to witness them alive and safe and okay?
“Would you like to see more snow, Princess?” he asks, watching me carefully.
“Yes.”
Snow begins to fall. I peer up at the sky and watch the fat snowflakes twirl down between the trees. In this moment, I’m not sure I’ve ever experienced a more beautiful sight. I feel like I’m staring into a recently shaken snow globe, only I’m on the outside of this magical world looking in.
Across the lawn, the kids whoop with joy. They’ve ignored Aunt Zinnia completely. Shocker.
I smile. She’ll come out two more times, then she’ll enlist the help of Aunt Vi.
A few minutes later, I watch Vi herd them inside. The sound of Christmas songs fills the night. Without looking, I know they’ll be gathered around the tree opening presents.
Aunt Zinnia will sing along with the holiday tunes, and Aunt Vi will roll her eyes, a steaming mug of hard cider spiked with moonshine in her hand. The twins will argue over their presents while Jane pouts in the corner. And they’ll all act incredibly surprised and grateful when they unwrap their gifts and see their hand-me-down clothes.
I let out a ragged breath. God I miss this. So very, very much.
“They’re nice,” the prince offers, his eyes squinted in the house’s direction. “For mortals.”
“They’re not nice, but . . . they’re mine.” Thinking about my family leads to a question. “Why aren’t you, you know, off doing stupid Faerie holiday traditions with your family?”
He pulls at a wavy strand of hair that’s fallen over his sharp ear. “My father remarried. For the fifth time. He’s spending the Winter Solstice with her.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, unsure how to weave this new layer into what I know about the prince. “I’m sure that’s tough.”
He chuckles, but it’s a raspy, bitter sound. “When you live as long as we do, you learn that disappointment is a way of life.”
“And how long have you lived, exactly?”
There’s a long pause. “Three-thousand-five-hundred years.”
He grins darkly, obviously enjoying the way my jaw drops. Then he reaches into his shirt and pulls out something—a necklace. The silver emblem is shaped like an owl’s head holding a sapphire in its beak. A soft blue glow emanates from the stone.
“My soulstone,” he says, his fingers reverently stroking the sapphire. “All Evermore get one for their renewal ceremony. It’s sacred.”
My hands twitch to go to the necklace around my neck. The one that’s almost exactly like the prince’s, right down to the delicate silver chain and infinity clasp. The only thing different is his is shaped into an owl and mine is a wolf.
If soulstones truly are sacred then why would the half-blood Fae give me one?
I refocus on the prince, only to see he’s watching me with a still, penetrating gaze.
“My glamour didn’t work, did it?” he asks softly.
“How could you tell?” I ask.
His eyes darken. “By the way you stare at me.”
Oh my God. “How, exactly, do I stare at you?”
Hopefully not like I want to jump his bones.
A rakish smile carves his jaw, and it takes all my willpower to force my gaze up to his eyes. But that’s a mistake too, because the intention inside his feral gaze nearly brings me to my knees. “You look at me like you are right this very moment. Like you could give yourself to me completely.”
I scowl, trying to hide the truth in his words. “I don’t know what I’m capable of when I’m with you,” I admit. “Just like I don’t know why you tried to glamour away what happened between us in the Summer Court . . . when I’m beginning to think you enjoyed it too.”
“Of course I did.” His voice is gravelly, close to a growl. “There are so many things you don’t understand. We can’t—” He scrapes a hand through his midnight blue hair. “Everything I do is to keep you safe, princess.”
“Liar,” I accuse. “If that were true you wouldn’t continue breaking my heart.”
“Better a broken heart than dead.”
I release a frustrated sigh. “What does that even mean?” When he doesn’t answer, I throw up my hands. “Fine. More cryptic bullshit. Just tell me this, Winter Prince. What do you feel when you’re with me?”
Such a simple question. I hold his gaze, daring him to look away. Daring him to spout another cryptic answer so I can be done with him.
Instead, he looks me straight in the face and says, “When I’m with you, Summer, I feel like I’m drowning.”
45
“I’m thinking of winter