Page 1 of The Prince from a Cruel Summer
Chapter 1
Exile
BETH
Los Angeles, New World, Present Day
An electrifying roar of excitement fills my ears as I step onto the stage for the encore. Thousands of cellphone lights blink in and out of view, dazzling me. The powerful vibrations of the speakers under my feet are nothing compared to the screams and shouts of an adoring crowd, applause and whistles and vows of eternal love echoing through the stadium.
“Thank you, Los Angeles! You’ve given us everything you had tonight!” I wave to my fans. “But you know me… I can’t leave without a kiss goodnight.”
A mix of howls and tearful screams engulf the stage as I take position for the last number—my most popular single, “Summer Kiss.”
The mic is heavy in my hand, this song reminding me of the letter and invitation balled up in the trashcan of my dressing room. I left it there minutes before the concert started, and I still can’t believe it’s real.
The music swells, blowing out all thoughts of despair and betrayal. The clarity I get whenever I sing in front of tens of thousands is the best drug any Fae could hope for. We’re wired to crave attention and devotion from mortals, and yet I don’t have to feed on their dreams or collect their souls as they pass to another life to earn it.
I can share their sorrows and joys through music without the burden of ruling over their hearts.
That makes me luckier than most Fae royals.
I reinvented myself a few times since my exile started, from the pearls and frills of the roaring twenties, to the modern sound stages and glitter of pop stardom, and I’ve finally found something to live for. The fans have become my whole life, all the pain I’ve carried into this world turned into something useful and beautiful by their love.
I love them, and they love me. And that’s enough.
Or at least it should be.
The dancers take place behind me in the dark as we prepare for our cue. The intro pierces the veil of smoke and shimmering lights, and I sing, my magic healing their hearts and mine—if only for a night. There’s no doubt this is what I was made for.
Your wind lured me
Under the willow tree
Into your summer dream
You stood barefoot in the stream
As you strung out your lies
To catch imprudent butterflies
My delicate powdery wings
Picked right off the seams
A devil’s deal was made
And sealed my fate
They were cruel
The games you played
With my heart
My body
My soul
