Page 13 of The Prince from a Cruel Summer
Dramatic arches create a breezeway that ensures coverage from the heavy rainfall this kingdom must receive to account for its leafy greenery.
The initiates gather in front of the main entrance, where a thick red carpet marks the three flights of stairs leading to the grand atrium. I recognize a few faces from the history books among the portraits of the alumni monarchs, the gold plaques beneath them too small to read from a distance as Master Idris escorts us to the center of the room.
The three-story-high windows at the back of the atrium offer a panoramic view of the undulating dark sea beyond. Salty air blows in from an open dome above the windows and kisses my cheeks like a promise.
The academy is located on the west coast of the Fae continent. I’ve never even stepped foot on a beach or let the sea lick my ankles as they do in my favorite novels. My father always discouraged fiction readings, but I could only read so many history books. Whether it’s the Legends of the Breach, the Tales of the Dark Sea, or the occasional new world novel like Moby-Dick and The Blue Lagoon, I’ve been dreaming of the sea since I was a little girl.
Funny, coming from someone who doesn’t even know how to swim.
I force my attention back to my immediate surroundings. A two-floor mezzanine towers above us, and a group of about thirty students huddles on the third floor. Some of them brace their arms over the ornate banister to catch a glimpse of those who made it through the labyrinth, while others are engaged in animated conversations. A few keep their backs turned to the atrium, as if they couldn’t care less about the new arrivals.
All of them are wearing cloaks with pointy triangular hoods and jeweled masks. I swallow hard. The academy students possess Shadow masks, high-end tools that allow them to walk between worlds freely through the sceawere, the in-between space that connects every realm by use of reflective glass. They can travel between Faerie, the old world, and the new. They are free to become whoever they want to be.
“The Crow’s watching you,” Willow whispers. “Do you know him?”
“Who?”
Common Shadow Fae are called crows, and my ears perk up. Maybe I’m not the only commoner here after all. I glance in the direction Willow pointed, scanning the crowd until my gaze lands on a tall figure looming on the empty side of the mezzanine. My breath catches in my throat. He stands shrouded in shadows—a dark spot of raw magic against the modern, vibrant backdrop of the atrium.
His iridescent onyx mask is peppered with broken pieces of polished glass. Despite his eyes being concealed, I know he’s staring at me. The weight of his gaze travels across my face, and a flash of unease takes root in my stomach.
Willow leans closer to my ear. “His name is Damian Sombra. He’s not really a commoner being the son of High Fae, but he’s known for his stern, dark looks, and his complete disregard for social norms, so they use the sobriquet anyway,” Willow explains before the corners of her mouth twitch. “He’s a graduate student, and he gives my brother Aidan the creeps.”
The Sombra province appeared in my geographic studies of the Shadowlands, but this Damian did not make it into Royal Lines, the genealogical reference I memorized before I came. If he intimidates Willow’s brother, I should be weary of the way he’s staring at me.
“You’re Aidan’s sister?” Zeke asks in a hushed voice.
My, my, was the jaded Shadow Prince eavesdropping?I didn’t notice him creeping into our little group, but there he is, huddling close to Elio.
Willow blinks at Zeke like she’s unsure if he’s being facetious or just plain dumb. “You know Aidan?”
“A little,” Zeke answers quietly.
The brown-haired boy on Willow’s heels snickers, “I bet everyone’s heard of your brother, Will. Even the moth.”
“Of course I’ve heard of him,” I snap. “Aidan Summers is the only known exception to the rules of succession.”
The gods usually mark a king or queen’s heir upon their death, but not in this case. Aidan Summers’ reputation has reached the underbelly of the Wintermere castle, which is quite a feat. Moths don’t often gossip about the Summer royals since most of us aren’t likely to meet one in our lifetime.
The rude boy finally introduces himself. “I’m Sean Summers, Will’s cousin.”
“Elizabeth Snow,” I grumble.
“Aidan was born in fire and blood, his skin ablaze and the Mark of the Gods seared into his flesh, marking him as Thera’s heirat birth. Some say Hephaistos sired him himself—no offense to your father, Will,” Sean says.
Willow rolls her eyes at that. “Wild rumors, of course. Aidan is no demi-god, I assure you.”
Sean’s eyes shimmer, and I get the impression he’s more than a little infatuated with his famous cousin. He pats Willow’s shoulders down with a chuckle. “Will is just blind when it comes to her brother. Sibling rivalry and all that. Aidan holds the record time for the admission trials. He crossed the labyrinth in twenty-seven minutes flat and skipped a whole year, graduating in three, which is unheard of.”
“Not unheard of. The Crow did, too.” Willow grins. “It really pissed Aidan off.”
Damian is still staring at me, and I’d glare at him right back for his rudeness if I wasn’t hoping to make friends with another outsider. “Are the graduate students around a lot?”
“It depends. There’s five of them at the moment, one for each kingdom besides the Red Forest and Wintermere. They might give us lessons in their respective school of magic when they’re not studying off-world.”
“Talking about going off-world, when do we get a mask?” I ask, my palms sweaty just thinking about it.
“Before Morheim, if we pass the exams.”
