Page 14 of The Prince from a Cruel Summer
Morheim is the season of nightmares, when the sun doesn’t rise in the Fae sky for seven to ten days. It’s squeezed between Autumn and Winter, so it’ll be almost a full year before we get what most common Fae consider the ultimate instrument of freedom. I can’t wait.
Master Evelyn joins us just as Master Idris finishes his speech about the various portraits. He was so engrossed in his lecture that he didn’t seem to notice the whispers being exchanged, most of the initiates more interested in Willow’s inside information than in the feats of long-dead kings. All except the gorgeous Spring Fae, who glowers at us for not paying attention, confirming my suspicion that she’s his daughter.
“Everyone alright?” Master Idris asks.
Master Evelyn rubs off a crust of mud from her knuckles. “We had three reanimations, and one badly burnt Spring applicant will probably never recover her rosy cheeks, but all of them are alive.”
“Wonderful, wonderful. Well, it’s getting late, so I will take the men to their dorms, now, while Evelyn escorts the ladies. Men sleep in the south wing and the ladies in the north wing. We do not tolerate sleepovers between the two, and I do not care if you’re not getting along, everyone has to room with their year’s comrades,” he says with a steely edge to his voice. “Your Keepers will show you through the dining hall and bibliotheca tomorrow and go over the school rules in depth.”
Evelyn guides us under the breezeway and into the north wing, which is five stories high, about half as tall as the main building.
"You're a very small group, so you've been assigned to the third floor. There are two rooms with two beds each, but since there are only three of you, one lucky gal will get a private room. Once you decide who that will be, just write your names on the slates hanging on the doors, and your personal effects and school gear will be delivered immediately," she explains.
“Do we have classes in the morning?” I ask.
“No, only orientation tomorrow so you can recuperate from the trials. Classes will start the day after. We follow a clear-cut Summerian calendar. Three days of classes, two days of personal studies followed by two days of rest. It’s a tight schedule, but we manage.”
I bite the insides of my cheeks to hold back a flippant comment. Winter Fae work for six days and rest for one, so this Summerian calendar sounds like a vacation, but Evelyn is from the Secret Springs, and the Erosi calendar calls for four days of parties and decadence every week.
“The seasonal holidays always fall within your rest periods, so you can celebrate accordingly.” She braces her hands on her hips and adds,“Alright, I’ll leave you to get cleaned up. The students’ afterparty is on the beach right outside. Follow the signs for the Saffron Cove. Congratulations again, and welcome. I’ll see you in class soon.”
Evelyn moves to leave, and I thread a little deeper inside the grandiose apartment. The living area spans the entire width of the building, with windows opening to the ocean on the left and the gardens on the right.
As soon as Evelyn is gone, the dark-haired Spring Fae skips ahead of me and spins around to face us, her hands clasped behind her back. “I want the private room.”
“And who are you to decide that?” Willow quips, her tone sharp.
“Who are you, little thing?” The Spring Fae clearly missed our earlier conversation, too busy playing teacher’s pet.
“Willow Summers,” Willow declares with a bit of cheek.
“I’m Iris Lovatt.”
Iris is the daughter of the headmaster and the beloved niece of the Spring Queen. Since Freya Heart couldn’t have children with her much older husband, Oberon Eros, she elevated Iris to the rank of Spring Princess. I read all about it in one of the old royal pamphlets my father smuggled out of the castle for his collection over the years. The gifts bestowed during high-born Faen birthing ceremonies are usually reserved for royal eyes only, but Iris’s title is hardly a secret.
Despite her impressive pedigree, Willow is the sole princess of Summer. That puts them at a hierarchical tie for now, but if I had to choose, anywhere outside these walls, Willow would certainly outrank Iris.
“We should leave it to fate,” Willow says as she grows three brown twigs in her hands, one longer than the others. “Let’s just pick one and be done with it.”
It’s generous of her not to press her advantage.
“I’ll hold them. So you can’t cheat,” Iris says, clearly unimpressed by Willow’s magnanimous offer.
“That’s fair.”
Iris gathers the twigs in her hand and makes sure they’re even, concealing their true length in her fist.
Willow and I both pick one, and I bite my bottom lip. Mine is longer by an inch.
The two women blink, and Willow laughs. “Oh my, looks like karma has spoken and Beth gets the private room.”
“Hmpf,” Iris grumbles. “She didn’t even want it.”
“Cheer up, Iris.” Willow nudges her new roommate. “We get the striking ocean view.”
“I don’t mind switching?—”
“Nonsense,” Willow cuts me off. “You won fair and square.”
