Even though Giya and Sook apologized, their ostracism intensified when my parents threw a huge banquet to celebrate my achievement. Iba was particularly proud, because most Seelies learned to fly in their fifth year and had to be taught. I’d picked it up without anyone’s help an entire year early.
It took my cousins several days to come to me and admit they’d been jealous and missed me in the playground. They’d hurt me, but I’d forgiven them because I wasn’t the type to hold grudges. Except toward the Farrows. I held a massive grudge against that family for sullying Nima’s name with their false accusations.
After I landed on the mossy ground, I pushed my curtain of black hair behind my ears and glanced over my shoulder. Sure enough, the recipient of my grudge landed beside me. “Are you going to stalk me the entire way?”
Mouth as tight as his shoulders, he gestured toward the dark entrance at the base of thecalimbor. “My orders were to deliver you to your father.”
“I’m not a package.”
His golden eyes narrowed. I tried to remember what color they’d been before he was made alucionagabut couldn’t. Oh no, wait. Poison green. That was how I’d described them to Giya the afternoon we’d watched Remo and his friends play Floatball, the Seelie version of basketball—the nets were crafted from hoveringvolitorfronds, but the ball was human-made, and when it fell, it fell fast. The players spent more time divebombing after it than scoring points.
I spun away from his venomous glare, speed-walking toward the giant tree edged in silver starlight. As I walked, boots squishing the moss, bobbing faelights overhead illuminating the path that led into the council house, I wondered what was so urgent. Did Iba need to coach me before I met with our illustrious revel guests? I was already well-versed in regal manners thanks to the etiquette classes I’d been subjected to since I’d popped out of my mother’s womb. The only upside to those classes was that Giya and Sook had to take them with me, so when we were bored, at least we were bored together.
Not that we were ever bored long around Sook.
The minute I stepped inside the Duciba, a hush fell over Gregor, Silas, and my father. Curiously, they were the only three people present. Usually there was a representative from each fae faction, but apparently, this wasn’t a Neverrian matter . . . this was an Amara matter. I raised my gaze to make sure no one else was there, but not a singlelucionagahovered. My eyes snagged on the gold circlet mural five stories up from where I stood. I studied each leaf in search of the one Josh had described, but then remembered I wasn’t alone, and staring at the ceiling would raise some eyebrows, eyebrows I definitely didn’t want to raise. I snapped my gaze back to my father, to the leaf circlet glimmering atop his gelled-back, golden-blond hair. I’d gotten Nima’s hair and most of her features, but my eyes were all Iba, a sandy-blue ringed by a stroke of teal.
“You wanted to see me?” I said, approaching.
Silas smiled at me. Even though he was Remo’s stepfather, and Faith’s husband, Farrow blood didn’t flow inside thedraca’s veins, so I liked him.
“Shut the door behind you, Remo,” Gregor said, hazel eyes flickering in the twinkling faelights gathered over his white hair like a swarm of gnats.
The hinges on the great door groaned as Remo and two fellow guards started to pull it shut.
“Remo,” Iba called out, “this matter concerns you, too.”
I frowned, searching my father’s face for a hint of why this matter concerned Remo. Skies, I hoped this wasn’t some sort of parent-kid sit-down to force us to be nice to each other, because that wasneverhappening.
My heart quickened, my fiery, iron-loaded blood swooshing around my body. “What’s going on?”
Iba looked at Gregor.
Dread hardened my stomach like Josh’s claimedgajoï. I didn’t like the solemn look that passed between both men.
Remo came to stand between thedracaandwariff. If our parents hadn’t been present, I might’ve asked him if he felt so threatened by me that he needed to be bookended by a dragon and the prime minister.
He must’ve gleaned my thoughts from the tipped corners of my mouth, though, because his scowl turned positively searing, as though, any minute now, some of his fire would leak right out of him.
“Amara, I know I promised to never force your hand or heart, but you’re almost eighteen, and unless you’ve been extremely discreet,” Iba said, “I don’t believe you have a boyfriend.”
All the blood in my body converged inside my cheeks. “Excuse me?”
“A boyfriend? Do you have a boyfriend?” Did Gregor really mistake my embarrassment for a lack of understanding? “A fae one. Human ones don’t count.”
Remo’s murky stare brightened. If he mentioned Joshua Locklear, I’d toss a handful of dust in his face, not enough to kill him, but more than enough to make him gag until the morning.
I folded my arms, on my guard now. “I don’t see what my age has to do with me having a boyfriend.”
“Tradition wants Neverrian women to bind their essences in the Cauldron before their eighteenth year,” Gregor explained.
“That was in the olden days,” I volleyed back. “This tradition no longer applies. Right, Iba?”
The crow’s feet bracketing my father’s eyes deepened as though he were in pain. Since his health was fine, I assumed the pained look was for what he was about to say. “You’re theprinsisa, Amara. Even though we’re no longer enforcing this tradition among common Neverrians, we believe the royal family needs to uphold this custom.”
Was he saying what I thought he was saying? After feeling overwhelmingly warm, a chill tiptoed down my spine.
“Therefore if you have a boyfriend, you’ll need to end things promptly.” Gregor’s hazel eyes shone as brightly as the faelights spangling the dark hull. Had he put this heinous idea into my father’s head? “At least until after the wedding. What you do once you’re married is entirely up to you.”
