Mack halts.
“Do you really not know who the Winter Prince is?” she asks, concern etched across her face.
Dickwad supreme? But the serious tone of her voice makes me swallow the sarcastic retort on my tongue.
“The Evermore you were taunting back there isn’t the Winter Prince’s bitch,” she continues, exasperation making her voice raise an octave. “He is the Winter Prince, the most powerful and wicked Evermore in this school, and you just publicly insulted him.”
No, no, no. This can’t be happening. “But . . . he talked about himself in third person, for Fae’s sake! Who does that?”
“The Winter Prince and heir to the Winter Court,” she replies. “He does that.”
As we trudge after the group, our boots crunching the snow, one thought echoes through my mind.
Worst. Day. Ever.
16
By the time we make it to the mortal dormitory, the blizzard has made visibility less than two feet. Thanks moody Winter Prince. I’m still having trouble believing the Fae I met in the forest is the Winter Prince, but it makes sense.
It also means I’ve not only pissed off the entire Unseelie side of the academy, but I’ve publicly humiliated their leader. And something tells me they won’t let that stand.
Way to kick off this dumpster fire properly, Summer. And on the very first day. I should win an award for self-sabotage.
The Seelie mortal dormitory sits just over a hill near the main academy building. A well-kept castle that looks like it was taken straight from the University of Oxford, the building is hedged in by forest on three sides and overlooks a frozen pond.
Despite the snow icing the roof and lining the windowsills, green ivy covers the stonework, and violets fill the gardens, a burst of purple and yellow color against the bleached world. Smoke curls from several chimneys and trickles lazily into the cloudy sky.
The plaque above the steel-gray painted door reads Hall of Shadows.
Quaint.
“There’s another Seelie mortal dorm close by,” Mack explains. “This one houses mainly shadows under the Summer and Mythological Creatures Courts’ protection.”
Inside, we’re handed stylish silver cuff bracelets with the Seelie sigil, a sun held by two harpies. Mack explains we don’t take the true sigil of the Evermore we shadow until second year, since we can be traded between Evermore in the same court. It’s less complicated this way.
“Being traded isn’t ideal, but it’s not that bad,” Mack adds as I follow her up a winding set of stairs and pretend not to be winded. “If it happens, it’s usually within the first month.”
She says that a lot. It’s not that bad. They’re not that bad. Meanwhile, I think the idea of being passed around like Pokémon cards is demeaning, but whatev.
“But,” she continues, her tone lowering as she grows serious. “Never, ever sleep with your Fae keeper, or any Fae, for that matter. Once you do, you’re expelled.”
“Why do they care?”
“I don’t know, but that’s been drilled into my head since the moment my parents gave me their awkward speech on sex. It was all, hey, Mack, here’s a packet of condoms and five different forms of birth control. Keep a harem of human men, or women, or both for all we care. But never, under any circumstances, let a Fae male seduce you.”
“Your parents sound . . . not like my aunts at all.”
“Yeah, they’re cool when it comes to that stuff.” She shrugs. “Just remember what I said. The Evermore males lay bets on all of us. Don’t fall for one no matter how charming.”
“That’s so not going to be a problem,” I promise. I don’t point out how unfair that rule is. A girl sleeps with a male and she’s the one who’s bad?
Then again, everything here is unfair to humans in some way.
“That’s why I’m glad my keeper is Basil,” Mack adds. “If the Winter Prince had chosen me, my panties would accidentally drop every time we were alone together.” A wicked grin brightens her face. “You know what they say about male Fae? The longer the ears . . .”
I snort, although I get the feeling she’ll do whatever it takes to keep her place here. Including resisting the prince’s magnetic good looks and long . . . ears.
Mack’s dorm room is on the third floor. Every tiny apartment has a fireplace with a magically fed fire that never dies—they don’t want their human slaves freezing to death—and delicious warmth assails me as soon as we enter Mack’s room.
“This cold is sapping away what’s left of my soul,” I groan, rubbing my frozen fingers together.
Mack glances sideways at me. “Just wait. Ever seen snow so thick it’s like an avalanche from the sky? I have.”
Fantastic.
Mack does a twirl around the room, showing off the tiny chamber. I wiggle my nose. It reeks of mothballs and magic—a metallic, cloying scent, like lilies and copper. Now that I’ve been around magic, I’m starting to recognize its smell.
A brass bunk bed presses against the far wall. Her previous roommate, a dour girl with both her ears surgically enhanced to look Fae, she explains, has already moved her stuff to one of the two Unseelie dorms on campus.
Twin cedar nightstands, a matching dresser, and a desk crowd the room. Aged, peeling wallpaper with a pattern of beautiful centaur females frolicking in a meadow covers the walls.
We take a moment to warm up. While I swaddle myself in every blanket available and then position myself close to the fire, she examines my tattoo. Apparently none of the other shadows have one, at least not a full sleeve marking. Her eyes grow wide as she points out the Winter Prince’s personal emblem—an owl with two daggers—swirled inside the intricate lines.
Another thing to make me stand out from the crowd. Yay.
Before, I couldn’t muster the courage to look at the tattoo. Now I take in the dark swirls running down my right arm. The moment my gaze slides over the gold and black lines, the Winter Prince’s words ring through my skull.
She’s mine.
A surge of bitterness blasts up my middle. I’ve been branded as his, and even if Rhaegar wins the Nocturus and I stay his shadow, this mark will claim me as property of the Winter Prince until I graduate.
Mack must read my upset expression because she frowns. Then her face brightens. “When I visit my parents in a few months I can ask them if there’s a way to hide the prince’s brand. You won’t be able to erase it, but you shouldn’t have to see it all the time.”
“Wait? We can go home?” Hope makes my voice squeaky.
She bites her lip. “Some of us can leave Everwilde. But most . . .” Her gaze darts to my marked arm. “I have a pass because my parents are legacies, and they’re still in touch with their Evermore benefactors. But a pass home is rare.”
I pretend to rearrange my burrito blanket to hide my disappointment. “That’s okay. I’m not sure what I would say to my family if I could go back.”
She squeezes my hand. “I’ll have my parents talk to their benefactors and see if they might be able to secure you a pass home.”
For some reason, her kindness tightens my throat until I realize I’m one more hand squeeze away from crying.