Page 69 of The Prince from a Cruel Summer
Ezra talks a big game, but he’s like me. He’s desperate to be loved for who he is, and not the throne he’s being groomed for.
“Not what I wanted? What are you talking about? We’ll be brothers.” He serves me a cup of Nether cider and passes it over. “To family!”
I plaster a smile on my face, not wanting to make him feel worse about his predicament, truly glad for him to join the family if someone has to. “To family!”
We gulp down the entire thing, the frosty aftertaste numbing the ache between my ribs.
With a wistful smile, Ezra pats my back forcefully, ushering me toward the door. “Let’s go. I need another drink.”
“Can you tell Willow? When it’s a good time?” I plead.
He pauses over the doorway, clearly taken aback. “Why?”
“My father made me swear not to tell, and used his magic to seal my promise.”
“Oh, alright. But not tonight. I’ll wait for Ethan to confirm it, first. No need to freak her out unnecessarily.”
I nod, and we head off toward the village.
Augustus isa special town where common Fae coexist with the wealthy. Every year, the academy students host a gala for the solstice. Most of the villagers are eager to pay a small fee to see us try our hands at anything from poetry to jazz, and my mother doubles their contribution. The proceeds go directly to charity, funding the healers who maintain a permanent sanctuary in the heart of the village.
The small stage in the middle of the square is mostly used for plays or recitals, a highlight along the route for the occasional traveling troupe passing through the Summerlands.
All the villagers come out for the occasion, wearing either gold or green to signal their intentions. Gold signifies a desire to partake in the night’s activities while those in green should not be accosted.
It’s customary for unmarried Fae to wear gold, so Ezra and I don matching black and gold vests. While he chose not to wear anything underneath his, I opted for a light, long-sleeved black shirt.
Ezra makes a beeline for the cantina. The small stand is selling fire candy and flameroot wine—a cider that loosens one’s grip on their heart’s desires. It may not be as potent as Feyfire wine, but it’s cheap to make and gives a warm, comforting glow inside. Something we’re both desperate for at the moment.
Most of the other students are standing near the front of the stage, but I can’t spot Beth among them. Zeke’s dark aura is unmistakable, and I grimace, struggling to keep my nonchalant exterior intact. My only consolation is that Beth is nowhere near him. As usual, the Shadow Prince is cozying up to Diana and her friends.
“You’re almost late. The gala’s about to start,” Willow scolds me from behind, and I spin around to greet her.
“You did great, sis.” I head over to peck her cheek. “Well done.”
Her eyes dim. “How did the oh-so-special royal hunt go?”
“It was wretched, if you must know.”
Willow and I love each other, but we’re also stuck in this strange, never-ending loop of sibling rivalry. She resents me for the Mark of the Gods and all the privileges that come with it. I begrudge that resentment and often wish she could get a taste of the pressure I’m under. It’s not all rosy in my shoes either, but tonight, I have to admit that I prefer not being forced into a marriage I don’t want at such a young age.
It hurts that I can’t warn her myself, but maybe Ezra will find a gentler way to break the news. He’ll certainly empathize with her predicament more than I ever could.
My lips press together as my eyes finally find Beth. She’s wearing a green dress that flows to the ground. The bodice is made of vines crawling along her stomach and over her shoulders to cover her breasts, leaving her back bare. The pattern is so masterfully done that I’d believe it’s been sewn by Ceres herself, the Fae goddess of nature and plants.
Ezra hands her an extra cup of wine.By the Flame… How did he get over there so fast?
My jaw clenches as she giggles and takes a sip, apparently pleased by the gesture.
Diana comes up to me with her clipboard, erasing them from my vision. “I know the moth failed at getting your initials. Hell, she probably didn’t even try, but I need to ask anyway.”
“Wait!” Beth runs over to me, the skirt of her dress flowing on either side.
I gape as she slips her hand over my arm and stands on her tiptoes. “I called you a bastard before, but I was wrong.” She whispers in my ear, and my entire nervous system goes haywire. “You’re anass, actually.” She raises a pointed brow at the word, and I half-choke on a ball of saliva.
Her hand leaves my arm, and I blink one too many times, my abs clenching at the knee-jerk fear that my true name might become common knowledge. It’s so ingrained in our traditions to keep our initials safe that a cold trickle of nausea slithers into my gut.
Ezra tucks his hands deep in his pockets. The fucker has never stood so straight in his entire life, and I bite the insides of my cheeks not to call him out for his betrayal. He sold me out.
