ZOEY
I enterthe shared sitting area of my suite and find Victoria and Sophia sitting huddled on the couch, their heads bent close together.
They straighten, their eyes darting to me, as if I’ve interrupted something sacred.
“Morning,” I say, keeping my voice even despite the chill that settles in the room.
Victoria’s gaze cuts through me, sharp as glass. “Did he drain you completely, or just your dignity?” she says, getting straight to it.
Because as the two of them seemingly figured out, I slept in Aerix’s quarters last night. Well, lastmorning,since the night fae keep a nocturnal schedule.
Sophia doesn’t speak. She doesn’t even look up.
Her silence hurts even more than Victoria’s anger.
“Victoria,” I begin, but the older girl cuts me off with a harsh laugh.
“You don’t get to say my name like we’re friends.” Her hands tremble at her sides. “You know what you did. One night withhim, and suddenly you think you’re special? You think you’re above the rest of us?”
“I never said?—”
“You didn’t have to,” she interrupts. “Everyone knows. They realized when you didn’t return after dinner. We’re all perfectly aware that you spent the night in his quarters. Congratulations, Zoey. You’re the prince’s new favorite toy.”
“It’s not like that,” I say, but the excuse sounds hollow, even to my own ears.
Victoria steps closer, her face contorted with pain. “Not like that?” she hisses. “Tell me, what’s it like, then? Did you fall into his bed by accident? Get distracted painting while he seduced you with poetry and wine?” Her eyes narrow. “Or maybe you were too busy whittling your next wooden masterpiece to notice he’s using you, just like the rest of us?”
Sophia finally speaks. “Vicky, maybe we should?—”
“No. She needs to hear this,” Victoria cuts her off, returning her focus to me. “You waltz in here like you own the place—making your wood carvings, painting your pictures, and playing your little games. But you’re just like the rest of us. A plaything. A distraction. A warm body for him to feed from. And you’d do best to not forget it.”
She turns and storms out, the door slamming behind her so hard it rattles the walls, making one of the paintings above the fireplace tilt.
Sophia stands and shifts on her feet. “She’s just upset,” she offers weakly, not saying—or unable to come up with—anything more.
“And you?” I ask, already knowing the answer from her averted gaze.
“I…” She picks at the fraying hem of her sleeve. “You have to see how this looks. Especially after Jake and Matt…”
The implication hangs in the air between us.
Jake and Matt are dead. And now I’m sharing a bed with the prince who everyone thinks killed them.
“I didn’t ask for any of this,” I say, and Sophia gives me a sad smile.
“None of us did.” She hesitates, then adds, “Just be careful, okay? The ones they favor the most are the ones who fall the hardest.”
With that warning, she follows Victoria, leaving me alone with my thoughts and the crushing weight of likely isolation from here on out.
As if I wasn’t already isolated enough after Jake and Matt were murdered by the Night King for touching something of his.
But that wasn’t about me. It was about Aurora, who positioned herself in the perfect place to make it look like it the murders were done for me and not for her.
I have no idea why she did it, but I’m going to find out. And luckily, it’s easy to find her. She’s where she always is—reading in the courtyard like it’s her own private sanctuary, her spine straight, her movements elegant, her stillness calculated.
She looks up as I approach, her perfect features arranged in an expression of mild curiosity.
“Prince Aerix’s favorite has graced us with her presence,” she says as she stands, but there’s no bite to her words. Just a quiet observation.
