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Wynter

S ummer sits cross-legged beside me in her bedroom, staring at an urn containing her mother’s ashes. The cracked mirror leaning against the wall in front of us throws back our fractured, ragged reflections.

We’re bruised, dirt-smudged, slumped shoulder-to-shoulder, but still breathing. Still together. And for once? Not running away from anything that’s out to kidnap or kill us. And Ivor’s asleep on the armchair in the bay window, snoring gently.

Summer’s fingers release mine and tighten around the small bowl of salt. In her other hand, a stick of burning mugwort sends up a line of acrid smoke.

A shimmer distorts the air, and her mother appears in the mirror, slowly forming, her expression pinching into that of a woman who never learned how to be gentle or show love. She’s still handsome, but it’s a cold kind of beauty. Sharp-edged, like many fae from the crueler courts .

A soft whine sounds behind us, and I murmur for Ivor to go back to sleep. Everything’s okay. He can rest now. We’re safe.

Summer’s mother flicks a silver wrap over a silky, dark blue top that looks suspiciously like human sleepwear. “Well, you appear to have been busy, daughter. And this is the wolf-boy, I presume? My name is Sorcha. Yours?”

“Wynter Fionbharr. Prince of the Elemental Court,” I say, definitely not showing this woman the dimples Summer is so fond of.

“Mom,” Summer says. “You sold me to the Shade Court. Why would you do that?”

Sorcha shrugs as if betraying her own child is no big deal.

“Fame. Fortune. The usual. Not that it lasted long—your father saw to that, spending all of our money.” She hesitates, then a flicker of something fragile crosses her face.

“And they threatened me. Said if I didn’t sign you over, they’d curse me with accelerated aging.

Said I’d rot from the inside out, wrinkle by wrinkle, until I died a painful, early death. ”

I stay quiet. It sounds as if she’s unaware her husband killed her. If she knew, maybe that smugness would vanish. Or maybe not. Either way, it’s Summer’s story to tell, not mine.

“They threatened you, then told you secrets,” Summer says. “They made your stories better. And you gave the king your daughter in exchange for a wrinkle-free face and seeing your name on bestseller lists.”

“No, not to the king,” Sorcha replies coolly. “To his son—the one who leads the Hunt. He needed a human bride. Her blood on their wedding night. It’s part of their rites, apparently. I wasn’t given many details. They said you’d be fine—a princess, eventually a queen.”

Summer flinches, her hand trembling around the bowl. “They’d have a hard time finding an unspoiled virgin of twenty-five years around Lake Grenlynn, Mother.”

Sorcha’s mouth tightens. “They didn’t say it had to be first blood. Just fresh on the wedding night. Consent optional. The Unseelie don’t care about something as trivial as a girl’s purity. And why should they? We don’t ask to see proof of a wiener’s first sauce dipping, do we?”

Okay, that was kind of funny… but wait… consent optional ? That burns like acid in my gut.

My magic flares at the edge of my control. The ground rumbles beneath the hall, and it takes every bit of willpower not to collapse the floor and watch the mirror tumble through it. Not that it would achieve much. Ghosts can’t be buried a second time.

“They did tell me you might not survive,” her mother adds, voice low and rasping. “They thought you might break, that you’d be too weak. Wondered if you were dark enough for their Court of Shadows. It seems they were right, since they spat you back out.”

Summer’s voice doesn’t shake, in fact it sounds stronger. “You’re the one who thinks I’m weak and strange. That’s what you’ve always said. It was you who didn’t think I was good enough for the dark fae.”

“Because you weren’t,” her mother snaps. “Like an unwanted gift, you’ve been returned. You were a terrible daughter, and it seems an even worse tribute for the Shade Court, since they rejected you.”

I squeeze Summer’s hand as her whole body shakes .

“Rejected? We escaped. So fuck you, Mother dearest. I forgive you, but you can go lie in your grave for all eternity. Right now, please.” Summer throws the salt, and it hits the mirror, bursting into sparks. Light explodes in the room as the glass cracks and splinters.

For one breathless moment, three ghostly women appear behind Summer—the gray ladies at last. Half-formed and dressed in tattered gowns from another age, their hands rest gently on her shoulders, backs straight, expressions solemn.

They look like Summer’s ancestors. Kin. They nod once, then vanish, sucked back into the veil that separates life from death.

Sorcha screams long and raw, the sound cutting off as her ghostly form shatters into tiny pieces. Gone forever.

Summer collapses into my arms, sobbing against my chest. “ Did it work? I know I was meant to be all forgiving and loving, but I couldn’t help telling her to get fucked. Did I completely ruin the banishing ritual?”

“No,” I say, stifling a laugh. “You did just fine. When the spirit form shatters like glass, you know you’ve done the trick.”

“Awesome. But listen, Wyn, if you say the word ‘closure’ right now, I might just punch you in the throat.”

“Wouldn’t dare.”

Marie appears and drifts toward the mirror, hovering a moment like she’s in mourning. Then she turns to Summer, reaches out as if to brush her cheek, then vanishes.

Summer watches the splintered glass for a long beat. Her breathing is uneven, her eyes distant. “Mom’s really gone,” she says quietly. “I always thought I’d feel something different when it happened. Relief, maybe. Or guilt. But I mostly feel kind of... empty.”

I hold her tighter, vowing to dedicate my life to giving her the love she never got from her family.

“I hope Marie doesn’t think I’ll do that to her ,” says Summer, frowning.

“Don’t worry. She looked pleased your mom’s gone, too, if you ask me.”

“Cool. Childhood trauma fixed, then.” Arms wrapped around my neck, she grins up at me. “Shall we make pancakes?”

“How can you be hungry after everything that’s happened tonight?”

“How can you not be after being buried in the ground for a week?”

“I’ve lost my appetite… for food . But maybe we can make pasta Alfredo for breakfast tomorrow. Right now, all I want is to crawl into bed with you and hold you too tight.”

“That’s all? Just hold me? If you could hear my thoughts right now…”

“Yeah,” I say. “Shame that doesn’t work in this realm.”

I kiss her slowly, drowning in her comforting scent and warmth. Every part of me is aching from the fight, from my days buried in a grave. But it’s nothing compared to the ache of nearly losing my mate.

“Give me time,” I say. “I might be able to think of something else to do with you.”

Summer laughs, her breath warm against the base of my throat.

“Tell me the truth, Wyn. Should we worry about Landolin coming back tonight? And Zylah? She seemed way too unbothered by what happened in the dining room. ”

I shake my head. “No, he won’t return for at least a few weeks. He’ll need to bring the Hunt with him if he wants to steal her. They can’t leave Dorthadas until the next full moon, not if they want to run on maximum power. We’ve got time to plan.”

She pulls back to study me. The skin under her eyes is smudged with weariness, but her green irises sparkle with mischief.

“Why do fae obsess over humans? We’re powerless. Weak in comparison. Even in the old stories, it never made sense to me.”

I smile, brushing a strand of dark hair from her cheek. “Guess we know what’s good for us. And also, we have impeccable taste.”

“Fair enough.” Her hand drifts from my chest, trailing down my stomach. Then lower still. “Time for bed, then, I suppose.”

“Stay there, Ivor,” I command. “No matter what strange noises you hear. We’re good. I promise.”

He huffs out a long-suffering breath, wraps his tail over his eyes, and keeps snoring.