Page 31 of The Prince from a Cruel Summer
Letters are sprawled over the coffee table, and I walk to the living room area to pick up the three out of the bunch that have my name on them. They look drab compared to the ones addressed to my roommates. One of the letters meant for Willow, written on gold-dusted paper, boasts the seal of the Summer Queen—a crown circled in flames.
“I’m supposed to make out with Devi for the challenge. Publicly.” Willow shakes out her hands. “But that’s so—I’d simply die.”
I examine my letters. One bears my father’s seal and is written on typical Winter Court staff blue paper. Another bears a moth seal and is folded in an overly fancy manner, just the way my cousin Marjorie would do it. But the third remains a mystery.
“They tasked me with finding out Aidan’s full initials,” I say, tearing open the blank seal.
Willow gasps. “Even if I knew them, I would never share my brother’s initials. Do you know why Diana would choose that?”
I weigh my words carefully. “She wants me to fail. She said so.”
Willow furrows her brow, her expression turning serious. “Reds are vicious, but don’t worry too much about it. It’s just a stupid initiation thing, anyway.”
“Exactly.” My gaze darts to Willow’s bedroom. “What did Iris get?”
“She wouldn’t say.”
I unfold the letter, my eyes quickly scanning the page, and my cheeks warm.
Dearest Songbird,
I hope you had a restful night, though I have to admit I couldn’t sleep a wink. Your voice, your smile, the taste of your kiss… they’ve kept me awake, until I just had to pick up a quill.
Since we won’t be able to see much of each other, I figured I should write to persuade you that I’m not some flimsy, good-weathered stalker—scratch that, admirer. I meant every single word I said, and I won’t let something as mundane as a bogus engagement come between us.
Miss you already,
Wonder Boy
The handwriting is not at all what I would expect the calligraphy of a Fae prince to be, and my heart tumbles past my feet when I realize Willow is standing on her tip-toes to take a peek. “Who’s got you blushing like this?” she asks.
I press the note to my chest. “No one.”
“Wonder boy… Beth Snow, don’t tell me you’ve got a beau pining over you at home?”
I nod sheepishly. My cheeks burn at the falsehood, but Willow doesn’t seem to recognize her brother’s hand, and a wave of relief washes over me.
Her eyes widen. “Oh, I love a tragic romance. Was he very crestfallen when you broke it off?”
“He hasn’t truly gotten his head around it yet.”
“A fighter. I like that.”
“I tried to discourage him,” I say quickly.
“But did you mean it?”
“No,” I admit with a twinge of shame. “Not really.”
“Then you can’t fault him for not giving up. By the Flame, have you ever thought about how twisted our society truly is? On one hand, women are supposed to play hard to get and make a guy work for it, but we’re also expected to marry someone our parents chose for us—the richest man who’ll take us and is most likely to achieve greatness. The whole thing is disgusting.”
“I agree.”
We exchange a quick smile.If only she knew…She’s about to add something, but a knock at the door startles us. Willow skips over to open it, and my lips part in surprise as I see my father standing in the doorway. I never expected him to drop by.
His gray hair is slicked back, and he’s traded his usual uniform for his fanciest suit. But the knot of his tie shows a bit of wear and tear, and the sleeves are slightly too short.
“Papa!” I scurry over to the door. “This is Willow Sum?—”
