I glance over at the wall of mirrors. Patchy red spots dot my chest, the hair from my ponytail pasted all over my head and neck like limp noodles. My tight black outfit reveals every angle of my body, highlighting my thin arms, sharp hip bones, and starved muscles.
Rhaegar calls me over. As I take my place beside him, I feel the Winter Prince’s cold gaze scouring my flesh. Inara notices too and a near-imperceptible frown tugs her lips. Bane flicks a quick look my way and frowns with her.
Something about him creeps me out . . . even more than Inara does.
Mack hip checks me, bringing me back to the now. “Stop staring at them.”
She stands next to Basil, who’s wearing special shoes to keep his hooves from damaging the mat.
“I think they’re the ones staring at me,” I counter.
She chuckles. “They have that right; you don’t. If you want to survive this class, keep your head down and try not to grab their attention.”
Good point.
I tear my focus from the Six to the Seelie Fae next to us. Now that we’re close to our keepers, I notice how big both men are. Their black uniforms, stretched comically over swollen muscles, could be painted on. Rhaegar has taken out the jewelry that usually adorns his ears, his thick mane of gold hair twisted into a man bun.
Take away his impossibly good looks and godly body, he could almost pass for human.
A broad grin plays over Rhaegar’s lips as he notices me checking him out. “Feeling better?”
“Yep,” I lie, trying super hard not to sound out of breath from earlier. I rip my gaze away from his perfect physique and swallow repeatedly, trying to draw moisture back into my dry mouth.
The Winter Prince walks to the other end of the mat, one hand held behind his back. In contrast to the Summer Court males, he’s all lithe muscles and broad shoulders, his waist tapering to a beautiful ass. Unlike Rhaegar’s raw power, he glides gracefully across the mat, his every movement controlled yet rippling with an undercurrent of explosive power.
I’m used to the prince’s presence drawing my attention. The tug of familiarity and longing I feel around him that I’ve chalked up to some weird form of Stockholm syndrome.
Rhaegar’s grin melts into a scowl as he notices me checking out the prince. “All that power, all that promise . . . wasted.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, never taking my eyes off the prince. He has a way of doing that when in a room; demanding undivided attention just by being.
Rhaegar lets out a soft breath. “Nothing. Just that it’s a shame the most powerful Fae in centuries is Unseelie and couldn’t care less for furthering our race.”
Basil grunts. “The Six wouldn’t dare rule without him. With him gone . . . the academy would be a better place.”
For solidarity, I try to look as annoyed as Rhaegar. But as I watch the prince, I find my traitorous lips tugging upward.
By the graceful, proud way he moves, he knows every eye is on him.
Eclipsa saunters over to stand next to him and then faces us, arms crossed, a fierce grin brightening her face. Asher Grayscale follows. I haven’t seen much of the prince’s dragon-shifting best friend, but the dark look he graces us with lives up to his Elite Six status.
“Attention, shadows,” the Winter Prince calls, his icy gaze sweeping over us. “If you haven’t heard, I run this part of the class, and Eclipsa and Asher are my assistants.” Both Eclipsa and Asher frown a bit at that. “We’ll be helping you learn to work as a team with your guardian.”
Holy Fae ears. Who the heck would put this psychopath in charge? I scour the room for Richter, but she’s already left. Beside me, Rhaegar’s jaw goes taut.
I have the distinct feeling this won’t end well for either of us.
“How is he our instructor?” I whisper to Mack.
Mack finishes readjusting her high ponytail; half her hair is too short to reach and it falls to her shoulders. “He may seem like a jerkoff, but when it comes to fighting, the Winter Prince is a god. I hear he trained directly under his grandfather, the Darken.”
I shiver, the name dredging up memories from school. We didn’t learn much in high school about the Fae, but my history class did cover the Lightmare. There was only one page on the terrifying Unseelie king who ruled over all Fae-kind, King Oberon. He was responsible for unleashing the catastrophic dark magic on the world during the war—before both sides decided he was too evil even for them and slaughtered him.
For both Seelie and Unseelie to turn against him, he must have been horrible.
“The Winter Prince actually trained with King Oberon?” I mutter, refusing to use his creepy nickname. “That explains so much.”
The Winter Prince stops talking and glares at us. “Something you want to add, Princess?”
“Nope.” I shake my head to emphasize my point.
“Good. Because you’re first. Get up here.”
23
Scowling at the prince, I slowly make my way through the crowd to the front of the mat where he stands. A nervous energy chokes the room. Whatever I’m going first for, it’s probably not good.
He takes a step toward me, sending my heart into a tailspin. His eyes flicker—enough that I know he can hear my rapid heartbeat—and then he leans forward and whispers, “I just need to put this on you. Okay?”
After days of his disdainful tone, the sudden gentleness of his voice is jarring. He’s so near I can smell him—balsam and cedar and the air right after fresh snowfall.
I blink. Yes, Summer. You just sniffed the Winter Prince in front of everyone.
Someone laughs.
“Yes?” he prods.
Oh, right. Answer him. I nod as my wide gaze rivets to the black vest he carries, right before he slips it over my head. Three red targets cover the vest; one in front where my heart is, one just over my liver, and the last on the back, dead center where my skull meets my spine.
When he calls Reina up next, my body becomes a live wire of adrenaline. Reina’s eyes are locked onto mine as she moves into position across from me. Eclipsa fits her with a vest. Twin fish-braids carve down either side of Reina’s head. A few dots of old blood stain the strips over her nose.
Someone came to play.
“Summer,” the Winter Prince calls, and I glance over my shoulder at him, just in time to spot the baton he tossed—hurtling end over end at my face.
On instinct, my hand flies up, and, for once, my fingers aren’t clumsy as they flex around the cold bar and I manage to catch it.
Yes!
I’m incredibly pleased with myself . . . until Eclipsa tosses a baton to Reina, who snags it without breaking eye contact with me. Inara grins behind her.
Crap.
Cold sweat crops on my temples as I take in her predatory stance—legs spread, one leg forward like she’s ready to pounce—and the lethal gleam in her dark eyes. Mack said all the other shadows have trained in mixed martial arts their entire life in preparation for the academy.
I caught her by surprise the other day. That won’t happen again.
The Winter Prince crosses his arms over his chest and sweeps a dark gaze over both of us. “The rules are simple: if Reina touches me, she wins. If Summer touches Inara, Summer wins. Your job”—he glances at Reina before letting his icy blue eyes settle on me—“is to protect your keeper. Anyone who lights up the other’s vest three times wins by default.”