Page 219 of Winter (Evermore Academy 1)

Now it’s his turn to let his words trail away.

Excitement builds inside my chest as we weave through the trees. Once we cross the Shimmer, the trees grow smaller and less dense. I find one of my old paths, the familiarity eating at me as my boots trace a line toward home.

Home.

He follows behind, hesitant. Or maybe that’s not the right word. Perhaps he can feel the difference in this world and it bothers him.

My gaze falls on the snow. It’s nearly dark, the merciless Texas sun I remember a shadow of itself.

Can it already be winter here? But of course it is. Being in Everwilde made me lose all track of time.

I’ve been gone over six months.

Noises give me pause. Laughter, high and squealing.

The kids.

My heart clenches. I leave the trail and use the denser parts of the forest for cover. Ten feet from the edge of the forest, I stop. The prince pauses next to me. Through the cracks between the thin sycamore trees, I catch movement.

I see the twins first, Juliana and Gabe. They’re building a snowman. A really sad imitation of one with a lumpy middle and no head. They’re both wearing mismatched mittens with holes, their faces hidden by threadbare scarves and woolen hats too big for their heads.

I’m reminded of how hard the winters here are. The way the cold seeps into every crack and pore of the old farmhouse. How we never have enough coats and boots for everyone, nor enough food to sustain our shivering bodies.

“Come inside and warm up for a bit, tiny heathens,” Aunt Zinnia calls. At the sound of her high voice, the breath catches in my chest.

I spot Jane sitting on the rickety porch swing, her braids sticking out beneath a green and red striped hat. She’s pretending not to watch the younger kids play in the snow, even though she wants to join them. Chatty Cat sits on her lap, looking like he might attack anyone who comes near. I can hear his weird purr-growl from here.

My stomach clenches at the sight of everything. The normalcy of it all. Even the old farmhouse tugs at me. With its sagging porch, the siding in desperate need of a good painting, the flickering porchlight.

I glance up at my bedroom window and immediately wish I hadn't. It’s dark, the curtains drawn.

It feels like a thousand years ago that I snuck out onto that sloping roof and changed my life forever.

Only the lawn wasn’t full of snow then. I frown. “I don’t think it’s ever snowed this early here.”

“How else could I get them out here?” he says, staring at the children playing. “You humans are so fragile when it comes to the cold.”

“You did this?”

“It was nothing.”

I wonder what’s going on inside his head. Does he think I’m silly for needing this? Needing to witness them alive and safe and okay?

“Would you like to see more snow, Princess?” he asks, watching me carefully.

“Yes.”

Snow begins to fall. I peer up at the sky and watch the fat snowflakes twirl down between the trees. In this moment, I’m not sure I’ve ever experienced a more beautiful sight. I feel like I’m staring into a recently shaken snow globe, only I’m on the outside of this magical world looking in.

Across the lawn, the kids whoop with joy. They’ve ignored Aunt Zinnia completely. Shocker.

I smile. She’ll come out two more times, then she’ll enlist the help of Aunt Vi.

A few minutes later, I watch Vi herd them inside. The sound of Christmas songs fills the night. Without looking, I know they’ll be gathered around the tree opening presents.

Aunt Zinnia will sing along with the holiday tunes, and Aunt Vi will roll her eyes, a steaming mug of hard cider spiked with moonshine in her hand. The twins will argue over their presents while Jane pouts in the corner. And they’ll all act incredibly surprised and grateful when they unwrap their gifts and see their hand-me-down clothes.

I let out a ragged breath. God I miss this. So very, very much.

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