Page 20 of The Prince from a Cruel Summer
The seasoned students are wearing their cloaks and masks, adding to the atmospheric vibe of the initiation kick-off.
When the last of the six initiates has arrived, Ezra plants himself in front of the bonfire, facing the half-circle of students. His gaze is angled downward, leaving only the bottom of his prismatic opal mask visible.
The conversations die in an instant.
“I’m Ezra Lightbringer, last year’s Master of Mischief,” he announces gravely. “Tomorrow, you will meet your Keepers. They will try to convince you to play nice, follow the rules, and act like good little sheep.” He slices his arms in denial and shrugs off his hood and cloak.
The fucker spreads his wide, powerful white wings on either side of him, and the crowd gasps in surprise and excitement.
Ezra might not be a Spring Fae, but he’s got his own lust magic, rooted in his godlike aesthetics and sharp wit. My mouth dries up as I catch Beth with her lips parted, ogling him. The way she bites her bottom lip makes my throat bob.
Fuck me.
“We were born to rule, not to be meek. We are the heirs of the gods, the chosen ones, the most powerful beings in the worlds.” Ezra raises one finger in the air for us to wait as he grabs a pitcher of Nether cider from the table and gulps down the entire thing. After he’s done, he rubs the back of his hand across his mouth and exhales on a satisfied “ha.”
The corners of my mouth quirk up at his theatrics.
“Tonight, I present to you your new villains.”
Diana removes her hood, her dark auburn hair red as blood in the night. “I am Diana, your Big Bad Bitch.”
“And I am Johan, your Master of Mischief,” Johan announces, the Storm Fae’s skin crackling with electricity.
Ezra nods at his fourth-year friends like a proud mama duck presenting her black, evil ducklings. “Your villains will impart challenges upon you, one at a time, and when summer comes, we will tally the results. The loser will be sorry, and the winner will receive a special prize.” He pauses for effect. “A behind-the-scenes tour of our capital, a chance to get a glimpse of the Eternal Chalice, and try on the throne of your choosing—all escorted by our resident Crown Prince: the heir forged in flames, the resplendent phoenix, the legend himself, Aidan Summers.”
Ezra motions for me to join him. “Consider yourselves lucky. This is the last year such a prize will be offered.”
I walk to the center of the circle and slip off my hood to a flurry of encouraging whistles. “I promise the winner a night of scrumptious chaos and revelry that’ll rival the best coronation feast this continent has ever seen.”
“Hear, hear!” Ezra cups his hands in front of his face. “Come on, you know what the ladies want… It’s a tradition now. Show us your mark.”
Claps, cheers, and enthusiastic shouts blare through the circle.
Shaking my head as if I’m only humoring them and not at all flattered, I disrobe and toss my cloak into the fire before unfastening the buttons of my formal, embroidered shirt.
The howls pick up as I throw it into the flames, too, revealing the bright orange phoenix mark scorched in the depression below the v-line on my abdomen, right above my left leg. I hold down the hem of my trousers to showcase the entire thing, my hand covering my crotch.
Most of the girls chant and whistle in cheer, but Willow hides her face in her knees with a loud and dramatic, “Eww.”
Next to my sister, my Songbird appears rather distraught by my public display, shielding her eyes with her hand, and my stomach plunges.
Ezra encircles my shoulders with one arm. “Hephaistos branded it into his flesh when he was just a wee babe, and we’re all fucking jealous. We’re bound to lust after his mark until the day we get our own,” he trails off dreamily before raising his cup. “Now, let’s show these first-years how to have fun!”
Chapter 8
Lover
SONGBIRD
Huge blankets have been laid on the beach near the buffet, and I’m sitting in a first-year huddle with Willow, Elio, Iris, and Sean. Zeke is playing ball with a group of seasoned students, but by my quick calculations, the entire student body comprises no more than thirty-something people.
The Royal Academy might be a big place, but it doesn’t have a large roster.
The flickering torches keep us warm despite the strong sea breeze. The tight knot in my stomach throbs before it slowly unravels, as if the unfamiliar, salty wind is inhabited by healing spirits that have drifted out of their graves on the ocean floor to greet us.
Elio draws patterns in the striking golden-orange sand beneath his fingers. “This sand is so smooth and heavy.” He rubs a pinch between his fingers. “And warm, like the sun is still shining.”
Willow nods. “Saffron Cove is usually the place students use to get some privacy, given the warmth of the sand and the fact that it… doesn’t get stuck everywhere.”
