16. Love is Madness

Chapter 16

Love is Madness

ELIO

K issing an endless string of beautiful girls is tedious. The kissing booth part of the carnival is broadcasted live, and the votes are tallied in real time. The ohh 's, eek 's, and yikes ' of the spectators drill through my skull, and the blindfold digs into my forehead.

Sara's tight knot spells out exactly how cross she is with me after my lack-luster performance in the ferris wheel. I can't go on with this charade without her support, and if I don't want to come home to her resignation letter, I have to give the public a few swoon-worthy kisses. Nothing too hard to fake.

But I can't take the chance not to eliminate Iris's macabre twin, so I'll just take all the Spring seeds out in one sweep. It was foolish to let them get this far to appease Freya. It's not like we could ever get past our mutual hatred, not after the hell she put me through.

The kissing booth offers a rare opportunity for me to control the public vote. Spring brides are easy to spot. The overbearing aromas of roses, lilacs, or peonies make me cringe with disgust whenever they draw near. Anything that resembles Iris's smell is sure to trigger my damn brain.

But twenty kisses is a ridiculous number to keep track of. By the halfway point, I've only pecked two Spring brides on the lips and sent them on their way. There's still three to go, and I'm losing patience.

A woman feathers closer, and I take a good sniff. The cherry blossom smell comes on quite strong as she slips her tongue inside my mouth. The taste of her is so potent and unexpected that I freeze, taking a second too long to pull away.

I flex my fists. I bet it was the evil twin. Damn her.

There's still two Spring seeds left to eliminate.

A Winter seed approaches me next, and I linger inside the familiar scent of pine needles and snowflakes. I drag out the kiss to give myself a chance to regroup. A firefly presses her body into mine next, her breasts all but crushed into my naked chest.

"Ready to serve, my king," she says in a sultry tone, and I let her feel me up to her heart's content as she kisses the base of my ear.

Points for originality, that's for sure.

The next woman is a Spring thing, and I hold myself away, counting down to ten. The strangled cry that escapes her fills me with a prickly sense of pride. Only one Spring seed to go.

The next bride inches closer, and her scent is both airy, fresh, and smokey—like rain falling over a funeral pyre. I inch closer and catch myself sighing, intrigued by the unfamiliar bite of her magic. An exceptional Winter seed, surely, and I smother the alarm bells going off in my brain. This woman can't be a Spring seed, so I might as well kiss her back.

She grazes the ridges of my abs and skips up my chest one rib at a time with her fingers, unspooling a loose string inside me.

Her taste is even better—all cinders and snowdrops. Her kiss drags me into a mudslide of lips and rushed breaths. Before long, I'm drowning in her and stretch my neck to deepen the kiss, but she teases me by remaining slightly out of reach.

The silk tied around my wrists bites into my flesh as I try to reach for her.

Damn scarf…

Just as I'm about to destroy it with a flare of ice, the bothersome binding vanishes. Yes.

I cup my partner's neck and hold her to me. My other hand slips below the hem of her shirt to the small of her back, her skin as smooth as a cloak of snow under a bright moon. A low rumble of victory quakes me. She's at my mercy, now.

Small and perfect in my arms.

All I can think about is not letting this woman—this feeling—slip through my fingers. I dig a hand into her frosty locks and tug, jerking her head back to make space for my hungry mouth. I kiss her with so much abandon that I forget about the Spring seeds, the kissing booth—even the spectators. I'm no longer performing for Sara and the cameras, and the rhythm of our lips and tongues creates a beautiful sheet of music. Whoever she is, I never want to let go.

Magic claws its way through me, scratching fiery lines into my frozen heart and dipping down to my navel before slithering lower. It's not cold as the ice in my veins or bittersweet as the light I have forsaken. This magic is new to me, yet so ancient I can't fathom where it comes from. A fuse that lied in wait for this moment. For this kiss.

Our tongues battle for dominance, and the delicious tug-of-war triggers a primeval trap laid by the gods themselves, if the flavor of the magic is any indication.

A kiss that never should have been.

A verse that can't be unwritten.

I'm a beast, drinking her in. I want to sink my claws in her and drag her to my lair without looking back.

A gasp rushes up my neck, full of warmth. Too warm for a Winter seed.

A Red seed, then? How interesting. Reds usually taste of blood and tears—a leftover sting from their dark, forsaken gods.

"Elio," Sara warns.

My partner wriggles in my grip, fighting to break free. Oh no, you don't… I catch her jaw and hold her close, my other arm ensnared around her small waist, but she pushes on my chest with impressive zeal.

Some part of my brain stirs to life, and I let go of my temptress. The pressure of her hands on my chest relents, and her heat leaves me. My soul howls at the loss as I tear off the blindfold.

The clear gray eyes and trembling chin of Iris's doppelg?nger fill me with dread, but a tiny part of my soul is not surprised in the least. It had to be her.

Only a ghost could ever feel so perfect. So…mine.

The beast nestled in my ribcage snarls, roaring at me to act.

Fight. Take back what's mine. Claim her now, and kill everyone who might interfere.

The beast is strong, but I'm still its master and rule it with all my might. If the Winter crown taught me one thing, it's that all human urges can be denied. No matter the height of the flames, our strongest, most vibrant desires can always be snuffed out. Whether by duty, grief, or despair, and at the end, by death.

No matter what, fire always runs out of fuel. In matters of flesh, blood, and bones, only ice remains unyielding.

"By the spindle… I think we have a winner." Paul's voice shatters the bubble we were suspended in, and Lori runs off the stage as though she wants to taunt my beast out to play.

"There's nothing that could beat that," Paul adds on a low whistle.

Sara is speechless, and the buzz of the cameras is the only sound audible as we watch Lori run across the town square. The crowd parts to let her pass, and I force myself to stay rooted on stage and not immediately give chase. I can't storm out of yet another part of this contest without an explanation. Whatever twisted magic is at work—my body is wired to respond to this copycat, and I bend down to retrieve the red piece of silk that should have kept my beast in check.

"I must not have tied it right," Sara says on a frown, but I shake my head.

"You tied it just fine." The knot and bow in the red scarf is still perfectly shaped, and a smirk tugs on my lips. "It was sliced through."

The two leftover candidates observe me with wide eyes, and I offer them an apologetic shrug. "Tough luck, ladies." I peck both of them on the lips, my beast rattling inside its cage. "Shut it down, Sara."

While the cameras fly back to Paul, I close my eyes and hone in on my prey. Her magic leaves delicious breadcrumbs of darkness in her wake. Even blind, I could find her now, my powers completely attuned to hers. The glaring difference between her and Iris is almost too obvious.

She's no Spring seed, after all.

No light Fae could ever taste so good. No weed could ever ensnare me so tight.

She's a darkling—an absolutely perfect shadow thing. Not a rose, but a spider. It's laughable to think I could ever taste her lips without figuring it out, and a hot sense of relief washes over me. She doesn't belong here—which means I won't have to endure her presence any longer. I could throw her in a dungeon for illegally entering the pageant, or ban her from Faerie forever, and no one would dare to protest.

I wait for the crowd to disperse and search the carnival grounds. My gaze immediately lands on the industrial wagon behind the ferris wheel. There she is.

Magic or no magic, I'm still in charge. The gods can choke on their well-laid plans, because I'm not going to give in to their rather rude, beastly demands. I won't lose my head because of one kiss. Instead, I'm going to figure out exactly how Lori managed to mimic Iris's looks and why Seth hired her, and everything will be right again. Sara and Paul follow me to the entrance of the hall of mirrors, Seth quick on their heels.

"No one comes in until I come out." I turn to Paul. "Make sure Seth gets comfortable in his room for a few hours. I want him to stay there until I say so."

He nods and doubles back to block Seth's path. The prince becomes quite agitated as Paul and the guards escort him off to the Snowhaven Inn, but I don't spare him another thought, turning away from his vehement demands.

Sara lowers her voice. "Are you going to kill her?"

I consider her question for a moment. "I don't know, yet." With that, I grip the handle and jump into the carnival wagon.

Darkness shrouds the hall of mirrors, and my little spider slips from one shadow to the next, intangible as smoke. A normal Winter King would be powerless against that type of magic, but I've been raised in the chasm between light and dark. I know how to catch a beautiful shadow and crush it under the sun.

I call forth a spark of sunshine and bounce it off my knuckles. The gesture feels as natural as breathing, but also stiff and unrehearsed. Rusted from years and years of disuse. I almost never summon this light I once believed to be my birthright, the memories cradled inside its soft glow too painful to bear. But all self-made rules have exceptions.

With a loose grin, I let what little light is left inside the wagon pierce through me, becoming invisible, too.

The itsy bitsy spider crawled up the water spout.

Down came the rain, and washed the spider out.