Page 14 of A Bride for the Winter King
The prince clears his throat and looks over his tributes. “We’re all here and ready to go, wonderful! I expect you all”—he shoots Daisy a wink—“to make Lori feel welcome. Spring roses need to bunch together this year. There will be time to use your thorns later if you make it past the first few rounds.”
“A teacher’s pet, that’s what you are,” Daisy snickers under her breath. “You must be a reeeeal good friend of his.”
I look her straight in the eyes. “I didn’t sleep my way into this competition, Daisy. Did you?”
My confidence shakes her, and I slip into my heels with a smirk.
I spent two whole summers in a girls’ camp, but that was with mortals. I had a big advantage there. The women here aren’t sly, pimpled preteens. And they’re magic. That multiplies the possibility for vicious pranks in an entirely new way.
The double doors in front of us open, and a winged Faeling—a human-shaped creature the size of Tinkerbell—hustles in. The navy tuxedo he’s wearing must have been hard to tailor, given the size, and the round glasses resting on his nose are cute as hell. He holds a tiny clipboard close to his chest, his dark hair slicked back over his head. “Form a line, please.”
“Hello, Byron,” Seth says. “I missed you, too.”
The little creature turns up his nose at the prince. “Hmpf.”
The Faeling slaps a number over each of our chests in haste, not bothering to spare us a real glance. The numbers aren’t one to twelve, as expected, but range in random leaps from one to fifty. A small16is now sewn into the front of my dress, and feels heavier than it should.
The night went by so fast—I almost forgot my hatred for thistradition. A beauty pageant where the winner has to marry acruel king… It’s barbaric.How can anyone watch this nonsense, knowing their new queen is bound to die?
“Spring brides. Follow me into your dormitory.” Byron leads us to the adjoining room where the numbers we were just attributed are written across alcoved individual spaces.
Small cots radiate toward the center of the room, and long but narrow windows open to the gardens below, the dorms situated on the second floor of the castle’s battlement.
“Please put on the provided accessories,” Byron says flatly, not looking up from his clipboard.
My spine stiffens, and I force my jaw loose, slowly walking toward the number sixteen. A big hooded white and gray fur cloak is hanging by the head of the bed. All the other girls have an identical one in their alcoved lockers, with winter boots to match. I pick the heavy cloak off the hook and frown at the full-face mask hanging underneath.
The Spring brides exchange looks ranging from surprise to disgust, but we all put on the cloak, mask, and boots. I’m used to wearing a mask—just not one that could have been bought at the dollar store. The cheap plastic digs in the sensitive skin of my temples as I adjust the flimsy string at the back of my head to make the fit more comfortable.
My heart booms in my chest when a tall, slender Fae enters the room. The woman is pale as snow, her skin freckled with ice, and for a moment, I’m back in the Shadow Court’s frozen gardens…watching death march in.
But the Fae’s silver hair isn’t buzzed on one side, and she’s got no patterns carved in her skull. The bob haircut leaves her shoulders bare with the sides longer than the back. Her navy sequin pantsuit glitters under the electric lights.
Seth pecks her cheeks. “Sara, you’re a vision, as always.”
“And you my dear are still a shameless flirt.” She embraces him with a smile and turns over to us. “Let me see your girls.”
With the masks, the loose coats that conceal our silhouettes, and the big hoods over our hair, she’s not going to see much.
“Spring seeds, hello. I’m Sarafina, the royal chief of staff. I’m responsible for the Yule pageant, so if everyone could form a line, we’re about ready for the castle tour.”
Daisy marches to the center with her hands braced on her hips. “Why do we have to wear masks?”
I bet she’d hoped to wow the king with her looks, poor thing.
Sarafina waves her concerns away. “The brides’ reveal isn’t until later, and we want to keep up the suspense. Now, follow me.”
The Faeling lands on her shoulders and whispers something in her ear that makes her chuckle, and we all fall into step behind her.
“What a cute little fairy,” Aster says. “I wonder where he comes from?”
“A Faeling,” I correct her. “Faelings are born out of a royal Faen’s first laugh, and bound to him or her forever. They’re incredibly rare and powerful allies, and if Sarafina’s got one, it means she’s royalty.”
“Or used to be. The Fae courts’ political landscape shifts quickly,” Poppy adds. She lowers her voice and huddles up next to me. “Poor Aster, she was the only magic-born child in her family, and she’s not the brightest flower…” she trails off with a chuckle.
According to Seth, a small fraction of the Spring brides are random seeds of magic that appeared in otherwise non-magic families, but most of them inherited their powers from a diluted Fae bloodline, like me.
Poppy’s eyes shimmer with unabashed curiosity as she licks her lips. “But I thought you came directly from the new world, Lori. Have you seen a Faeling before?”
