The Prince from a Cruel Summer (Curse of the Fae #3)
1. Exile
Chapter 1
Exile
BETH
Los Angeles, New World, Present Day
A n electrifying roar of excitement fills my ears as I step onto the stage for the encore. Thousands of cellphone lights blink in and out of view, dazzling me. The powerful vibrations of the speakers under my feet are nothing compared to the screams and shouts of an adoring crowd, applause and whistles and vows of eternal love echoing through the stadium.
“Thank you, Los Angeles! You’ve given us everything you had tonight!” I wave to my fans. “But you know me… I can’t leave without a kiss goodnight.”
A mix of howls and tearful screams engulf the stage as I take position for the last number—my most popular single, “Summer Kiss.”
The mic is heavy in my hand, this song reminding me of the letter and invitation balled up in the trashcan of my dressing room. I left it there minutes before the concert started, and I still can’t believe it’s real.
The music swells, blowing out all thoughts of despair and betrayal. The clarity I get whenever I sing in front of tens of thousands is the best drug any Fae could hope for. We’re wired to crave attention and devotion from mortals, and yet I don’t have to feed on their dreams or collect their souls as they pass to another life to earn it.
I can share their sorrows and joys through music without the burden of ruling over their hearts.
That makes me luckier than most Fae royals.
I reinvented myself a few times since my exile started, from the pearls and frills of the roaring twenties, to the modern sound stages and glitter of pop stardom, and I’ve finally found something to live for. The fans have become my whole life, all the pain I’ve carried into this world turned into something useful and beautiful by their love.
I love them, and they love me. And that’s enough.
Or at least it should be.
The dancers take place behind me in the dark as we prepare for our cue. The intro pierces the veil of smoke and shimmering lights, and I sing, my magic healing their hearts and mine—if only for a night. There’s no doubt this is what I was made for.
Your wind lured me
Under the willow tree
Into your summer dream
You stood barefoot in the stream
As you strung out your lies
To catch imprudent butterflies
My delicate powdery wings
Picked right off the seams
A devil’s deal was made
And sealed my fate
They were cruel
The games you played
With my heart
My body
My soul
You took all you wanted
And shrugged when it ended
A liar, a player, a shameless flirt
Let me ask you, Wonder Boy
(Tell me the truth)
Was it all for nothing?
(Ooh, You’re nothing to me now)
You knocked on my window
Under the midnight shadow
And smiled like the devil
(Watch out for the devil at your door)
A smarter girl would have turned you away
(Watch out, Watch out)
But I melted in your arms
Spellbound by your charms
I guess you didn’t know
How to handle snow
Fire and ice don’t mix for a reason
I guess I’ve learned my lesson
And after I turned my back on you
I never looked back, sugar plum.
(No, I never do.)
Complete darkness takes over, the spell I used to force all the electronic devices to shut down for a few seconds a secret recipe of mine. I slip out of my white dress in one fluid motion and run the length of the stage in the black leotard and harness I had underneath.
Dramatic exits have become part of my brand and made all the more impressive by my perfect night vision, a trait most dark Fae share that confounds mortals.
Every single person on my crew wants to know how I manage to zoom through the dancers and clip the wire onto my harness so quickly and perfectly every time, despite it being pitch black, and it has become a mystery I cater to every chance I get.
The wire hauls me all the way up, up, up.
When the lights flicker back on, I’m no longer at the end of the catwalk, but on the very top of the soundstage next to a giant cardboard cloud with a hidden door carved into it. Mere seconds have passed, and the crowd goes wild.
A giant spotlight showcases my location, and confetti rains from the sky as I blow them one last kiss and exit through the door.
On the other side, I clip my wire to the long safety pole and climb down the ladder. Becky, my loyal assistant, is waiting for me at the bottom.
“Great performance, Beth,” she says. “Flawless exit, as always.”
I hand over my in-ear monitors, mic, and battery packs, and wipe my dark bangs away from my forehead. Sweat and glitter stick to my hair and neck.
“Another one in the books. Praise the gang for their performance, please. I’m going to change.”
“I wish you’d tell me what upset you, earlier.”
I offer her a warm smile and squeeze her shoulder in reassurance. “It’s nothing, Becky. I just need a bit of alone time.” I zip down my knee-high boots and slip through the hallways in my bare feet to my dressing room.
I’m not known for being a diva, but tonight, I need space. I’m going to set fire to my trashcan and order a strong drink. And possibly fuck the sexy bartender that comes with it.
Once the door of my dressing room is securely closed behind me, I wipe the red lipstick off and sneak a glance at the wrinkled envelope on top of the trash. The torn heart-shaped seal fills me with dread, but I pick up the invitation and read it a second time.
Dear Miss Snow,
I’ve been a fan of yours for decades, and when I watched your dazzling performance during the live broadcast of Elio Lightbringer’s wedding, I knew I had to do everything in my power to meet you. I’m getting married three days from now at the Royal Academy in Augustus, and it’s my dream for you to sing “Never to Be” at my wedding.
I will send for you tomorrow night at your hotel, and we can discuss terms.
Consider yourself my guest of honor.
Your biggest fan,
Heather Heart
A downright adorable note if it wasn’t for the wedding invitation tucked underneath it. The name of the groom reflects off the silver and gold calligraphy, sharper than a knife’s edge.
It’s not every day you get invited to your ex’s royal wedding. It’s even rarer for the poor bride to have no clue of what she’s just done.
Immortality has its drawbacks. Most Fae I’ve grown up with are frozen in time, and I am no exception. We are full of regrets, yearning for something that used to be or could have been. It’s so easy to forget to heal when you’ve got all the time in the world to wallow in past mistakes.
It’s been almost a hundred years since I set foot in Augustus, the sparkling coastal town where I got my first taste of blinding happiness and heart-wrenching loss. Yet, the crisp crinkle and faint citrus scent of the invitation bring me right back to the night of the admission trials, fireflies shimmering in the night, the boys of summer ready to shred me to pieces.
A strangled grunt grates my throat as I ball the letter and invitation.
I should leave the ghosts of my past alone, but Winter Fae are used to digging up graves. Even after all these years, I wonder, what would my life look like if I’d gone right instead of left in that damn labyrinth?