Evermore Academy (Evermore Academy #3) - Audrey Grey Page 0,118
still tingles against my flesh as I step into the dress my mother chose for tonight—a slippery, golden gown that glides over my figure like molten sunlight. The open back plunges to my tailbone, exposing the Summer Court sigils painted down my spine. While I don’t appreciate being wrapped like a present for Hellebore, I admire my mother’s taste.
When I leave my tower, the soft moonlight catches in the shimmery fabric, giving me an otherworldly radiance.
Guests from all the courts are already waiting at the sun-shaped table configuration spread out in the courtyard overlooking the sea. The ringed tables in the center are reserved for the immediate family. Another larger ring surrounds the first, reserved for Spring and Summer Court guests. Rows of tables shoot off the two circles to look like rays of the sun, the remaining courts grouped together.
The last to be seated, my mother has her hand on my arm as we find our chairs in the center. While the gesture may look maternal, I know it’s to prevent me from bolting. Her fingers don’t stop digging into my flesh until we’re planted next to Hellebore and his aunt. The Summer King sits on the other side of my mother.
He doesn’t acknowledge my presence.
Hellebore runs a lazy thumb over the high collar of his yellow- and purple-embroidered jacket. A crown of tulips and pansies peeks from his honey-gold hair, neatly combed for the occasion.
“I’m . . . disappointed,” Hellebore says, throwing back a goblet of dark ruby liquid.
“That I haven’t killed you yet?” I ask sweetly, toying with the steak knife to my left.
“The night is still young.”
He chuckles darkly. “No, although that would certainly liven up this dreadful affair. I was expecting you to come to this table kicking and screaming and throwing your normal tantrums, not gift-wrapped and demure.”
He’s confusing demure for vengeful-and-filled-with-homicidal-wrath, but I drag my lips into a barbed smile and let him believe I’ve accepted my fate.
The more I’m left alone, the more time I have to form a plan. I sip my drink and nibble the endless courses the servants bring, and nod politely the few times anyone thinks to ask me a question. I remark on the beauty of the wildflower centerpieces. Praise the wine. Pretend to gaze lovingly at Hellebore, when all I want is to carve the grin from his face.
And all the while, as I eat and drink and pretend I’m not slowly dying inside, I search for the tug of the bond that means Valerian is close, my gaze scouring the surrounding tables. The desperate need to see his face, to know he’s okay, to connect with him somehow—it nearly overwhelms me.
Hellebore waggles his finger in the air and a servant pours a decanter of the red liquor into his cup. “Looking for someone, dearest?”
I impale a roasted rabbit leg onto my steak knife and hold it up. “Perhaps I’m plotting my escape route after I stab you.”
“Such a violent thing, and after I was kind enough to invite your friends this weekend.” He clicks his tongue, his gaze sliding to a table on the far side of the circle.
A shiver of dread works its way down my spine.
Don’t look. Don’t play his game. But my desire to find Valerian trumps my need to disobey Hellebore, and I follow his stare to a table on the other side of the circle.
I spot Mack, Eclipsa, and Asher almost immediately, but—
He’s not there.
Disappointment and relief collide. I need to see him, but I’m afraid of what I’ll see. Afraid he’s broken beyond repair—or worse—afraid he will hate me.
“I thought you would be happy,” Hellebore purrs, running a finger over the rim of his goblet. “But if not, I can send them away—”
“No.” I glare at him, pissed that, even now, when it’s obvious he’s won, he feels the need to toy with me. “Don’t.”
“Where are those royal manners?”
“Please,” I grind out.
He smiles. “See, was that so hard?” His taunting blue eyes slide to my dress, drifting to the gifted bracelet on my wrist. “No matter how many expensive baubles and dresses they put on you, you’ll always be a little rabbit.”
He grabs my fork, still speared into the untouched rabbit haunch on my plate, lifts the greasy meat to his mouth, and tears off a chunk. “You need to accept that your entire purpose in life is to be food on someone’s table. For there to be predators, there has to be prey.”