Page 148 of Crown of Darkness
The crowd parts even as my ribs constrict. And then a tall, elegant woman sweeps out of the shadows.
Gold feathers adorn her cloak, hiding all but the hem of her gown, and a ruff of them guard her throat. A crown nestles in her braided hair like hungry gold teeth stabbing into the sky. Someone’s dusted ground gold along her cheekbones and painted her lips with it, though her eyes are shadowed with kohl.
I see every touch her brownie valet, Thistledown, has tried to make to present her as something she’s not….
Queen of Summer.
A kind, benevolent monarch.
The power that brings this court into the season of growing.
Warm. Golden. A sun that shines so brightly, it obliterates all others.
And yet, somehow the effect fails. Gold has never looked so cold and merciless. Smiles slip as she passes by, though the clapping remains loud and emphatic.
One does not dare wield one’s unease in front of the queen.
I kneel with the rest of them, hauling Finn to his knees and bowing my head so she won’t see the shock on my lower face. It’s been three months since I saw her last. Three months since I stood in that Hallow and faced her with all the power I could draw.
Does she know?
Does she suspect?
Did my sister tell her?
My palms feel clammy.
“Rise,” Mother calls. “Rise and prepare to bring in the summer.”
Two swords are brought forth as we all surge to our feet. One is made of hawthorne wood, and the other forged of spelled glass. Both have sharpened tips, though this is a mock battle and neither prince is supposed to be harmed. It’s happened on occasion—purely through mischance—but it’s said that a bloody start to summer’s reign is a bad omen for the crops.
“Let Maia bless this court,” my mother calls, lifting the hawthorne sword. “Bring forth her prince of summer. Bring forth our valiant knight, here to slay the icy cold!”
She flings the sword into the air, and it catapults end over end, until a gleeful blond knight snatches it with a cheer. He’s captured by his friends and lifted onto shoulders, where he’s brought forth into the center of the clearing.
“And his opponent?” My mother pauses, lifting the glass sword. “A prince of winter, with a heart of pure ice.”
The tip of the glass sword circles the crowd, and a hint of trepidation grows within me. And then the sword pauses, pointing directly toward me.
Every inch of me goes cold.
“Vi?” Finn growls under his breath.
I have two knives. I can maybe ride the ley line from this distance. But we’ll never escape—
“Come forth, my winter prince,” my mother calls, and as the crowd claps and cheers, I realize it wasn’t me after all. It’s him.
Pure, fucking coincidence. Or maybe my mother’s interest in any tall, broad-shouldered male she doesn’t recognize.
I’m going to be sick.
He can’t refuse. To refuse would bring certain scrutiny.
This is a fucking disaster.
“It’s a mock battle. You’re supposed to lose. Don’t kill him!”
“Lose?” he asks incredulously.
