Page 106

My heart began to pound when a tall, slender figure climbed gracefully out of the car, fingers delicately placed in the hand of another guard who helped her. She was wearing gold silk gloves and a sleek gown, with a fox fur stole draped over her narrow shoulders, the teeth on its lifeless face glinting in the sun.

Her expression was one of utter disdain as she looked at my house. A circlet of spring flowers rested atop her head of long golden hair, which hung loose down her back. I’d never seen her in human form before, and it was jarring to see her with pale, rosy skin and her enormous iridescent wings nowhere in sight.

Lifting her chin, face still painted with disgust, she began walking regally toward my front porch, still resting her hand in her guard’s as he accompanied her. Two of the others strode up the steps to flank my front door, while the rest fell into step behind her.

My breath shuddered out of me as I stumbled back from the window, almost toppling onto the bed.

My mother was here.

Chapter Thirty-Five

The Spring Queen

Crossbody

A firm knock sounded on the front door as I stood at the top of the stairs, my heart thudding hard and sweat prickling under my clothes.

Why was my mother here? She’d never visited before. As far as I was aware, she’d never even been to this world before. She’d managed to find my address about a year after I’d moved here—probably ordering a staff member to do it, who’d in turn found a fae in this world to carry out the task—but only to send me vitriolic letters, reminding me that I was a coward and a terrible son and a disgrace to her name.

Reminding me that no matter where I went, she would always be able to find me. That she would always get her way in the end, no matter how long it took. My mother was very good at being patient when it came to both her ruthless ambition and her cold desire for vengeance on those who slighted her. She didn’t have a hot temper. She didn’t act rashly or make rushed decisions. She was calm and calculating and utterly vicious in a very careful and thought-out way.

And she was here. At my home. At the place I’d found for myself to escape her and her palace and her unflinching expectations of me.

One of the guards knocked again, harder this time. Almost threateningly. I knew they wouldn’t leave. My mother wouldn’t allow herself to be made a fool of, not after coming all this way for some unknown, terrifying reason.

You can do this, I told myself, gripping the banister and beginning to slowly descend the stairs, my legs trembling. You can hold your own against her. You can. Just get through it. Don’t agree to anything, don’t allow her to manipulate you, don’t let her make you feel small and weak and worthless.

Don’t let her destroy everything you’ve built for yourself.

I found myself nervously trying to smooth down my hair. I hadn’t even brushed it yet, and I knew the way she’d look at me.

I hurriedly dabbed my forehead with my shirt sleeve, because I could feel my hairline prickling with sweat. With trembling fingers, I unlocked the front door and opened it.

When I laid eyes on her from up close, it seemed like all the air went out of my lungs at once.

She said nothing at first, just slowly looked me up and down, her features still delicately arranged into the disdainful but still regal expression she had perfected. The guards were silent and unmoving, but the two standing on either side of her were watching me with blank expressions.

“So this is where you’ve been… slumming,” she finally said. The sound of her voice for the first time in six years made my entire body clench up in fear.

I didn’t speak or move, my palm damp as I clutched the door handle. When her chin dipped in a curt nod, the two guards standing either side of it walked inside silently, brushing past me. And I let them.

I let her walk inside uninvited too, her nose wrinkling as she took in the front hallway. She didn’t look at me again, just allowed her guards to lead her into my living room while the others followed, except for two who stayed outside, flanking the front door and facing the driveway.

Finally, I moved, my legs unsteady as I walked slowly into the living room. A guard had laid a swathe of lavender silk on my couch, covering the cushions so she could sit. She looked around again, lip curling as she took in the TV, the lamps, the modern furniture. Then she lifted a gloved hand to her nose.

“Is there a wild animal in here?” she asked in disgust. “It stinks. And there’s dirty fur everywhere.”

My nostrils flared. My house did not fucking stink. And she was wearing a fucking fur stole.

At once, a guard produced an embroidered handkerchief, which she delicately held under her nose.

I finally spoke, my voice hoarse. “I have a cat.”

“You have a what?” She looked revolted. “Those things that are kept in barns to eat mice and rats? Do you have rats skittering through this… hovel?”

I started breathing harder with anger. My house was not a fucking hovel.

“She’s my pet,” I grated, suddenly fiercely protective of Lady Potato.