Page 91 of The Prince from a Cruel Summer
Despite having seen countless paintings of these gardens, the beauty feels alien, making me acutely aware of the faint scuff marks in the soles of my shoes or the loose threads in the button holes of my jacket.
The tall, free-standing mirror in the corner has been warded off, unsuitable for travel, the runes covering the corners of the glass blending with the wood moldings of the frame.
“This is your room for the wedding, Miss Snow. Please change, and when you’re ready, follow this firefly to the chapel. The royal family is already there, working out the kinks of the reception. They’re expecting you in half an hour for the rehearsal.”
I set my travel bag on the bed, awestruck by the opulence of it all. I thought the academy was luxurious, but this is something else.
“Miss Snow?” the sprite repeats.
“Yes.” I clear my throat, feeling self-conscious about how frayed and unkempt I must appear. “I’ll be there. Thank you.”
A shuddering breath escapes me, and I quickly slip into the black dress I brought with me, acutely aware that it’s inappropriate for the setting. Here in the Summerlands, it’s probably more suited for a funeral than a wedding.
Almost as soon as I’m done changing, Devi slips into my room.
She’s not wearing a dress, exactly, but a shimmering, hand-beaded gold bodysuit. The criss-cross design creates a striking, lattice-like effect across her body, leaving her navel and hips bare while revealing the shape of her breasts, with the nipple area covered by a solid gold underlay. The delicate freckles on her collarbone add a flair of mystique to her presence, and I blush all over.
“By the spindle. What are you doing here?” I breathe.
She presses the door closed quietly behind her. “They told me you would be here. Is that what you’re wearing for the rehearsal?” She wrinkles her nose at my plain black cocktail dress.
“It’s all I have. Isn’t the bride supposed to be the center of attention anyway?” I say in a scalding tone, my jaw slightly askew at the sheer sensuality rolling off of her.
No one should have such a flawless body. I’m especially annoyed by the heat in my gut, once again caught in the snare of her powers, once again a lame black duck forced into a line of golden Fae ducklings.
“Moth, this is a royal wedding. It’s meant to be a spectacle. We’re not expected to go to bed before dawn tonight. Why do you think tomorrow’s ceremony is set for dusk?”
I turn away from her, my hand clutching the skirt of my dress. “I have no clue what I’m doing here, honestly. Or why you’re in my room. Or how anyone thought it was a good idea for me to come?—”
“Breathe. Here.” She barrels to the window and grabs a fist of one of the lavender silk curtains.
The whole thing starts to unspool under my awestruck gaze and levitates toward me, replacing my current dress, which flakes away into nothingness. The threads weave into a floor-length evening gown with a twisted, scandalous strapless bustier. I draw in a deep breath. The fabric is so light in my grip that it might as well be liquid, the lavender hue twinkling with hints of silver.
Devi nods proudly at her own work. “That’ll do nicely.”
“What are you doing here, Devi?”
Her mouth opens slightly, and the corners twist into a devilish grin. “I need another favor.”
“Bite me,” I bark, one hand tugging at the top of the dress to see if I can cover myself up a little more, terrified the neckline might slip straight past my breasts.
“So spirited today. Aren’t you enjoying the beauty of the Summer Court? I thought you were into warm, long,hardSummer nights,” she adds, wiggling her brows.
“Stop it.”
“I can’t help it. You’re crimson, and I’ve barely said anything.” With a sigh, she spins my hair into an elaborate up-do, the strands all but sighing at her touch. “I don’t blame you. We all have a weak spot. Dark, broody, and emotionally unavailable men is mine.” Her gaze falls to my hand, and she clicks her tongue. “Stop fidgeting. The dress will not fail you. Oh, I forgot the shoes.” She crouches down and motions for me to sit down on the velvet bench at the foot of the bed, but I refuse to budge.
“Why do you even care?”
“We’re partners now. Whether you like it or not.” She weaves a pair of silver stilettos that wrap around my ankles and make the arches of my feet scream in discomfort.
“We’re notpartners. You’re blackmailing me.”
“Details.” She waves my comment away. “Look, this weekend is not just about a wedding. The news that my grandsire is dying has breached the confines of the Secret Springs. The healers gave him a month to live, at best, and everybody is whispering about it. My step-mother, Freya, is making a play to succeed him instead of me.”
My eyes narrow at the onslaught of information. “And how could I possibly help you?”
“I need you to slip this”—she says, reaching inside her bra to retrieve a small, oval flask—“into her drink.”
