Page 5 of The Prince from a Cruel Summer
We can barely afford the food on our table as it is.
I shake my head at Elio’s lack of awareness for his obvious privilege and swat his comment away with a dismissive wave. “You’re a prince; you’ll be fine. This could completely make or break the rest of mylife.”
“Let’s agree that we’re both in a tight spot, then. Each trial has a guardian—a seasoned student granted the honor of crafting their court’s challenge. My brother is one of them, and he’d love nothing more than to prove his superiority by being the one to eliminate me,” Elio explains.
His wings shiver at his back, and in spite of myself, I keep staring at them. Sleek long feathers are interspersed with smaller down feathers that appear incredibly soft to the touch.
“Why don’t you just fly over the labyrinth?” I joke.
Elio raises a pointed brow at my suggestion. “That’d be cheating.”
I blink at him, stunned.Is he saying he can actually fly? Or did he answer in jest?
“You two should stop whining.” A melodic, high-pitched voice muses from the side. “I’ve got worse odds to overcome.”
A tiny girl plants herself next to Elio and me, and for a moment, I wonder if she’s a pixie or a nymph. Loose brown waves fall below her waist, and she has a steep, slanted nose and big amber eyes with thick, long lashes that don’t look human at all. Her red lips, high cheekbones, and chin dimple give structure to her round face.
The applicants are at least sixteen years old, but this girl could still pass for a Faen. We’re all barefoot, and my big feet look like sleigh runners compared to hers. She didn’t put on the summer dress. All her black leotard is missing is a dance tutu, and she’d be ready to step onto an opera stage as the worlds’ most ethereal ballerina.
“Hi, I’m Willow Summers,” she chimes.
Willow Summers. Daughter of Thera Summers, the Summer Queen. While all the Fae courts are technically equal, the Summerlands are larger than any of the other kingdoms, more populated, and possess the biggest army. The capital of the entire Fae continent, Eterna, lies at the heart of the Summerlands and doubles as their capital.
Given an inextricable argument between two courts, the side taken by the Summer Court pretty much tips the scale, making Willow the most influential princess.
“I’m Elizabeth Snow. Beth to my friends,” I say quickly.
“I know. You’re all everyone’s been talking about.” Willow braces her hands on her hips and stares down the labyrinth.
“What were you saying? About your odds?” Elio asks.
“Only a quarter of all applicants make it through the trials. Of those who don’t make it, five percent die trying. That’s 0.9 of us tonight.”
“You’re a… ball of sunshine,” Elio croaks.
“I’m not finished. Of the dead aspiring students, only forty percent are female, but of those females, ninety-five percent were princesses less than five foot two.”
Elio’s mouth quirks. “That’s an awfully specific analysis.”
“Math doesn’t lie. Probabilities are worse than fate. Short princesses are in grave danger tonight, whereas there’s been zero casualties in the winged prince category.”
“And what are my odds?” I ask, half amused, half terrified.
She tilts her head to the side and examines me. “You’re tall and not a princess. You should be fine.”
One of the faculty’s presiding judges walks onto the stage, and conversations die down across the lawn. The black woman is wearing a ceremonial white toga, her dark brown hair styled in an afro and held away from her face by a thick, golden band.
“If I could have everyone’s attention, we have a long night ahead of us,” she announces. “I’m Master Evelyn Eros, and if you’re lucky, one of your future teachers. Coaches must now leave the lawn. Applicants, please line up in front of our esteemed Headmaster, Idris Lovatt. Since his daughter is among you tonight, he appointed me to rule over this year’s trials in his stead. Thank you for the honor, Headmaster.” She offers a respectful nod to the man standing right in front of the stage as the coaches head off the grassy field.
The older man’s gray hair and thick beard contrast with his dark brown skin. He’s got an elegant face and the piercing, enticing gaze of a Summer Fae.
He brings a hand to his heart and shows off his perfect white teeth. “Thank you, Evelyn.”
The woman goes on with her speech. “Master Idris will have you draw a numbered tile at random. And don’t even think about switching tiles with another student. Everyone must keep the tile they drafted. I, along with the two other judges, will ensure that there’s no cheating of any kind. Remember, cheating during the trials is not only an automatic disqualification, but also a serious crime against her Majesty Thera Summers, our beloved hostess.”
The lawn seems almost empty now compared to how it was a minute ago, only the twenty-four applicants remaining, and we form a semi-straight row in front of Master Idris, a few applicants peeking out of both sides of the line to watch the others draw their starting numbers.
Willow, Elio, and I are the farthest away from the stage, and we end up at the back of the line.
