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I’m halfway down the first flight of stairs when I remember I left my handbook in the office. Crap. When I get to the door of her office, I pause. Mr. Willis, the head Shadow Guardian, leans against the side of the desk, deep in conversation with the headmistress.
“. . . cannot have another student death at our school,” the headmistress is saying. “You saw her! She has no idea what awaits her inside this academy.”
Willis’s bushy eyebrows mash together, and he places a large hand on the headmistress’s much smaller one. “I’ll keep an eye on her. Make sure she gets extra attention from Richter and extra training.”
“It’s not enough.” Lepidonis’s gaze drifts to the window. “You know what they’re like here. I doubt she’ll make it through the Selection.”
“I could inform King Sylverfrost about her presence.”
“No. You know what he would do with her.” The headmistress’s words tumble out quickly, and I detect more than a hint of fear in them. “I cannot imagine why, but the girl is here. Now, let’s just hope she understands the danger she faces.”
11
My boots slap loudly against the metal stairs as I try to find where I’m supposed to go next. But my mind keeps drifting to the words I overheard, and cold sweat trickles between my shoulder blades. Why does everyone make this school sound terrifying?
Unfortunately, according to my handy little map, the visitor’s wing is on the other side of the building. It takes me five tries to find the right place. The visitor’s hall is ancient, cobwebs hanging from dusty corners and a faded gold rug lining the dim corridor.
When I get to the last room on the left, I balk at the tiny apartment. There’s a cot, a nightstand, and a circular window barely the size of my head.
I need air. Space. Sunshine. A place to comfortably freak out.
As luck would have it, there’s a stairwell at the end of the hall that leads to the roof. The moment I breathe in fresh air, I feel some of the tension bleed from my body. My boots crunch across the flat gravel roof that looks out over the campus as I make my way to the wrought iron railing.
I run my hand over the sharp finials and cast my gaze over the white world beyond, squinting in the hazy half-dark.
The campus is everything I thought it would be: ethereal, magical, and horrifying.
A wintry forest spreads to my left, curving to fill the entire eastern half. Directly below, a courtyard sits, nearly unoccupied. I’d guess it’s around four in the morning, and the campus seems to be finally winding down.
I’ve read the Fae are nocturnal, but eventually, even they have to sleep.
In the far distance, starlight shimmers over the surface of a large frozen lake. And the cold. Oh, God, the cold is like nothing I’ve ever felt.
All of that alone is enough to take my breath away. But it’s the ancient, primordial feel of this place that stipples my skin and settles in my gut. The promise of monsters and magic and a beautiful, lethal world beyond my comprehension.
I’m not sure what makes me turn around. A sound, perhaps. A feeling. When I do, my breath catches in my chest and I retreat a step, back pressed into the hard railing.
“You’re not going to jump, are you?” a Fae male says.
He stands a few feet from me. He’s tall, imposing, power coming off him in waves. And sweet Baby Jesus he’s gorgeous. The kind of beautiful you feel in your belly. Maybe it’s the way the silvery light falls over his features. Or the confidence exuding from his every pore. Or just the fact that his mouth is bowed at the top and full at the bottom.
But I suddenly can’t breathe.
“No, of course not,” I gasp, trying to mask the effect he has on me.
By the glimmer in his eyes, I’m pretty sure that he’s aware. Since he seems to already read me like an open book, and since I’m terrible at hiding my feelings, I don’t even bother masking my curiosity as I study him.
Despite the cold, he wears black jogger pants and a soft white T-shirt, both impeccably made and undoubtedly expensive. My gaze falls to his arms.
I never thought I would find this part of someone beautiful, but his arms seem carved from marble. Sinewy muscle curves and twists, trapping shadows. His flesh is smooth and pale and seemingly impervious to the bone-aching chill.
Winter Court Fae. Has to be. That also explains his icy demeanor.
I move my assessment to his face, taking in his features carefully. The way you savor a bite of rich cheesecake or swirl wine around your mouth first before swallowing it. Piercing silver-blue eyes glow softly, rimmed by dark blue lashes. Jagged cheekbones form deep hollows that end at a jaw you could slice apples on. His nose is straight, almost severe, but it somehow makes his inhumanly large eyes and soft, swollen lips work.
“How many Fae have you seen up close before?”
I startle at his voice. A deep, elegant voice tinged with an accent I can’t place and a whole lot of amusement.
