Episode One Hundred Eight

WINTER PALACE

Arion demands a fae funeral fit for the former queen. The fae don't like to prolong these things, I learn, and by the following night, we're in an opulent gathering room where the queen is laid out on a stone altar, candles lit all around her, lanterns glittering above us. There are flowers everywhere.

Arion stands behind the altar, a new crown sitting atop his head.

He looks every bit a king in a fresh outfit of emerald green and gold.

"We say our final farewell to our former queen of the Summer Court. May she rest in eternal peace," he says, his voice booming around the room.

One by one, the fae approach the altar and leave a rose on the queen's body. Because I don't think it's right that I take part, I stay in the back with Bran beside me.

"He'll make a good king," Bran says.

I watch Arion as he nods to each and every member of the Summer Court who leave a rose behind.

"I think so too."

Bran takes my hand in his, his cold fingers threading with mine. "And you will make a great queen."

I snort. "Well that remains to be seen, doesn't it?"

"Mouse," he warns in that growly, demanding voice of his. "Don't."

My cheeks warm. "I can't help it."

"Try that again," he says and even though we're having a conversation far from sex, I still react as if we are, that slow heat rising up between my legs.

"I will make a great queen," I tell him, head held high, a smile playing on my lips.

His amber eyes flare bright gold. "Good girl."

There is a celebration of life and a feast after the queen's funeral, which I find hilarious considering she took so many lives just to hold on to her power. But this is Arion's court and I suppose he knows the fae much better than I do. Or maybe the fae use any excuse to throw a party. I'm just not in the mood. And I'm especially not in the mood after I helped end the queen's life. I can't exactly celebrate it.

Arion finds Bran and I as we slip out of the palace's grand front entrance. Cal and Sam and the rest of the Midnight vampires have already returned home.

"Little sister," Arion says and hearing him call me that makes me want to burst into happy tears.

I don't want to look like a sappy dork, so I suck it up and turn to him hoping the glow of the hanging lanterns outside the palace door don't catch the tears in my eyes.

Arion stops in front of me, hands folded behind his back. "Thank you," he says. "I know you had your own agenda, and with good reason, but I am here now because of you."

"Don't you know you're not supposed to thank a fae?"

He smiles. "I'm willing to risk it." And then he comes forward and embraces me.

It catches me off guard and I go stiff in his arms for a second before finally sinking into him.

Warmth blooms in my chest. I think out of all of this, gaining a brother is the best part.

"We did this together," I remind him.

He plants a brotherly kiss on my forehead. "So we did."

When we pull away, Arion glances at one of his guards and snaps his fingers. The guard comes to attention. "Ready a horse for the Winter Princess and her consort."

I laugh nervously as I check Bran's expression for a reaction. I guess consort really is the best way to describe him in this context, but he probably thinks it's meant to be an insult. Doesn't he?

But his face betrays none of that. If anything, he looks like he wears it well.

"What's the horse for?" I ask. "We can walk back to Midnight."

The guard darts away to fulfill his order.

"There's one place you should visit before you go," Arion says.

"Where?"

"The Winter Palace."

The horse given to us is a giant black mare with a dark mane braided and twisted in intricate knots and decorated with jewels of emerald and sapphire. She's standoffish toward Bran until he approaches her slowly from the front, hand extended. She gives him a sniff and Bran murmurs to her so softly I can barely hear.

Finally, she lifts her head and chuffs at him and he runs his hand down her snout.

"I've never ridden a horse before," I say.

"Don't worry, little mouse." He offers me his hand to help hoist me up. "I spent over a century riding them."

As soon as we're in the saddle, the reins in Bran's hands, the mare takes off.

She seems to know the way and Bran doesn't fight her. He keeps the reins in one hand, his other arm wrapped tightly around my middle, holding me in the saddle and against his chest.

The ride is exhilarating and slightly terrifying. I don't know how fast a normal horse runs, but it feels like the fae mare could outrun the Bimmer. Or maybe it's just the illusion of speed, with the forest hugging closely, the darkness closer still.

When the forest breaks, we emerge on an overgrown field, and there, in the distance, is a many-spired palace, and rising up, sharp behind it, is a mountain edged in snow and moonlight.

Even though the heat is still present, summer still retreating, goosebumps rise on my arms and down my neck.

I don't want to cry, but…

"It's beautiful," I say on a breath.

Bran coaxes the mare forward and she navigates the overgrown field nimbly until her horseshoes clomp on cobblestones that poke through the moss.

We pass a dry fountain, a figure of stone in the center. And just past the fountain is what remains of a wide road lined with tall, overgrown evergreen trees. There are more stone statues here, some covered in moss and ivy.

"It's so quiet." Even my voice sounds loud in the liminal space.

Bran slips down from the mare and then helps me off. "Stay," he tells her and she turns to the overgrowth, finding herself a snack.

"This is…weird." I take a few tentative steps toward the palace. It's more of a castle in contrast to the Summer Palace. The Winter Palace is made of solid, dark stone, with sharp spires and large, rectangular windows.

Bran goes up the front steps and stops with his hand on the curved iron handle of the giant front door. The dark wood is strapped in iron and dotted with iron tacks. "Are you ready, princess ?"

I swallow.

I'm not sure I am, but when will I ever be? Probably never. I don't think a girl can ever be ready to become a queen when just a year ago she was a barista trying to escape a life she never felt like she fit.

"I like Mouse better," I tell him.

"Very well." He presses the handle and the latch clanks open. "Are you ready, little mouse?"

And then he gives the door a nudge and the Winter Palace beckons me in.

I can't believe this is the end!