“Not really.”
I sigh. “Not even a little bit?”
Ezryn is silent for a few moments, the only sound thetingof the stone against the edge of the blade. Then he says lowly, “My mother believes in the old legends. That the souls of fae are born from matter of the heavens. That the hearts of fated mates fell from the same star. Though she doesn’t speak of such things, I see the way she is with my father.” Ezryn puts the sword and whetstone to the side, then turns to me, holding my gaze within the dark visor of his helm. “When they are with one another, it is to me as if they are part of the same constellation. Living starlight.”
I hold my breath. Is that what I feel for Dayton? Like there’re threads of starlight connecting us?
“Do you believe there’s someone like that out there for you?” I ask.
Ezryn gives a low laugh. “I fear whatever star I’ve been cast from has not borne a heart suitable for such a thing.”
“Mine neither,” I mumble. Because even if I do feel all those things for Dayton, what does it matter? He can’t even attend a party or respond to a letter.
Ezryn puts a hand on my shoulder. It’s so strong and firm, I shrink beneath the weight. “You should return to KeepHammergarden with the lance. Don’t fret over the issue of fated mates or starlight. It is a phenomenon rarer than the most precious jewel; to wish for it is madness.”
I stand and grab the lance. “You’re right. Thanks, Ezryn.”
Thinking about fated mates is madness, and pretending I might be connected to Dayton like that is even crazier. There’s nothing tying us together but my own obsession.
I need to forget about the Prince of Summer before it breaks me apart.
13
Dayton
I’m hot. I’m too bloody hot.
And I fucking love the heat. But this fire is coming from the inside, and I don’t know how to snuff it out.
Kicking, I toss my sheets off and gaze out the window. Pale pink light shines in. It’s just past dawn then, a time when no sane fae should be awake, unless ending a night of celebration.
Groaning, I clutch at my chest. I cannot be ill, for I’ve seen a healer twice, with no cause for concern. Yet still, I feel like I’m on fire from daybreak until dusk.
Observing the rising sun, I am reminded of one fae who will be up and on duty. And for once, I could use his help.
I can’t take this anymore. I’m in desperate need of relief, even if it means venturing into the place I hate most.
Quickly, I dress and leave my room.
“Damocles!” I call out, storming into his chambers. My brother looks up from his desk, eyebrows raised in surprise. “Take me to Castletree. Now.”
He frowns. “What’s going on?”
“I need to get to Winter.” There’s confusion in his eyes, but he doesn’t argue.
Within moments, we’re traversing through the door that connects Soltide Keep with Castletree, the ancient gateway between the realms. The grand staircase glimmers and a few of the staff stare down at us, curious about the situation.
Damocles shuts the door leading to Summer, then I twist the handle until the symbol above shows a snowflake. My breath comes in short, desperate gasps. “Open it. Please.”
He does so, and we’re greeted by a cool blast of air. The open door now reveals the halls of Keep Wolfhelm. Polished stone floors are adorned with thick rugs. I shiver but step through without hesitation, Damocles close behind.
My mind reels. I’m willingly in Winter, my least favorite of the realms—if you don’t count the Below. I hate this place—the biting wind, the endless cold, the people even colder.
And speaking of cool, we round a corner to see the Prince of Ice himself.
Keldarion.
The man is a mountain of white. Taller than Damocles, his silvery hair falls past his waist. He wears a heavy fur cloak over tight leathers. His piercing blue eyes narrow as he sees us approach.
