Page 35 of The Prince from a Cruel Summer
Willow findsme the next morning in my bedroom, feigning sleep. I tossed and turned all night, plotting excuses to get out of accompanying her to the labyrinth.
She ambushes me in my bed, barefoot. “Wake up, Beth. It’s time to go.”
I nestle under the covers, pulling the thick feather duvet over my head. “I’d rather not.”
“If the moth wants to stay in the dark, let her be,” Iris chimes from the common room.
Willow wraps herself around me, and despite her small size, it feels as though she has nine legs and a tail, her body taking up so much space, crushing me to the mattress.
She lets out an exasperated sigh. “Come on, Beth. You told me yourself that what you need to learn can’t be found in a book. I’m inviting you to witness firsthand the inactive traps of my brother’s labyrinth. An opportunity to see up close what being a guardian entails. A chance to talk to legends who have gone through it all and passed the exams with flying colors.”
“I’m not?—”
“I’ll stay right here”—she stabs an elbow to my stomach on the guise of making herself comfortable—“until you agree to come with us.”
I sink into the mattress. “Oh, alright, I’ll go. Give me a minute to change.”
Iris is clearly disappointed, which is a plus. But Aidan will be there, and he hasn’t replied to my last message—which wasthree daysago.
I haven’t seen him all week. After a few days of my stomach jumping every time a tall man entered a room or walked behind me in the corridors, I figured he’d decided to play with someone else, but a little voice in my head keeps torturing me.
It’s too easy. What if he’s just biding his time?
Nothing has ever come easy to me in this world, aside from my magic.
I’m not sure I can handle any more of Aidan’s intense, lashes-to-lashes conversations, or worse, see the proof that he’s moved on to grander horizons. Thanatos help me, maybe I’ve just been making too big a deal out of this in my head. He’s one of the many princes here, and with the week I’ve had, I’m growing accustomed to their lures and overall shenanigans.
Maybe Aidan will look more like Zeke in broad daylight—a privileged asshole only interested in putting me down or spreading me open. Besides, I told him to keep his efforts up, and he downright stopped answering. That was as clear a message as I could ask for.
I put on a pair of black shorts over my swimsuit, but Willow purses her lips as she eyes me up and down. “Oh, that just won’t do.”
I look down at my chest. “Why?”
Iris rolls her eyes. “Because you look like the poor little orphan du jour.”
She’s clearly antsy to get going, but I’m starting to understand the confident, bitchy Spring Fae facade is only just that. If she was half as bold as she pretends to be, she wouldn’t mind heading there on her own.
“Step aside, Will. I’m done waiting,” she blazes toward me. “Stand straight, moth, and look forward.”
I’ve seen Iris fix her hair and make-up, and even do Willow’s but this is a first for me, and I gawk as she combs her hands through my frizzled black hair, taking care not to disturb the sunglasses sitting on my head. The curls go from beaten down to perfectly shaped in one swipe. “I can’t do miracles, here, but maybe…” she bites her bottom lip, squinting at me like I’m no longer that annoying roommate she endures because of Willow, but a blank canvas.
She drags her hand down the high, u-shape neckline of my bathing suit. The fabric melts from the very austere cut to a plunging cleavage that finishes right between my breasts with a metal ring.
“Your breasts are perfect. It’s beyond unfair,” she laments.
I look down at my breasts, the round shape of them exposed, and resist the urge to cross my arms. “It’s because of all this food I’m eating, remember?” I crack.
“Eyes closed. Don’t move.” She passes her hand over my closed lids, and when I open them again, her lips are curled up in a smile.
“They’re your best asset; that and your eyes. Men love blue eyes. And wear this over your shoulders,” she grabs a red, semi-transparent shawl from the hook next to the door. One of hers. “Keep them guessing what’s underneath until you’re ready to reveal those beauties.”
I blush at the compliment. Iris is usually the first in line to criticize my appearance. “Err—thanks.”
Willow squeezes her lower arm. “You’re a true artist, Iris.”
“Ugh. Let’s go, now.” But I detect a hint of blush on her cheeks, too.
The more I get to know Iris, the more I’m convinced her mother raised her to always appeal to men—something that, despite all the stories I’ve heard about the Secret Springs, sounds like a harsh, disenchanted childhood. Since Devi’s speech, I’ve done my homework and confirmed that most women at the academy can only hope to become queens through marriage—and that’s infuriating.
