Page 47 of The Prince from a Cruel Summer
“Stop acting like you know what’s best for me!” I snap, but the edge in my voice falters.
“I just... I care about you.” He steps closer. “You told me yourself you don’t even like the guy.”
“Hence the reason for him to do whatever the hell he wants before we actually have to marry.”
“Then why can’t you and I do the same? You use your engagement as a shield, but the way you look at me… it makes meburn.”
The word liquifies my gut. I wish I could wrap my arms around his neck and discover just how scorching his embrace could be. My pulse flutters, uneven and rash, but I steel myself against the lure of the flames.
“Do you really have to ask? Let’s say I was dying to kiss you again, do you think Zeke would let me get away with it? That he would look the other way when he found out? You saw what he did this morning. He would pout and huff and puff and force me to stop. I would bring up his grossly unfair double-standards, but if I insisted for our arrangement to go both ways, he’d either demand that I sleep with him or break off the engagement altogether. For you, this is a game. A hunt. For me, it’s my whole life.”
“You felt it in the gardens. You feel it now. This thing between us—we can’t help it. I don’t want you for one night or to prove a point. You have no idea how greedy I feel when I’m with you.” He cradles my head in his hands. “I’ve fallen for you, Beth. From the first moment I saw you.”
My heart gives a giant squeeze at how confident and genuine he sounds, yet I can’t let myself believe him. When a moth catches fire, nothing is left behind but ashes.
“Love at first sight doesn’t exist. Not for us. Love arrows aren’t strong enough to pierce a Fae’s heart.”
“Your denial doesn’t make it less true.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I must have missed the archer standing beside us in the labyrinth.”
“No archer. I’m talking abouttrue love. ACoup de Foudre.”
The possibility that we’ve been struck by the goddess of love herself is a dangerous promise of passion and ruin intertwined, but darklings know better than to trust in fate. Or love. Not when our lives hang in the balance.
Aidan’s confidence makes me want to douse myself in oil and light the fire myself. But soon, I’d be nothing but dust in the wind. Aidan Summers will marry a princess; no question about it. Why should I let him destroy me first?
If I let myself fall for him, I doubt I could recover when he eventually tires of me.
“Coup de Foudre are legends… Faen stories.”
His jaw clenches. “I know my own heart. I wake up thinking about you. I go to bed picturing your smile?—”
“I can’t listen to this.” I spin around to leave, but Aidan slips in front of me, blocking my path.
“Well, you have to. You have to know how I truly feel. I won’t let you write this off as a silly infatuation that’ll blow over in a week, because that would be an atrocious lie. Iknowwe’re meant to be together, and deep down, you know it too.”
I want to say that I understand exactly what he’s talking about, because I feel it too. But I can’t. I won’t give anyone, even Aidan Summers, the means to ruin me.
“The only thing I know for sure is that you’re a cocky bastard who can’t take no for an answer.” The ice in my tone chills his confidence, and he sucks in air.
“That’s it? I bare my heart to you, and that’s all you have to say?”
It physically hurts not to respond, but I keep my fists firmly planted at my sides and bite my tongue until it bleeds.
Aidan flashes me a smile that’s all thorns and teeth before rubbing his face with a tired hand. “Alright. My mistake. Pardon me, Miss Elizabeth. I have clearly been afflicted by a fever that affects me and me alone. I won’t bother you again.”
Chapter 15
By The Flame
BETH
Summerlands, Faerie, Present Day
The Summer royal envoy leads me directly from my hotel room in Los Angeles to the Royal Academy’s bibliotheca. The air vibrates as I step out of the mirror, and a languid ache grips me. Even though it’s been decades since I last felt the tremors of Aidan’s bite of power, the atmosphere still becomes charged with electricity whenever he’s close. I wonder if he feels it, too, or if it’s a ghost that only haunts me.
The warm glow of the brass desk lamps casts dancing shadows across the leather-bound books, making me feel as though I've actually stepped back in time.
