Page 9 of The Prince from a Cruel Summer
Up they climb, footprints full of snakes
Beware of lies, illusions, and heartbreak
Flower for a spade
Blood for treasure
Gold for a hand
A simple “yes” that was forbidden
A promise that should be freely given
A witch’s heart’s not so easily mended
As the devil’s pride she has offended
At daybreak on St-John’s Eve
Gone is the lovers’ reprieve
And the chime of a far-off bell
Disperses the spirits of darkness
Blessed Flame.The vines deposit the girl on the shallow beach before weaving back into the trellis, and I press a hand to my beating heart. My cheeks throb like I’ve been slapped straight in the face, fingers and toes tingling with warmth.
Summer Fae know better than to roll their eyes at love at first sight, but by the Flame, I never thought it would happen to me.
The girl stumbles out of the pond, drenched to the bone. Her wet summer dress hugs her delicious form, and something inside me snaps. Before I can think twice about it, I slither closer to her, the thin but vigorous hedge of bleeding hearts still separating us.
“Tell me your name, Songbird,” I whisper through the leaves.
The girl’s hand jerks away from the foliage, and she peers through the vegetation. “Who’s asking?”
I skip ahead of her with a small laugh and round the corner of the hedge, allowing her to take in my silhouette. If she’s alarmed by my stature, it doesn’t show on her perfect face. Mist and magic hang thick in the air, but the Shadow mask covering my eyes and the upper part of my face helps me keep most of my secrets.
“Tell me your name,” I repeat patiently.
Water drips from her thick braid, her lovely feet covered in sand and mud. She tilts her chin up and raises her brows, not backing down. “Come into the light.”
I tiptoe closer to her, and she draws a sharp intake of breath. After a definite pause, she tucks her bottom lip between her teeth and angles her gaze to the side, a fierce blush tainting her cheeks.
I take advantage of her hesitation and walk all the way into her bubble, taking the edge off my forwardness with a smile. “Don’t make me ask again.”
Jaw slightly askew, she sways from the ball of her big toes to her heels. “I’m Beth.”
My tongue darts out to my bottom lip. “Beth. I love the sound of that.”
“What about you? Are you a sidhe…or a nymph?” She cracks, looking me up and down again, her initial embarrassment apparently forgotten.
A nymph? She can’t be serious.I’d be amused—if I wasn’t insulted. “Neither. I’m a guardian.”
Her nose wrinkles, the vibrant shade of red on her face about as charming as her chastising tone. “If you’re a guardian, you’re not supposed to speak to me until the trial is over.”
She springs ahead, but I fall into step with her.
“Go away, now. Let me focus.”
