I raise a confused eyebrow, and Mack jumps in to explain. “This part is the official Selection, but most of us have already been claimed, unofficially, by an Evermore.” She tilts her head to Basil, the Faun who was in the boat earlier. “Basil has already promised to claim me. But you . . . you’re the wild card. You haven’t been claimed, and no one really knows anything about you.”

I release a nervous breath and sweep my gaze over the crowd. Thankfully, the Selection ceremony is well underway, and attention has drifted from me to the shadow candidates, who mill nervously near the front. I follow Mack to a spot near the back of the group.

When our names are called, we go stand on a small stage in a circle of crystals. A dark blue Fae, who introduces himself as Cronus, the Master of Ceremonies, reads out a little spiel on our lives. I try to focus on his words and not the deer antlers rising high above his head.

Unsurprisingly, the Unseelie choose the humans they deem cruel or cunning. I study their ranks, trying to catalogue the different courts. According to Wikipedia, the Unseelie are made up of Winter Court, Autumn Court, Lunar Court, Dusk Court, and the Mortal Beasts Court.

The Winter and Autumn students are easy to recognize; Winter wears silvers and blues and ivories and loads of fur, their hair varying shades of the same. Autumn Fae dress in Fall colors, orange and brown and red.

The Lunar and Dusk Courts are harder to pinpoint because the students dress similarly.

On our side, the Seelie side, the courts are what you would expect. Summer, who wear loads of green and gold, Spring, clad in vibrant pinks and yellows and purples. The Star Court wears light, gauzy clothes that sparkle under even minimal light. The Dawn Court sport colors of the sunrise, mainly orange and red, and Mythological Creatures Court have adopted earthy colors like juniper and coffee-brown.

The Mythological Creatures are fascinating. Along with centaurs and fauns, there are countless beasts from the storybooks like orcs, pixies, and even mermaids.

It’s interesting, and if I wasn’t about to be chosen like a slab of meat, I’d probably enjoy this part more.

When Mack enters the stage, several Seelie look interested in choosing her, but just as she predicted, she ends up with Basil. He smiles kindly at her during the process, running a hand through his short red hair. A pang of disappointment sweeps over me knowing I may not be as lucky.

I’m a loose cannon, a bad bet, and I’ll be surprised if anyone selects me.

Still . . . my generally optimistic nature makes me hope. Maybe I’ll be lucky enough to end up with an Evermore like Basil instead of Inara. Someone who thought to cover me with a blanket and actually looked sad when a human drowned.

I don’t think that’s asking too much from the universe to match me with someone who isn’t spawned from Satan and surrounded by a pack of beautiful mean-girl sociopaths.

A girl can dream.

My name gets called near the end. As I walk up to take my place in the circle, the crowd goes silent. The bubble of heat still protects me from the wintry air, but goosebumps ridge my flesh anyway as the cruel gaze of the Evermore scrapes over me.

The boos start right away as Cronus calls out, “Who claims this mortal as their shadow?”

He has a flair for the dramatic, all grins and bows, but I can feel his anxiety all the way from here.

Right there with you, guy. I shift on my feet, nerves making it hard to stand still. My gut twists, and I wrap my arms around my chest to keep my arms from shaking. Now I know how cattle feel when they’re auctioned off at livestock shows.

Maybe no one will choose me? What happens then?

My sprite zips above my head and hands off a tiny scroll to Cronus.

The Master of Ceremonies squints down at the scroll, held between his delicate blue fingers, and begins to read from it. “This human female is eighteen years old. She hails from the Tainted Zone. Her hobbies include hunting and stealing, and she was kicked out of her high school for assault. She’s thin, but with proper food she could look decent.”

I glare up at the sprite. Who made this bio?

“Although untrained in the fighting arts, she’s feisty, mean, and prone to violence. All useful traits when you need your shadow to travel to the scourge lands for rare herbs, or desire protection from a darkling.”

Feisty and mean? Pfft. I roll my eyes.

Cronus peers down at the scroll for a breath, frowns, and then rolls it up. “Any takers for this human?”

Wow. This is sad. Worse than all those times I was chosen last in gym class.

Compared to the illustrious bios of the other humans—private schools, numerous awards, speaks five languages, already accepted into Ivy League colleges—mine is pitiful, and if I didn’t recognize how lacking my life was before, I’m all too aware now.

I’m tugging at my hoodie when a voice rings out . . . no, make that two voices.

“I claim her,” both voices say.

Sure I misheard, I whip my head up to see who spoke . . . as does the rest of the crowd. The second I take in the Summer Evermore, Rhaegar, striding toward the stage, my face breaks into a sloppy grin.

The other Evermore walks on the opposite side of Rhaegar. She’s the Lunar Court girl I admired earlier, the one with the crescent jewelry and beautiful silver hair.

Someone wants me. Two people, in fact. I barely manage to keep from fist pumping the air in triumph.

I. Am. Wanted.

I’ve already decided that if I get to choose, I’m going with the Summer Evermore. But I have no idea how this works. None of the other candidates had more than one Fae claim them.

“I claim this mortal for the Winter Prince,” a third male voice chimes in.

Whoa. I glance to my left and nearly die of shock. My former tormentor and rooftop crush stalks to the stage, his silver cloak rippling out across the snow behind him.

Where did he come from?

Everyone has gone completely still. I recognize the emotion tightening their faces: fear.

Everyone but Inara, who somehow manages to look even more homicidal than before as she watches him approach me. Maybe she has a thing for the Winter Prince’s lackey.

For his part, he seems oblivious to the effect his presence has on the crowd.

Those arresting eyes lock onto mine and another strange shock carves up my spine, similar to what I felt when I touched the lock earlier and somehow broke it. A raw emotion burns through me, expectation and something . . . else.

Something so close to desire that I take the inside of my cheek between my molars and bite, hard, just to make it disappear.

When the metallic taste of blood chases away all emotions except loathing, I allow my gaze back on the offending Fae. He’s still watching me as he strides up to the stage.

I match his glower with one of my own. I’m not afraid of you.

But my heart hammering in my chest says otherwise, and I’m ninety-nine percent sure he can hear it because a menacing grin carves his sharp jaw.

The cruel lilt of his lips chills my blood.

Cronus is looking from my potential Fae masters to me, his ears flickering back and forth. His expression a mixture of confusion and shock that undoubtedly matches my own.

Cronus waits until all three of the Fae are standing in front of me before he says, “We’ve never had three claimants before. I need to check with the sprites on what the academy guidelines state.”

As Cronus confers with a swarm of sprites who yell over each other, I wait for my future to be decided.

Rhaegar cuts his eyes at my tormentor. “I thought the Winter Prince didn’t lower himself to have mortal shadows.”

My tormentor shrugs without tearing his gaze from my face. “The Winter Prince thinks having a mortal shadow might be fun.”

Fun? I grind my jaw to keep from saying something stupid. I’ve already pissed off enough Fae today. Last thing I need is to publicly antagonize the emissary to the Winter Prince, or whatever title my tormentor carries.

“More like he wants to present his mate with a human plaything,” the Lunar Court girl points out, glancing back at Inara, who looks ready to traipse up here and murder me with her bare hands.

Mate? For some reason this shocks me. I’ve never met this Winter Prince, but I already know he’s just as cruel and hateful as Inara. Who else would have rules demanding death for stealing a single apple?

It’s hard to imagine either of them finding someone to love. But I guess dark attracts dark.

“So why do you want her, Eclipsa?” Rhaegar asks. “I thought you said owning shadows was stupid?”

I study the Lunar Girl. She’s one of the Elite Six, but she doesn’t have the same cruel look as the rest.

Lunar Girl doesn’t even acknowledge me as she says, “I like her spirit.”

I hate the way they’re talking around me as if I’m not here, but I’m playing nice so I ignore the urge to wave my hand and remind them.

Finally, Cronus shoos the sprites away and announces my fate. “I believe the rules state in this case, the human chooses who they want to shadow.”

Thank. God.

My shoulders sag as relief pours through me. Well that makes this easy. I step forward, ready to shout Rhaegar’s name, when my tormentor interrupts.

“That may be the rules of the Selection,” he says, his unsettling silver-blue eyes never leaving mine. “But Evermore law dictates, technically, everything in the academy belongs to the prince from the ruling court.”

Mother cracker.

I glare at him. Unlike last night, he wears all the finery of what I imagine an elite Fae wears, right down to the silver ceremonial armor that fits his lithe form and the sleek leather gloves covering his long fingers. And holy hell it’s hot.

But the most luxurious clothes in the world couldn’t hide the horrible soul beneath.

Then he turns to me and winks. The bastard winks. His blue-black eyelashes brushing his sharp cheekbones. And any bit of willpower I had left to play nice disappears.

“Don’t you ever get tired of being ordered around?” I blurt. “Do this. Do that. Ruin this innocent human’s life. You’re . . . you’re basically the Winter Prince’s bitch.”