My fingers clutch the soft fabric of his vest, drawing him closer. What would the Prince of Autumn do if I stood on my toes, bringing my lips close to his?
I duck under his arms. “I can’t mean it, though. I don’t,” I say without turning around. “The ball is soon, and you and Dayton and Ezryn and Kel… You’ll all find your mates, hopefully. And that’s the end of the story.” A deep, hollow echo fills my chest. “The end of my story.”
44
Ezryn
It’slikeadream.
I sit on a throne in the grand ballroom of the Winter Realm, a place I haven’t been in over twenty-five years. We’re surrounded by people dancing, eating, flirting, merrymaking. Sunlight gleams off huge ice sculptures of swans and polar bears. Every time I turn my head, some courtier vies for my attention.
Yes, it’s like a dream. A fucking nightmare.
“Gods, Ezryn, do you have a metal rod up your ass too? Relax,” Dayton croons, leaning forward to look at me from his throne. Easy for him to say. Relaxing is all he does. “I know you’re more comfortable with goblins and beasts than fae, but at least put some effort in. Our girl pulled this off.”
Our girl.
She’s notmyanything. She’s not even my prisoner. She’s a passing houseguest who has beguiled Farron, charmed Dayton, and… done something to Keldarion. I’m the only one with enough wits to know I should keep my distance.
Admittedly, I’m impressed by what Rosalina has accomplished in the few months she’s been at the castle. Not only unearthing new understanding of the mating bond through her research, but also initiating an event in the Winter Realm—a place that badly needs some joy. It’s beyond impressive. And even more than those combined… She convinced Keldarion to attend.
I hadn’t been able to convince Keldarion to take a damn bath in twenty years.
But she’s notmine.
“She’s quite stubborn once she sets her mind to something,” I say begrudgingly to Dayton.
“You’ve got that right.” He adjusts the collar of the long, turquoise tunic he wears. It goes over one shoulder, revealing half of his bare chest, in the traditional style of the Summer Realm. He looks more put together than I’ve seen him in decades.
I suppose the same could be said for me. As is the way for royalty in the Spring Realm, I keep my face hidden behind my helm. But I’ve exchanged my usual armor—scratched and filthy as it is—for something lighter and more ceremonial. Metal plates of darkest green line a black tunic of fine fabric; I wear pants of the same, with only metal tassets for protection. It’s still far more practical than anything the other three are wearing, but I feel exposed. On display.
I can’t believe I’m at a party. Something I never thought I would see again. Not that I was in any hurry to be surrounded by these people: they hover around us like flies above a carcass. The princes rarely make an appearance anymore; we’re a commodity for gossip and speculation. And being in the Winter Realm, Keldarion bears the brunt of it.
Thankfully, the Winter Realm’s vizier, Perth Quellos, has staved off the hungry horde for now by positioning us in four thrones on a dais at the front of the ballroom, bordered by guards. Keldarion’s throne is grandest, of course, not only because we’re in his realm, but because Winter was chosen as the Sworn Protector by the Queen hundreds of years ago.
Does anyone else notice Keldarion isn’t wielding the sword?
Even through the tinted visor of my helm, the glint of ice is everywhere. Icicles hang from tables full of snow yams and roasted chestnuts; Kel’s royal ass rests on a frozen throne; and ice frosts the windows letting in the brilliant sunlight. Although I’m sure many of the guests wonder why a grand ball is being held in the middle of the day, none of them question us. That’s one surprise they’re not prepared for.
A grand staircase with a brilliant sapphire carpet lays at the end of the ballroom, where guests are introduced. All the most lovely and eligible fae of the Winter Realm are here. There’s an excited fever in the air, but something else as well. I can see it in the eyes of the courtiers, of the guards, of the merchants in attendance. They’re looking at Keldarion not with hope in their eyes, but accusation:Why have you left us? When are you coming back? Don’t you know we’re struggling?
Though his face is as stoic as ever, I know Keldarion’s one well-intentioned comment away from ripping off his fae flesh and running out of here, teeth and fangs bared.
Thank the stars this madcap idea of Rosalina’s is beginning in another realm. I can’t imagine being surrounded by my own citizens. Having them stare at me with that same questioning gaze. Having my brother’s eyes on my every movement. Seeing Father barely able to lift himself from the throne to give it back to me.
Perhaps it will all be worth it. Perhaps one of these lovely diamonds, twirling before me with their long looks and hungry expressions, will be my mate. We will seal the mating bond and the nightmare I’ve been trapped in for twenty-five years will be over.
I nearly bark a laugh. There are no fairytale endings for monsters.
“Introducing Lady Ingrid Whitley of Westfrost!” the herald cries as yet another fae woman strides down the stairs. I barely glance at her.
“Introducing Sir Kristoff Dederic of Silverwick!”
“Introducing Lady Gretchen Foxglove of Annestron!”
Farron, sitting on the throne between Kel and Dayton, sits forward and looks at each of us. “Anyone feel anything yet?”
“Nothing but the ache for a strong drink,” Dayton says, barely glancing at the fae making their way down the staircase. They’re some of the most beautiful and stately in the entire Winter Realm.