-she-uses-magic or pees her pants.
My sanity isn’t the only victim. The nights after training that were supposed to go toward operation-get-to-know-Valerian are now horror-filled scenarios that leave me sweaty and shaking.
Not exactly how I envisioned getting to know Valerian better.
But Eclipsa’s wrong. I don’t blame Valerian for trying to help me control my powers. Control means I can keep my identity safe and—if needed—can protect myself from psychopaths like Inara and Hellebore.
I’m just convinced it’s a waste of time. I’m broken. My mortal body unable to harness the power tethered to my soulstone.
They’ve tried everything. Orcs. Lycans. Trolls. I even agreed to using the spider creatures from my hallucination, which ended disastrously with me dry-heaving on the ground.
At this point, I’d let Eclipsa conjure Satan himself if it helped draw out my magic so I can learn how to control it.
Valerian’s hand is cool as he pulls me to a stand. “I’m sorry, Princess. I—” Frowning, he looks away. “It’s well past midnight. We’ll try again next session.”
“No,” I protest, willing my legs to stop shaking. “I want to go again.”
“Not happening.” His voice is gentle now, like I might break apart any second, and that’s almost worse than his frustration. “You need to rest.”
“Prince,” Eclipsa says, toying with the pigtail braid over her left shoulder. “There’s something I want to try with her . . . alone.”
“We’ve pushed her too hard already.” roat shudders as I try to swallow, everything inside me—everything—recoiling from his suggestion. “What? Now?”
“No, not now, Summer.” His intense gaze slides to my traitorous lower lip, which I’m shocked to discover is trembling. “What fun would that be? But there will come a time when I demand you give me permission. This agreement will guarantee you do.”
My thoughts race as I try to understand his game. I know allowing him to touch me gives him some sort of power over me—and that all of this is probably just some twisted Fae possessive crap. Two boys in a sandbox who are surrounded by toys but only want the same one.
It doesn’t matter that the shovel is broken and doesn’t even hold sand. It doesn’t matter that the shovel doesn’t want to be played with. It doesn’t matter that there are a million newer shovels.
All that matters is that Hellebore wants to take something from Valerian.
Of course I’m going to say hell to the no.
Hellebore gives an impatient sigh, and then a tendril of ivy slides along the edge of my jaw, curls over my chin, and forcibly turns my head to look into his strange eyes.
“Do not think for a moment that denying me permission to touch you will somehow make your life easier. You’re already trapped in my web, struggling will only make it worse. You can either make it fun for the both of us or simply fun for me.”
I grit my teeth as the end of the vine drags across my bottom lip, but deep down I know he speaks some truth.
Valerian would absolutely, without a doubt, drag his court and kingdom to war for me.
The thought makes me sick. And yet, as much as I want to give in and stop this madness, I know I will never willingly let someone gain that kind of control over me.
Ever.
He might make me his slave, but he can’t control me unless I let him.
I sink against my ivy prison, ready to deny his request and screw the consequences, when Ruby zips toward us with her teeth bared. She’s holding a stick bigger than she is and promising Hellebore’s death.