Miss Mack drones on and on about values and sums and equations. I prop my laptop up. Maybe I can take a quick catnap behind it.
My eyes close halfway, my head gets heavier and heavier…
Yoink! A small tug jerks inside me, a snag in my stomach, like tiny hooks digging in. Not again. Along with my Roue-killing nightmare, I’ve been feeling this…pull toward the Fair Faerie realm.
It’s because the king is dying, my inner killjoy whispers. You’re supposed to marry a fair Fae prince, become queen, take your crown, kill Roue.
Yeah, this is not something hiding behind my laptop can fix.
Because the realm of Fair Faerie, the half of Faerie that governs all things sun and Summer, has been calling me nonstop.
Like an ex that won’t stay broken up with.
I groan, trying to fight off the weird pull. Now is not the time.
Roue and I just need a few more days to get the black-iron spikes and figure out the healing-the-hearthstone equation. But it’s like Fair Faerie’s grabbed hold of my insides and won’t let go.
I poke at my stomach. Quit it, you.
We’re not even on speaking terms, me and Fair Faerie.
It wants to break up me and Roue.
I might be new to this fair Fae gig, but even I know that the princess of the Summer Court should not be dating the princess of the Winter Court. In fact, I should be dating Aldebaran, Prince of OverHill so we can get soul-bound and take the place of our dying king and queen before all of Fair Faerie dies a horrible death.
No pressure.
And hey, the last thing I want is for my realm to die. But three things: one, I’m into Roue; two, I’m not into guys; and three, I’m definitely not into being forced to date anyone—or go back to Fair Faerie, for that matter.
Because, according to my nightmare, if I go back to Fair Faerie and take my crown, Roue’s as good as dead.
And I’m the one who kills her.
2
ROUEN
Rebel, Rebel,
I’m a rebel for you
I’m anything for you
You’re everything to me
“For You to Me,” Euphoria
* * *
Since time immemorial, I’ve been a rebel. Even among my own people. But the dark Fae, rules-bound and tied to tradition, have never appreciated my rebellious side.
I have the scars to prove it.
But if there’s one thing Syl taught me, it’s to live a little, let go and have fun. Not to mention, we’ve been under a lot of pressure lately, what with our two opposite halves of Faerie pulling on us, trying to tear us apart.
The difference is, I was born Fae. I’m used to Faerie being demanding one minute and dismissive the next.
But Syl’s new to Faedom.
If there’s something I can do to ease her stress, I’m in. So when she mentions a random snow squall in May, I don’t hesitate.
I’m the princess of the dark Fae—royal, regal, powerful.
Even though Dark Faerie’s less than pleased with me lately, a little push from the Winter in my blood is all it’ll take.
“Come on.” I tug Syl from class as soon as the bell rings.
Summer school’s held in the library in Maura Hall, the old section of Richmond Elite High. The halls here are longer and the crowds thinner.
Once no one’s looking, I throw up a don’t-see-us Glamoury.
A shimmery shiver runs the length of my spine as it settles into place. Students, teachers, even witchy Miss Mack, pass us by completely unaware.
“What are we doing?” Syl’s voice is a hushed whisper, her excitement rushing down the bond, making me feel warm when all I should feel is a deep chill, as all dark Fae do. I love her warmth, though. I love her.
I’ve already broken every rule of Dark Faerie by being with her.
What’s one more?
Besides, I’d do anything to erase the worry from my girl’s eyes.
“You’ll see.” With my Glamoury protecting us, I lead her down the hall, her small hand warm in my chill fingers. I can’t help but look back and take her in: red curls that fall to her shoulders, summer-storm grey eyes full of mischief and life; she’s adorable even in the school uniform. And those freckles.
I could spend a lifetime counting them.
I fully intend to, Dark Faerie and Fair Faerie be damned.
We come to the exit door leading out to the quad, and I shove it open without slowing. My Glamoury can cloak small physical changes—a door opening, us walking down the hall—making it so onlookers either don’t notice or don’t think to ask questions.
Being a dark Fae princess has its perks.
The door opens in a burst of balmy spring air and the oversweet scent of Miss Jardin’s rose garden. Syl and I step outside into the quad. The day is crisp and sharp. The spring sun shines bright. I squint against it, moving immediately to the closest, umbrella-covered picnic table.
Syl, though, she basks in it. She’s fire where I am ice.
The sun on her red curls turns them to molten copper, turns her grey eyes gold. Everything about her brilliant and bright. So bright she could slay me.
Like in my nightmare.
Even now, I feel it encroaching on the corners of my mind—Syl crowned in fire, stabbing me with a sunfire blade; me crowned in ice, stabbing her. Waking up in a cold sweat in the wee, dark hours, clutching my heart, tiny snow squalls eddying around my futon.
I shake off the memory as Syl touches my hand. “Roue?”
“Mine have been getting worse, too,” I admit quietly, guilt swelling in my heart.
Not to mention, that pull from Dark Faerie…
It’s getting stronger the closer we get to Midsummer, my realm pulling on me, urging me to break up with Syl, marry a prince, and become queen to restore stability. I used to think that was only what my father wanted for me, but apparently, he and Dark Faerie are on the same page when it comes to my love life.
All that complicates my already complicated relationship with my father.
See, I kind of dethroned us both.
I thought I was doing the right thing, cleaving him from his dark self, but the truth is, I didn’t destroy the darkness within him. I only severed his connection with the hearthstone, crippling his power as king.
Now he’s dying, and it’s my fault.
Worse, the reports from the Winter Council say he’s as evil as ever. I don’t fully believe that. Even with his dark self in control, I still saw glimmers of the strong and just Adamant King he once was before Mother’s death.
He can be saved. I know he can.
But the nightmares are clear.
If I go back, I’ll be forced to claim my crown, and that’ll mean one thing:
Syl’s death.
“Don’t worry.” Syl gently prods me out of my brooding. “We’ve got a plan, remember?” She’s smiling cautiously at me, and even with all the doom and gloom in my mind, I can’t help grinning right back.
Syl does this to me, infuses me with her light, her hope.
Most times, I feel like a complete goof smiling around my fangs the way no dark Fae—especially a dark Fae princess—ever should. I’m supposed to be reserved and cold, a calculating killer.
But with Syl, I can be just me. Even if that means being a goof sometimes.
Even if that means hoping against hope that my father can be saved.
I shake off the nightmare’s grip. Our plan is solid—well, as solid as it can be—and in a few days, this whole “murder my girlfriend to save my people” thing should be nothing more than a bad memory.
I stretch my fingers, readying my personal magic, my gramarye. Using it will be tougher without my violin to act as a magical focus, but it’s nothing I can’t handle. “Ready, princess?”
“For what?” she asks, her summer storm-grey eyes glinting. She senses my mischief down the bond, and excitement flushes through her body.
Feeling what she feels, I’m suddenly warm in al
l the right places. “For this.” I call upon the Winter in my blood, my fingers weaving in the air. A rush of dark power swells inside me, a winter storm building… I exhale, and my breath comes out frosty.
Immediately, the temperature drops. Above, the clouds swirl into a thicker silvery-grey. The balmy spring morning turns crisp. Tiny snowflakes crystallize in the air, and a few spring puddles glaze over with ice. In the falling cold, the sky opens up, spilling out heavy, wet snow. It spirals down around us, cloaking us, muffling the world.
“Ooooh….” Syl’s smile breaks wider across her face as the world turns white and wintry. “Oh, Roue.”
Already inside, I can hear people scrambling—students, teachers, administrators—everyone rushing to the windows to check out the freak May snowstorm. My Fae hearing picks up shouts of glee and whoops of joy, calls placed to the principal’s office. I hear the decision as it comes down.
The rest of the school day’s canceled.
This is just a taste of what I can do as princess. Imagine what I could do as queen.
I fold my arms across my chest, smirking at a job well done. “How does an early dismissal sound?”
“Yes!” Syl hurtles into my arms, exuberant and warm, her body pressing against mine in a way that makes me instantly hot where I was cold. I’m captured by her grey eyes.
I can barely breathe, can’t speak at all.
“Well…there are better things we could be doing with our mouths,” Syl sends, blushing furiously. She leans in, gently brushing her nose against mine.
Desire, electric and gripping, coils in my belly.
That simple touch is everything to me. Usually, I take the lead in our makeout sessions, but this time, Syl’s hands tangle into my black hair, lips brushing mine, her breath warm on my face, that electric need coursing through every inch of my body.
Yes, please.
I pull her closer. “Happy snow day, princess.”
Syl kisses me, her lips soft and sweet against mine. I melt into our embrace, my chill body basking in her warmth, drawn in by her intoxicating scent, vanilla and sunshine and musk. I nip her bottom lip, and she gives a breathy little sigh that nearly brings me to my knees.
I would do anything for this girl. Even give up my crown.
I love her dearly, and I put all that love into my kiss.
The snow swirls around us, eddying in little dervishes like we’re in our own perfect snow globe. Our own perfect world where not even Fair Faerie or Dark Faerie—and certainly not any nightmare—can touch us.
It’s not until much later—after we get home to the tenement Syl, me, and her mom share in Jackson Ward, after dinner, homework, after her mom goes to bed, that Syl and I settle in to put the finishing touches on our Faerie plan.
There are still a few loose ends we have to tie up.
While I dash out her bedroom window and down the fire escape to meet the pizza guy for our late-night order of half pepperoni/half Hawaiian, Syl gets out all her Irish folklore books, her notes and equations.
We refresh our memories via the soul-bond, sending images, thoughts, and emotions, so we can get up to speed.
First, we confirmed with Syl’s mom earlier that her blacksmith friend will have us the black-iron spikes in two days. Dagger-sized, they’ll be concealable and keep my father and the fair Fae king from using their powers on us.
Second, there’s the whole healing the hearthstone issue. Still working on that.
Last and certainly not least, there’s our contingency plan.
“If we can’t heal the kings for some reason,” I muse aloud as I step back into the room, pizza in hand. “We’ll need to figure out a way to take the thrones without killing each other.”
“Right.” Syl pores over a copy of Fairies and Elves: the Enchanted World. “Trouble is, neither half of Faerie’s ever been ruled by a queen. It’s all kings, kings, kings.”
She’s right. Ever since Faerie split in half, our history hasn’t exactly been a feminist’s dream. Fae queens aren’t their kings’ equals. A queen’s sole duty is to soul-bond to a king and act as a source of power for him.
Hence, Faerie’s fanciful notion that both Syl and I should marry princes.
The prince gets to be king and wield the power. The queen gets to be a copper-top battery.
Gross. I’d sooner stab myself with a sunfire blade.
“Me, too,” Syl says as I pop open the steamy-delicious pizza. “Well, with a wintry blade. Plus…” Her brow furrows, and I sense her frustration. “There are tons of lone Faerie queens in legend and lore. In fact”—she gingerly takes the gooey slice of Hawaiian I hand her—“there’s Titania, Gloriana, Oona, Medb. Even the Morrigan was a warrior-queen. It’s like our Faerie’s filled with some kind of anti-feminist propaganda.” She squints an eye at me. “Are you sure your dad was telling the truth?”
I nearly choke on a pepperoni. Grabbing for my sparkling water, I take a sip to clear my throat. “My father, tell the truth? That’s…complicated.”
My father is a dark Fae through and through. Even in his halcyon days as the powerful and just Adamant King, he was silver-tongued and dealt in double meanings.
Once, he used that silver tongue for the betterment of our people.
But then my mother died, and the darkness in him seemed to take over.
That’s what I tried to cleave him from. I failed. Instead, I severed him from the hearthstone, and now…
Now, my entire realm’s dying. He’s dying.
As a result, I fear he might be worse than ever, his dark self having taken total control. Every dark Fae has one, a potent dark self that dwells in the deepest pit of our soul, that part of us that craves power and possession, blood and sacrifice.
Because of its violent and volatile nature, we keep our dark selves locked away tight behind the bars of our minds, calling on it only in times of great need—starvation, survival, life or death.
Fae who tap into their dark selves too often weaken that mental cage. The rush of power becomes addictive. Inevitably, they fall to their dark self and become soulless, ravaging beasts.
It’s happening to my father right now.
What if I can’t save him?
Suddenly, my appetite coils into a stony pit in my stomach. “Once my mother was killed, Father changed. Every day, he fell more and more to his dark self. His double meanings grew crueler; he became filled with vengeance.” I meet her gaze. “You saw how he was in Dark Faerie.”
Syl nods, her concern for me bleeding down the bond.
Father told me he was going to step down from the throne, give me the crown, and let me rule. It was all a ruse concocted by his dark self—a trick designed to get me to lower my guard so he could steal Syl’s blood for his nefarious purposes.
I almost lost her.
Guilt gnaws at my insides. I could have killed him then, but I chose to believe there was still good in him. Now I wonder if that was the right choice. “The only question now is: is there really anything left of the Adamant King, or is it all his dark self?”
The reports from the Winter Council I set up to watch over him stopped coming a week ago.
It’s not looking good.
If my father’s fallen, it’s my duty as his daughter to put him down and take his place on the Adamant Throne. Not a cheerful thought.
Killing my father aside, if our last foray into Dark Faerie taught me anything, it’s that I’m not ready to rule.
“Hey…” Syl feels my hurt, my guilt and fear. Shifting on the bed, she puts her hand on mine and squeezes gently. “It’ll be fine. Our plan will work. We’ll heal the hearthstones, heal the kings, and then we won’t have to worry about being Fae queens at all.”
“I hope you’re right, princess.”
We lapse into silence, each lost in thought. She keeps her hand on mine, warm and soft, and nudges me. I can’t help but smile at her playfulness. Being near her is everything soothing and wonderful in this world. My appetite returns, and I find
I’m ravenous.
We demolish the pizza, poring over Syl’s notes and books. She says it’s for fun, but we both know having a contingency plan’s not the worst idea.
Every time we think we’ve got the upper hand with Faerie, it changes the rules.
And though we find nothing that says Faerie can’t have a queen—or two queens, for that matter—every source seems to agree on one thing.
We can’t rule together as dual queens.
Long ago, a great conflict split the Faerie realm in two, into Dark Faerie and Fair Faerie. Our people have been at war ever since.
No one knows how to heal Faerie or reconcile our warring people.
“We could do it if we had to,” Syl says matter-of-factly. “We’d just have to figure out how to survive each other’s realms. Then we could totally rule as Queens of all Faerie.”
Her can-do-it attitude makes my heart swell with love and pride. I lean in and kiss her, lingering a bit to savor her soft lips, the little sigh she gives, the warmth of her breath. “Queens of all Faerie.” I try the words out. They feel right. “I like that.”
“I thought you would.” Syl’s smile splits with a huge yawn.
I glance at the clock. Nearly midnight.
I have no desire to sleep and fall into my nightmare again, but Syl’s mom is hell-bent on her daughter (and me) getting good grades, and we can’t do that if we don’t at least try to get some rest.
Not to mention, my own dark self loves conquering, even if it is just grades.
“Our Faerie plan will have to wait, princess.”
“Just our Faerie plan?” she teases, flirting with me with a come-hither look.
These days, it doesn’t take much to get me revved up.
I come hither.
I push her down on the bed, a little surprised when she pulls me in. Her face is scalding with a blush, and her heart’s racing against mine.
I’m not the only one who’s revved up.
“Nope. You’re not,” she sends, and I laugh because she’s read my mind for the millionth time since we were soul-bound.
Inimical Page 2
