Page 93 of The Prince from a Cruel Summer
His soft laugh warms the space between us. “I didn’t mean to, I swear. You looked…bewitched by the sight of the Eternal Halls.” He points to the back wall. “Ask Aidan for a peek, later. It’s worth it.” He ushers me toward the entrance of the chapel, his hand resting on my shoulder blade for an instant. “You look absolutely divine. We should have asked you to sing for the ceremony.”
My eyes widen and my gut cramps at the mere possibility of singing—perhaps even being mobbed and arrested—in theoh-so-grandSummerlands palace. “Please don’t.”
“Are you ready to meet the Summer Queen?”
“As ready as I’ll ever be.”
He elbows my side just as we cross the threshold. “Your future mother-in-law.”
I slap his arm. “Shush.”
Inside the chapel, rows and rows of golden pews are arranged in the same fashion as they are in the academy’s chapel, though in a much grander setting. Bouquets of white orchids cascade to the ground at the end of each row.
A glass dome opens to the sky above, while the checkered windows reveal the vast scope of the Lunar Cascades—white terraces made of minerals that make them appear as though covered in fresh snow. They spill down the hillside in tiers, stretching far beyond the castle walls. The half-moon-shaped pools glow against the rugged landscape in strange, milky hues. Each terrace blends softly from blue to white, as if sculpted from clouds and ice.
A few bright stars pierce the veil of twilight, the sky slowly darkening to a deep, midnight blue.
My breath stutters. I can’t imagine what it must feel like to get married in such a place, let alone own it, and Ezra’s cheeky comment echoes in my brain.
One day, Aidan will get married here too. To arealprincess. And he’ll reign over all of this with his queen. They’ll take moonlit strolls hand in hand along the Eternal River, gasping for breath as he traces the lines of her body in the basins. Every day will be spent at the top of the Fae food chain, feasting on the riches of our world while the Wintermere commoners barely survive another freezing winter.
No matter how addictive the fantasy is, the lucky, oblivious woman won’t be me. It couldn’t be.
“Come on, Lady Snow,” Ezra warns quietly. “You’ll have ample time to admire the view later.”
I force my eyes away from the windows, where the Summer Queen, Willow, and a rugged sprite with green moss growing in the creases of his skin and lichen-filled wings wait for us at the front of the chapel.
"Beth!" Willow saunters closer to greet me, her long brown hair braided into a crown atop her head, her form-fitting white satin dress hugging her curves. "I'm so glad you're here." She hooks her arm through mine and tugs me up the aisle. "This is my mother, Queen Thera Summers."
“Your Majesty.” I curtsy as low as I can manage in my heels, my tongue parched and dry.
“Welcome, Elizabeth. My daughter’s told me so much about you,” she replies quickly, her affable smile catching me by surprise.
The warm greeting chokes me, leaving only the heavy, pasty aftertaste of my secrets on my tongue.
Against all odds, she doesn’t mind that you’re a moth.
But she’d have you arrested if she knew you were a siren.
And she definitely has no idea you’re secretly fucking her son.
Willow’s eyes dart down to my cleavage. “By the Flame, who weaved that dress?”
I look down at the gown. “Devi Eros.”
“Why? Are you two friends now?” Willow asks, clearly dumbfounded.
“It’s a long story.” I force a polite smile on my face and widen my eyes at Willow, trying to convey a loudI’ll tell you about it laterwith just my eyes.
“Ah, Mabel. Welcome,” Thera says, walking toward the entrance to greet a short, old woman.
The infamous Mabel Bloodsinger tiptoes over to us, grand despite her small stature. “Thera.” She acknowledges the Summer Queen with a small head tilt, gripping the carved raven forming the tip of her cane with both hands. “You, young bride. Let me see you.” She angles her body toward Willow.
“My grandson is a handful, but you look poised for the challenge.” She throws a playful wink at Ezra before patting Willow’s arm with her small hand. “The shortest women make the most interesting queens, my dear. Remember that.” She chuckles, clearly including herself in that assessment, and Willow grins.
“Yes, we do.”
Mabel’s cunning gaze finally lands on me, and I shudder. With just one look, her bite of power lulls me into a waking dream. I dig my nails into my palms, desperate to anchor myself against her magic. It feels as though she’s clawing inside my skull, prying away all my secrets.
