Page 39 of His Summer Prince

Wren wasn’t going to be able to stay in southern Vale. Elior, by entering a soulbond with Wren instead of the Winter King, had become a traitor to his people.

Maybe Wren could’ve moved north, the ice of the White Mountains keeping him out of the orcs’ reach. Elior couldn’t have followed him, which was why Wren wouldn’t have gone. He wouldn’t have left Elior behind, not even if his life depended on it. Elior had always thought so, and the bond had turned his beliefs into knowledge.

Since the orcs had crossed the Great River, Elior and Wren’s future had lain elsewhere. It was time to put his plan into action.

With a twist of his wrist, Elior plucked the apple. He stashed it in the leather pouch attached to his belt, the bag hidden by the shawl hanging loosely from his shoulders.

No going back now. Once picked, the fruit would spoil within days and lose its magic. Getting it to Wren was paramount.

Elior snuck out of the greenhouse, closing the door behind him with a softclick. He moved through the shadows of his mother’s drawing room and the empty foyer. Holding his breath, he departed the queen’s chambers without a word to the guards. Later, when they were questioned, they’d remember his visit. It wouldn’t take his mother long to put two and two together when he didn’t show up for his betrothal and—hopefully much later—she discovered the theft.

With any luck, she’d be distracted by his absence at the ceremony when earlier he had been seen walking the palace. Guards would come looking for him in his rooms first before trying to hunt him down in the palace, then in the faerie realm, and only when that was unsuccessful would his mother send knights into the human world. By then, he and Wren would have a considerable head start. The knights wouldn’t be too worried—they’d be looking for a prince late to his betrothal, not the thief who’d stolen the Summer Court’s most valuable asset.

Once outside the guards’ sight, Elior changed his approach. He couldn’t risk being roped into a conversation by a courtier—or worse, one of his siblings. It might delay him until someone came and dragged him to the ceremony. Then the risk of discovery would surge. No, his disappearance after being seen at court would provide a nice distraction. With a bit of luck, his mother wouldn’t notice the theft for a day, maybe two.

Elior stuck close to the walls, peeking around corners before he moved from one corridor to the next. The palace was enormous and felt empty even when the queen was hosting guests.

Elior crept through the silent passageways, heart pounding in his chest. He was crossing the guest wing and was halfway to the exit when mere yards in front of him, a door swung open.

Cold dread slid down Elior’s back. A glance over his shoulder told him what he already knew—a hundred feet of empty corridor stretched out behind him. No place to hide.

In front of him, frost clung to the open door, icicles hanging from the handle. Ice ran out of the chamber onto the door frame and the wall beyond. A chill ghosted over Elior’s skin. He shuddered.

The cold intensified as a man clad in black, exquisitely tailored leather armor stepped out of the chamber. Long, white hair cascaded down his back in waves. He’d slung a fur cloak across his broad shoulders, a haughty expression gracing his face, amplified by arrogantly high cheekbones and a fierce, angular jaw. Were he human, he might have been in his early thirties, but Elior knew he was closer to two hundred.

When the man saw him, recognition flared in his gaze. The golden circlet crowning Elior’s head gave away his identity. The man stepped into his path, blocking it with his towering frame. His skin-tight armor clung to his muscular body, highlighting full pecs, a trim waist and a noticeable bulge.

Elior swallowed, and a cruel smile curled the man’s full lips. “What a pleasant surprise.” His tone was cool, his accent carrying a razor-sharp edge.

No use pretending Elior didn’t know who stood in front of him. Bound by protocol, he bowed to the Winter King. “Your Majesty.”

“You were absent for the reception ceremony.”

Elior bowed deeper, knowing it wouldn’t make up for the faux pas. “My apologies.” What else could he say? “It is an honor to host you in our palace.”

When Elior righted himself, the Winter King stepped forward, shrinking the space between them. Elior inched back on instinct, then berated himself for his foolish, bordering on the offensive, conduct. The Winter King was not someone he wanted to displease.

A smirk lifted the Winter King’s lips, and in two long strides, he’d backed Elior against the wall. Elior broke out in a cold sweat. The Winter King loomed over him, a dark and mighty presence. There was no getting out of this. The Winter King had found him, and after Elior had missed receiving him alongside his mother, he doubted he would let him out of his sight before the betrothal was formalized.

The pouch on his side grew heavy. Elior’s heart beat frantically.

Wren’s presence slammed into him. Distance dampened the bond, but Wren must’ve felt his fear. Now he was pulsing under Elior’s skin, his soul a steady, comforting companion.

A pair of icy blue eyes pierced Elior, coolly assessing him. “Your mother did not exaggerate your beauty. Her letters, however, never mentioned your tardiness. It appears she has been negligent in disciplining you. Rest assured, this will change the moment we’re married and you move from her jurisdiction into mine. I will not tolerate insubordination from my husband.”

Every muscle in Elior’s body tensed. He stared the Winter King down, chin jutting forward in defiance. He’d never be this insolent man’s husband. Wren’s anger boiled in his veins. He had no way of knowing what was happening, but Elior’s fear and rising temper would be palpable in the bond.

The Winter King raised an eyebrow, and belatedly, Elior realized his mistake. Exerting all his self-control, he unclenched his jaw and lowered his eyes in deference. Glaring a hole into the floor, he considered ways to get out of this. It didn’t help that he was keenly aware of the golden apple at his hip, the weight of the pouch dipping his belt ever so slightly. He prayed the Winter King wouldn’t notice.

The Winter King cocked his head. “There’s a glamour on you,” he said, plunging Elior into an ice bath. “No. Two.” Panic clawed at Elior. How did he know? Not even his mother, the mightiest fae he knew, had detected his glamour. The Winter King’s powers had to be unfathomable. At the back of Elior’s hand, his wedding mark burned.

The Winter King reached under the neckline of Elior’s robe, icy fingertips brushing his skin. It took everything not to shrink away. The Winter King pulled the locket out and snapped it open, revealing Wren’s portrait.

Elior stiffened. He’d be backhanded and thrown across the corridor within the second.

When the Winter King said nothing, didn’t even react, that was even worse. Sour bile rose in Elior’s throat at the thought of what punishment might be in store for him.

The Winter King let go of the locket, and it dropped against Elior’s throat. He picked up Elior’s hand, broke through his best glamour and examined the wedding mark. A shudder went through Elior.

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