Evermore Academy (Evermore Academy #3) - Audrey Grey Page 0,130

love to fill him full of iron buckshot and then leave him in the fields for the vultures.”

You and me both.

It’s time. Aunt Vi gives the part of the corset where my dagger’s hidden a knowing look before taking her place a little ways off. Zinnia wraps her soft arms around me and squeezes me tight. “I’m here, child. No matter what. I always will be.”

Once Zinnia joins Vi, I take my place beside Hellebore, choking down the rage that threatens to drown me.

The Spring Queen reclines a few feet away on a giant, pink tulip throne. Her forsythia red gown is crafted to draw every eye. Dark-purple dragonflies lift the gossamer folds into the air around her like waves of blood. The only jewelry she wears is a twisted crown of gold embedded with pink sapphires, and a strange necklace. Instead of delicate, the silver chain is thick, the pendant hanging at the end a heavy piece of metal.

Something—a feeling, a tug—makes me look behind me. On the end of the first row, my friends sit, hands chained in front of them. Eclipsa, Ruby, and . . .

I make a strangled, gasping noise when I see Valerian. Hellebore has dressed him in a luxurious silver and blue suit for the occasion. A bolt of raw emotion spears my insides as I meet my mate’s eyes. Despite the agony I know he feels, he gives me a brave smile.

Something passes between us. A connection Hellebore could never understand.

“I left him alive to watch,” Hellebore murmurs, in my ear.

Behind him sits Mack and her dads. My best friend mouths, you can do this, while her dads give me fatherly smiles meant, I’m sure, to ease the panic practically clawing from my face. I have zero idea how they secured an invitation, unless my mother invited Sebastian because of her work.

The Unseelie courts pack seats along with the Seelie. I’m surprised they were sent invitations, but I suppose Hellebore wants to lord his great conquest over everyone. That explains the huge crowd. I recognize a lot of the faces as Evermore from the academy. Inara sits on the other side of the aisle, alone, while Bane, Kimber, Lyra, and Rhaegar sit in the front row. My father is nowhere to be seen, but I suppose that’s a relief. My deadbeat father attending would be the cherry on top of this shitshow.

“Eyes forward, girl,” the Spring Queen snaps.

Slowly, I obey, facing the male responsible for my endless torture. As our eyes meet, those cruel lips dragging upward into a sly smirk, I suddenly understand what I have to do.

Kill him.

No one knows about the weapon nestled inside my corset. If a pure iron dagger were rammed directly into my fiancé’s heart, it might kill him.

Of course I’ll die, too. Killed by the Spring Court guards flanking the ceremony and the queen’s throne, or by the Spring Queen herself. But once the Spring Court Heir dies, his spells over Valerian will die, too. The commotion might give them all a chance to fight back. To escape.

After all the complex plotting and scheming, the plan seems so simple.

It shouldn’t be, but murder is surprisingly simple. One quick stab and this will all end.

A strange calm comes over me as a wrinkled, hunched goat shifter hobbles over, a thick book in hand. He begins to recite something in Gaelic. I barely hear him. My mind is focused on what I need to do.

Get close. Reach the knife. Wait for a distraction. Pull out the weapon and plunge it into his breast pocket, just below the giant fuchsia peony pinned there.

Simple.

The goat shifter finishes speaking and opens the book. Inside is a blank Evermore marriage contract. I don’t need to read the details to know at once that signing the contract means giving up every freedom I still have.

If I’m lucky, Hellebore’s blood will splatter the line instead.

Slowly, carefully, I draw my hand to the part of the corset where the dagger hides. Hellebore turns slightly to sign the contract. All eyes are on him.

This is my chance.

Slipping my hand inside the hidden pocket, I grasp the tip of the blade handle. My heart pounds so loud I’m sure Hellebore will notice and know what I’m doing.

Instead, the dagger slides unnoticed from my dress. Sweat coats my palm and coats the lightweight carbon-fiber handle. It’s a switchblade, I realize.

Heart in my throat, I drag my finger over the button, ready to push it, when Hellebore suddenly turns