Page 92 of The Prince from a Cruel Summer
“Are you nuts? No!”
“Relax, it’s harmless. Just a little something to loosen her tongue. She’s probably trying to line up her next husband and secure alliances over the weekend. This potion will just make her more... honest.”
My fingers shake around the small translucent flask. “Your grandfather is not even dead, yet. Is she so eager to remarry that she can’t even wait for him to die?”
“You think that’ll stop her?” she scoffs. “Freya is not powerful enough to win the throne in a challenge, but she’s a beloved queen consort and excels at politics. She’s going to try to convince a handful of royals that I’m too young for the task, and that she should be made queen until I’m older. She’ll even promise to abdicate when the time comes, but the exact timeline will be pushed and pushed indefinitely.”
“Is that something a Spring royal can do? Abdicate?”
She rolls her eyes as though my ignorance of such things annoys her to no end. “Rarely, but yes. The Winter crown can’t be survived, so you’ve assumed it’s the same for us, but Winter is actually an exception.”
“I heard the Red circlet prefers to be claimed in bloodshed, cut right off the head of its predecessor,” I mumble.
She gives a sharp incline of the head. “Yes. Reds don’t like to mess around. If only it was so simple in Spring.”
And she’s not kidding.
A shadow passes over her beautiful face, her cleverness and cunning lurking beneath the freckled, polished veneer. “Most royals are terrified of change. None of them truly want me on the throne, even though I’ve earned it. I’m too outspoken, too rash, too modern. They see my power as a threat to their boring old traditions. The Eternal Chalice allows the reigning monarchs a say in who gets to rule over Spring next, and I just want to prevent Freya from getting too much of a head start.”
I try to hand the flask back, the glass slippery in my grip. “Anyone could do this. Why don’t you ask Iris?”
“Iris doesn’t know how to keep her mouth shut, and she’s Freya’s niece. I need someone with enough wit to keep track of it all, and yet not enough skin in the game to jeopardize my plans. Someone with enough access to matter, but who will mostly blend with the crowd and not attract too much attention. That’s you, my little mermaid.”
“You need a sucker who can’t say no or rat you out, you mean.”
“That too.”
“And how many favors am I supposed to grant for you to be satisfied?” I ask in a fake sugary tone.
“As many as I need.”
My teeth grit together. “You think yourself above them, but you’re blackmailing me into doing your bidding, just as desperate to be queen.”
She begins walking away, still nonchalant about it all. “Are you done whining? It’s only a small favor. I’ll swing by your room later. Until then, we shouldn’t be seen in public together.”
“No problem here,” I shout at her retreating back, tucking the flask into my cleavage, a little pocket of its exact size fashioned right into the underlining of my dress.
How am I supposed to get rid of her?
If she tells on me, I’m done.
I draw in a deep breath and follow the firefly meant to guide me to the wedding chapel, adjusting my posture and strides to account for the ridiculously high heels Devi made me.
My steps grow shorter and shorter as I enter the ballroom through one of the many side entrances. The firefly darts across the room to the chapel on the other side, faltering as it reaches its final destination. The two doors stand ajar, marked by white columns entwined with vines, mosaics on either side depicting the Flame of Fate. Dozens of tables are elegantly set with white orchid centerpieces, crisp white cloths, and gold cutlery—but my gaze is drawn to the ceiling.
My skin tingles. One of the most famous art pieces in history, Fall of the Mist King, is here, stretching high above me. There’s one such mural in each of the first kingdoms, though the Summerlands version is larger and more beautiful than I’d ever imagined. I’ve studied many of the scenes depicted up there, but seeing it all at once is breathtaking. It doesn’t even feel real.
I spin to take it all in, my heart beating in my throat, and come to an abrupt stop.
A precious stone wall scintillates at the very back of the ballroom, composed of squares of emerald, onyx, amethyst, ruby, opal, diamond, and garnet—one jewel for each of the eight kingdoms—even the former rainbow moonstones of the Mist, now outlawed everywhere but here. The double doors are shut, held in place with a long piece of iron.
The Hall of Eternity lies behind that wall, the eight thrones of Faerie contained within its halls, the chalice of power at their center.
A soft tap on my shoulder sends my already racing heart into a frenzy, and I gasp.
“Lady Snow. Oh, how I’ve missed you,” Ezra says, leaning in to peck my cheeks.
“Ezra!” I grip his arm out of instinct, nearly toppling over from the jump scare and the heels. “You snuck up on me.”
