Chapter 5

Five

Down, faeling!

Like a big, dumb mortal, I freeze up and just stare at the sharp, pointy tine of the arrow as it sails right for my jugular.

But then a hand snaps out and catches the weapon mid-air.

THWAP .

I blink and let out a hiccuping gasp.

Arion has caught the arrow literally an inch away from piercing my flesh.

We both stare at it in his hand.

“Seize the would-be assassin!” Maven shouts.

A half dozen fae soldiers rush the tree, and two make quick work of its branches disappearing into the canopy.

There’s a rustling, a grunt, then a body drops from the tree and hits the ground with a thud.

The two fae soldiers hop out of the tree, landing with far more grace.

Within seconds, the culprit is surrounded.

“Christ,” Arion mutters, which seems like a very mortal thing to say.

Hand on my neck, knees wobblier than I’d like to admit, I ask him, “Who is it?”

“Autumn Court.” He snaps the arrow in two in one hand and walks over. “Who sent you?”

“Yes, who sent you?” Maven puts his hands on his hips. “Are you working alone?”

The assassin rolls onto all fours and hoists himself up.

Or rather, she .

A long red braid falls from the hood of her leather jacket. She scowls at me, then pretends to spit on my shoes.

“Hey!” I hop back at the same time Arion pushes forward and grabs the girl by the throat.

“You dare enter Summer territory and threaten the life of the Winter princess? Then insult her?”

“She’s a traitor of the realm,” the girl says. “She’s the reason everything smells like shit!”

What the hell?!

“Are you working alone?” Maven repeats as the fae soldiers take hold of the girl, her arms pinned behind her.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” She tests the hold of the soldiers and the metal plates along their shoulders clank as they adjust their weight, pulling her back.

Not a yes. Not a no. Clever.

I want to hate her—she just tried to kill me—but I don’t think I can. There’s something about the girl that makes me want to know more. She’s shorter than I am, barely five feet. I can see the sharp points of her ears in the shadow of her hood. There’s a roughness to her that I admire, and I immediately think of Sam never backing down from a fight.

“Take her to the tower,” Maven instructs. “Two guards at her cell at all times until I say otherwise.”

“Yes, Your Royal Highness,” the man at the front says and gives a deep bow before turning with the others, carting the girl off.

“Well, that was exciting!” Maven says, smiling wide.

“That’s not the word I’d use,” Arion counters, still clutching the broken arrow in hand.

“I see you still have excellent reflexes.” Maven pats Arion on the back roughly. “Let’s report our heroism to the queen. She’ll love it!”

He starts off with a bit of swagger in his step, as if he was the one who stopped the attempt on my life.

“Thank you.”

Arion frowns down at me. “Never thank a fae.”

“Even when they save your life?”

“Even then.”

“What about a brother?”

His frown deepens.

“Especially brothers,” he answers and follows Maven.

I watch the assassin disappear around a gate on the other side of the palace. She doesn’t fight the soldiers, almost as if she isn’t worried about being locked in a tower.

Almost as if she’s sure she’ll escape.

She’ll probably try to kill me again if she gets away. If this stupid collar wasn’t attached to my neck…

I yank on it again, but it’s useless. I’m just as much a prisoner here as the Autumn Court assassin.

Up close, it’s much easier to see what must have once been a grand palace.

There are still hints of it hidden somewhere beneath the dense overgrowth.

Tangled vines cover the entire left side of the palace, deep roots caught in the white stone, clawing their way up and around columns, hanging from archways that line a portico. More greenery covers the palace spires that soar up toward the sky.

There’s more color here than in the forest where we entered the fae realm. Pink and purple and blue flowers find purchase amongst the vines and moss, but it’s easy to see they’re suffering. Some of the stems are wilting, the leaves brown-spotted and laced with holes.

We enter into a courtyard where a cobblestone path forks in front of us, circling a reflection pool. Except the water is too mucky and thick with lily pads to see much of anything.

Maven takes the walkway to the left and several fae step aside, letting him pass as they bow and call out a greeting.

“Did you grow up here?” I ask Arion once I’ve caught up to him.

“I did,” he answers.

“Did you like it?”

The path curves back in toward the center of the courtyard where steps lead up to a half-moon terrace that looks over the reflection pond.

“I did.”

“Can you say more than, ‘I did?’”

“I can.”

I catch the barest hint of a smirk on his face.

Is my brother amused by me?

I want us to get along. I want to joke with him and confide in him and…

Don’t get ahead of yourself, Jessie.

The sadness I feel now knowing I missed out on having a brother for the first twenty-plus years of my life will pale in comparison to being outright rejected by him in the future.

When we come up on the landing, I spot a large, arched doorway hidden in the shadows of another upper terrace. The doors are thrown open and inside, banners hang from the vaulted ceiling, but the fabric is limp in the still air.

We go in, everyone bowing and gaping and whispering as we pass.

I want to gape and gawk at all the sights—I’m in the fae realm! In the Summer Court!—but I pretend I’m indifferent. I don’t want to be the stupid fae girl raised by mortals, shocked by the very sight of a palace.

The hallway leads us deeper inside, but domes of glass above us cast hazy light throughout the space, making it feel warm and cozy and bright.

When the hallway ends, we’re deposited into a large circular room with a high ceiling with hand-carved arched beams that remind me of European abbeys. There’s a gurgling fountain in the middle of the room and hanging above it, a giant chandelier with crystals that wink in the light.

And directly across from us, past the fountain, is a raised dais where the queen sits on her throne.

There is a crowd here. They’ve clearly been expecting us. There’s no mistaking the buzzing energy here is different than the buzzing I felt in my legs. This is excitement, apprehension, a hunger for drama.

“Bring her here.” The queen’s voice rings out, echoing around the room.

“Of course, Mother.” Maven takes my hand, and I can’t help but look back at Arion, begging him to help me.

But he’s powerless here. I’m seeing that now. His mother betrayed the courts. His mother was a traitor.

He’s no prince.

Maven drags me across the room, skirting around the fountain, then up the three marble steps to the expansive dais.

The air is cooler here, thank god, and the wet basement smell is gone, but I can tell they’ve had to work hard at that, overwhelming the throne room with florals. It’s like a perfume counter in a department store after a someone sampled every scent under the sun.

My nose itches.

The queen rises from her throne. I try not to look directly at her, but it’s hard not to gape at a queen. Even one who probably wants you dead.

Her steps are silent as she comes nearer, the long, silky train of her dress dragging behind her.

She’s flanked by two other women—one with bright blue eyes and milky skin, the other with dark green hair and darker skin. Both are wearing swords at their hips and armor that reflects the light.

Silence descends over the room, but it’s hard to hear it over the loud thumping of my heart in my ears.

What happens now? Am I supposed to bow? Curtsy?

The queen just stands there several feet in front of me and I keep my eyes trained on the marble floor, trying not to overthink this thing.

Just act normal.

Just act normal? How?

“Well?” the queen says. “Did you ask her?”

Maven laughs. “I forgot in all the excitement!”

“Ask me what?”

I look up and catch the queen’s eyes. Her irises are a deep shade of amethyst, almost black. I can’t read anything there. She gives nothing away other than distant distaste.

My heart thuds harder and my hands tingle with new energy. I can’t feel my toes. My stomach churns.

Don’t barf on the Queen’s dress.

“Apologies, Mother,” Maven says and then he gets down on one knee. “Jessie MacMahon, Princess of the Winter Court, will you take my hand in marriage and be my wife?”