by Sofia Daniel
Prince Rory clapped his hands together, grinning for the first time I’d seen him since the incident with the drake. “When does the trial begin?”
Mistress Ellyllon raised a shoulder. “As long as you don’t interrupt the classes, I’ll leave it to you children to decide.”
Chapter 9
After essentially telling the princes to devise a way to get us girls to murder each other, the headmistress waved us out of her bare, stone room. A combination of fear and nausea kept me rooted to the spot, and I had to place a palm on the desk’s cool, glass surface to stop myself from passing out.
Princes Caulden and August left first with their noses in the air, followed by Prince Bradwell, who strode after them in a rush of cerise hair and wings.
“Mistress Ellyllon?” I asked.
“Yes, child?” The dark-skinned faerie tilted her head to the side, staring up at me from behind her desk as though she hadn’t just sentenced me to death.
“I—” The words died in my throat, mostly because a pair of forest-green eyes bored into the side of my face. They belonged to Prince Rory, who stared at me as if I was the answer to all his problems.
Lady Gala snorted. “Darling, what are we going—”
“Your Highness,” Prince Rory’s tone was flat.
The girl’s features fell. “What?”
I turned around for a better look at the drama. Lady Gala drew her hand back from the prince’s arm and held it to her chest as though it was wounded.
“You heard the headmistress.” Prince Rory brushed imaginary specks off his academy blazer. “Until this matter is resolved, the identity of my fated mate remains in question.”
I glanced at Mistress Ellyllon, wondering if she would contradict the prince. The older faerie sat back in her seat, her eyes gleaming with amusement.
Fury blazed in Lady Gala’s eyes. She pressed her lips together, looking like she was trying to hold back a barrage of insults. Even though I hated the wretched faerie, I felt a pang of sympathy, as Elijah’s dismissal still stung.
Without a backward glance, Lady Gala spun on her heel and stormed out of the room. I gulped. The last time she had been disappointed, it was because she didn’t get those iPads. And the reason Sicily and I were in this mess was because my poor sister was trying to find a way for us to escape Lady Gala’s warped sense of blame.
I rubbed my aching chest, but it only tightened the fist of panic squeezing at my heart.
“Eunice,” drawled Prince Rory.
“It’s Unity,” I said.
With an annoyed sniff, he waved away the correction as though my name was of no importance. “Can those wings do anything else but broadcast your eagerness to mate?”
I would have rushed to their defense, but the wings were part of that dead faerie’s curse. Prince Rory gazed down at me, a feral hunger in his eyes that turned his irises into tiny rings of green. I gulped, wondering what the hell he saw, then remembered my upgraded faerie appearance.
“My wings?” I shot a glower at the flapping appendages, which glowed brighter under the prince’s attention. “They don’t do anything, much.”
He walked across the room and stood so close, I could feel the heat of his body. “Allow me to deposit you at the remedial building.”
My eyes widened. “No thank—”
Prince Rory scooped me up and held me to his chest. “Goodbye, headmistress, and thank you for the opportunity.”
“Use it wisely, Your Highness,” she replied.
I parted my lips to ask what he meant, but his low chuckle reverberated against my right wing and torso, sending pleasant tingles to my nipples and between my legs. My cheeks burned. I had never been this close to a high faerie, and Prince Rory’s scent made my head spin.
It was earthy and sweet, reminding me of lazy autumn days spent in Daonna park, one of the few outdoor spaces reserved for humans and fae impervious to the iron fencing. My breathing quickened, and I snuggled into his broad chest, readying myself for a gentle ride full of innuendo and flirtation. If Prince Rory’s libido was anything like that of a centaur, I might not be able to resist his advances.
Still cradling me in his strong arms, he walked to the edge of an arched, floor-to-ceiling window and stepped off. It was a free-fall, slowed only by a strong gust blowing us across the campus. Terror exploded across my chest, and sweat beaded on my brow, which dried and chilled in the wind.
A scream tore from my lips, and I clung onto the prince’s muscular body, all traces of arousal gone. He meant to kill me. Or scare the glow out of my wings.
“Relax,” he growled.
It was an impossible feat. Wind rushed through my ears, and my breaths became shallow, barely reaching the tops of my lungs. Just as my vision turned black, he flapped his wings, and we slowed to a gentle descent.
I sucked in a noisy breath. “Why did you do that?”
“You’re playing a dangerous game.” His feet reached the ground with a gentle bounce, reminding me of what Gladiolus had said earlier about the magical cushioning on the top levels of the Mound.
“What?” Breathing deep and hard, I struggled out of his grip, but he held onto me tight.
“You’re excited,” he said in a low purr.
“No!” I slammed my palm on his chest.
He released my legs, letting them fall to the ground before loosening his grip around my back. “Your wings are practically incandescent. It’s a sign of arousal.”
I staggered away from Prince Rory, no longer feeling so well-disposed toward him. To the left of the stable block was a three-story building in the same white brick as the castle. A few human-looking students streamed inside, casting us furtive glances, making me guess that these were the half-bloods returning from lunch.
“How was it?” Mischief glinted in his eyes.
My stomach churned at the sight of the grinning prince, and I just wanted him out of my sight. Without meaning to, I bobbed into an awkward curtsey. “Thanks for the ride, Your Highness, but I’m running late for classes.”
I spun on my heel, but he grabbed my arm and yanked me into his hard body. The scent of sweet cedar filled my nostrils, and his body heat spread through my wings, making them vibrate with pleasure. I pressed my lips together, trying to push away the sensations, but my wings had a mind of their own.
Prince Rory wrapped an arm around my waist, holding me in place. His lips grazed the shell of my ear and made me gasp. “I believe fate brought us together.”
“But I don’t want a fated mate,” I whispered.
“Neither do I.” The hand around my waist drifted to my belly, making arousal swirl between my legs. “But you’re going to knock Gala out of the trial.”
Being in his arms was like falling into a patch of moonflowers, one of the most dangerous and seductive plants on the Isle of Fae. They appeared on the morning after a blue moon, blowing out a mist that carried a sweet scent that lured humans to lie beside them, and the flowers only disappeared when they had claimed a victim. Everyone knew to hold handkerchiefs over their noses to avoid being caught by their allure or risk falling asleep for a hundred years.
Prince Rory’s hot breath warmed my ear and made the pulse between my legs pound in time with my frantic heart. Every remaining human instinct screamed at me to break out of his grasp, to run to the safety of the building and clutch a horseshoe to my chest. But his touch, his scent, his very presence held me in his thrall.
My eyelids fluttered closed, and I drifted into the comfort of his embrace. A tiny voice in the back of my mind—likely Sicily’s—screamed at me to take charge of my senses and fight. With the last remnants of my willpower, I forced my eyes open.
A few of the passing students paused to gape. Prince Rory hissed at them, and they hurried into the remedial building like frightened jack-rabbits.
The brief distraction cleared the fog from my brain. I tried pulling away, but he continued holding me around the middle. “How am I going to defeat her with no magic?”
&nb
sp; “Surely a half-blood resourceful enough to infiltrate the ranks of the Fated can think of something?” He traced the glowing edges of my wings with his fingertips.
A jolt of arousal spread between my legs, it was so intense, I stiffened and cried out, “What?”
Stepping back, Prince Rory released my waist, depriving me of his touch and body heat. I turned around, examining his features. The assessing look that flickered through his eyes told me he had achieved his goal of getting me so turned on that I would agree to anything he said for more of his touch.
Annoyance flickered across my skin, and I tightened my features into a scowl. I’d dealt with faeries more devious than this pathetic prince, and he wasn’t fooling anyone into thinking he and I had an irresistible connection.
The fake lust in his eyes faded, turning them hard and assessing. “Gala said someone conveniently left you where the peacekeepers could deliver you to Gladiolus.”
My brows drew together. Did he think I was working some kind of scam? “But that doesn’t mean—”
“She was right about one thing.” He flicked his gaze at my fluttering wings. “You used dark magic to cheat your way into becoming a fated mate. It still lingers on your skin. Nothing about you says you’re the average half-blood cast-off.”
I squeezed my eyes shut and shook off thoughts of me being a trojan horse sent to harm the royals. “What are you talking about?”
“Here’s the deal.” He crossed the space between us and placed his large hands on my shoulders. “Knock Gala out of the trial, and I won’t tell my father you performed an illegal ritual to alter fate.”
Was there any point in uttering a denial? Anything I said would make me sound like a guilty person pleading innocence, and Prince Rory’s penetrating glare said he was serious enough about getting me executed if I didn’t go along with his plan.
I snatched my gaze away from his, trying to get my thoughts straight. After only a few minutes of conversation with Prince Rory, I couldn’t help but think the fates had placed him with Lady Gala for a reason.
He massaged my shoulders, his thick fingers melting me into a reluctant puddle of goo. “Do we have a bargain?”
I stared down at the stone paving slabs. Bargains with the fae were notorious for backfiring, and I could already see how this one would blow up in my face. Even if I succeeded in murdering Lady Gala during the trial, nothing was stopping him from goading the other girls into killing me so he would achieve his wish of having no fated mates at all.
Prince Rory placed a hand under my chin and tilted my head up to meet his gaze. “Answer me.”
“I can’t—”
“Choose.” He bared his teeth, but his smile wasn’t pleasant. “Certain beheading when I tell my father you’ve broken the most sacred facets of faerie lore, or a fair chance of surviving this trial and ridding yourself of an enemy.”
My throat dried. When he put things so plainly, there was only one option. “I want some guarantees.”
He snorted. “I guarantee that I will have you executed for dark magic if you don’t agree to rid me of Gala Nevermore.”
My shoulders drooped. There was no getting around this bastard. “If I knock her out of the trial, what then?”
He shrugged. “It’s as I said.”
“You won’t have me executed?” I asked.
“Exactly.”
I ground my teeth. Would I even survive this bloody trial long enough to find Sicily? Judging from the way Lady Gala had tried to freeze my heart in the dining room, it was looking like I might die if I participated and would certainly die if I refused.
“Fine,” I said. “But you’ll have to do something for me.”
He suppressed a smirk. “Very well. When Gala dies, I will bend you on your hands and knees and grant you one good, hard fuck.”
“Ew!” I flinched out of his grasp.
His smug expression faded. “What do you want, then?”
“Help me find someone I’ve lost.”
He shot me a dirty look and walked across the courtyard, leaving me staring at his broad back. What a spoiled brat.
A small crowd of whispering students gathered around me. Someone tapped my shoulder. It was a girl with chestnut brown eyes and burnt orange hair. “Is it true you’re going to fight Lady Gala to the death to win Prince Rory?”
“Not if I can help it,” I muttered.
She gave me a smile as bright as the sun, and a pang of sadness struck my heart. Something about her reminded me of my sister.
The double doors opened, and an older man with hair the same golden shade as mine poked his head out of the door. “Classes started a minute ago.”
“Sorry, Mr. Whittaker,” said the girl.
A breath caught in the back of my throat. Josiah Whittaker? That was the half-blood Gladiolus had told us had been implanted with false memories of a human life. At some point during the day, I needed to get him on his own and ask if he had been cursed by dark faeries.
The other girls rushed ahead of me and hurried through the door. I followed after them, glancing over my shoulder for signs of Prince Rory, but he’d already disappeared around a tower.
Behind me, a gust of wind brushed against my wings, making me turn around. Something rushed toward me, a rapid blur. I jumped back, and it whizzed past my face and embedded into the stone.
My jaw dropped. “An arrow?”
“Get away from that,” shouted a male voice.
I scrambled back toward the wooden door, but the tip of the arrow exploded in a cloud of black vapor. Panic spiked through my heart. This could be anything—including iron salt. Staying low, I dashed to the building’s entrance, flung open the door, and staggered inside.
Mr. Whittaker stood in the hallway, his face as pale as sour milk. “Did you inhale any of that?”
Coughing up a lungful of air, I choked out, “No.”
“Follow me.” He strode through the entrance hall and pushed open a door, where about four dozen students of all ages sat around wooden tables arranged in a U-shape.
All the chatter stopped, and everyone turned to stare at me, their eyes wide.
“It’s started already.” The girl with the burned orange hair wrapped an arm around my shoulders and guided me to the nearest seat.
“What?”
“Everyone was talking about it in the dining hall. The Fated are going to group together and have you murdered.”
Chapter 10
I could barely concentrate on Mr. Whittaker’s lesson, knowing that Lady Gala and the other Fated were out there, wanting me dead. Slumping on my wooden seat, I stared blankly at the front of the room as the remedial class teacher demonstrated to the room another way to express their magic.
He wore the same style of robes as Gladiolus and the headmistress, except his seemed to be made from unbleached linen compared to their silk. Maybe it was a way for the academy to indicate that he was a half-blood. His wings were retracted, as were those of two-thirds of the remedial class, but none were as vivid as mine.
“You should ask Mistress Ellyllon for help,” whispered the orange-haired girl sitting next to me. “It’s forbidden to attack half-bloods.”
A sob caught in the back of my throat. The headmistress was the person who had authorized this unofficial hunting season. I had no doubt that she anticipated that the Fated would gang together to stick a dagger in my back. My death would restore the girls’ perfect lives.
At the end of his speech, Mr. Whittaker clapped his hands together. “We have a new joiner today. Everybody, say hello to Unity Quayle.”
The students sitting around the U-shaped arrangement muttered their unenthusiastic greetings, and some of them continued doodling on their notebooks. I couldn’t blame them for not seeming committed to getting to know me. By this time tomorrow, I’d probably be murdered.
“I’m Helenium.” The orange-haired girl held out her hand. “But everyone calls me Helen.”
“Unity.” I wrinkled my nose. “But
you already know that.”
“Right then.” Mr. Whittaker strode into the vast space between the desks. “What’s everyone finding to be the best way to express your magic?”
Helen’s hand shot up. “Dream walking!”
The teacher smiled. “One of our more advanced techniques but very powerful. Could you explain what that means to Unity?”
“Of course, it works for her,” snapped a mean-looking girl with hair as dark as a crow. “She’s a full-blooded faerie from a noble house.”
Helen bowed her head. “That doesn’t mean things come easily for me, you know.”
I took another look at my new companion. She was pretty with flame-colored highlights in her burnt orange hair—stunning by human standards, but no way at the level of the intense beauty of the Fated. I wondered how on earth a faerie of noble birth ended up in the remedial class with all the half-bloods.
Mr. Whittaker frowned. “Florensis, the remedial class is the only safe space within the Royal Fae Academy where no one is disparaged for their background. Is that understood?”
The dark-haired girl nodded, but her expression did nothing to hide the fierce intensity of her resentment.
I raised my hand. “How does dream walking work?”
“Would you like to explain it to Unity?” asked Mr. Whittaker.
Helen shook her head, and I turned to the Florensis girl and scowled. Why go to such an effort to make someone else feel bad? Before she could give me a what-do-you-think-you’re-looking-at glare, I turned my attention to the remedial class teacher.
“There are three states of being: the waking world, which we’re experiencing right now, the dream world, where we visit during our sleep, and the realm of magic.” He paused and swept his gaze around the bored faces sitting behind the desks, making sure everyone was paying attention.
I leaned forward, my brows furrowing. Everyone looked like they didn’t care for his lecture or had given up trying to find their magic. Gladiolus had implied that I had power but that it was locked deep within my core. Accessing it would give me the best chance of surviving the Fated and finding Sicily.