Mack finishes readjusting her high ponytail; half her hair is too short to reach and it falls to her shoulders. “He may seem like a jerkoff, but when it comes to fighting, the Winter Prince is a god. I hear he trained directly under his grandfather, the Darken.”

I shiver, the name dredging up memories from school. We didn’t learn much in high school about the Fae, but my history class did cover the Lightmare. There was only one page on the terrifying Unseelie king who ruled over all Fae-kind, King Oberon. He was responsible for unleashing the catastrophic dark magic on the world during the war—before both sides decided he was too evil even for them and slaughtered him.

For both Seelie and Unseelie to turn against him, he must have been horrible.

“The Winter Prince actually trained with King Oberon?” I mutter, refusing to use his creepy nickname. “That explains so much.”

The Winter Prince stops talking and glares at us. “Something you want to add, Princess?”

“Nope.” I shake my head to emphasize my point.

“Good. Because you’re first. Get up here.”

23

Scowling at the prince, I slowly make my way through the crowd to the front of the mat where he stands. A nervous energy chokes the room. Whatever I’m going first for, it’s probably not good.

He takes a step toward me, sending my heart into a tailspin. His eyes flicker—enough that I know he can hear my rapid heartbeat—and then he leans forward and whispers, “I just need to put this on you. Okay?”

After days of his disdainful tone, the sudden gentleness of his voice is jarring. He’s so near I can smell him—balsam and cedar and the air right after fresh snowfall.

I blink. Yes, Summer. You just sniffed the Winter Prince in front of everyone.

Someone laughs.

“Yes?” he prods.

Oh, right. Answer him. I nod as my wide gaze rivets to the black vest he carries, right before he slips it over my head. Three red targets cover the vest; one in front where my heart is, one just over my liver, and the last on the back, dead center where my skull meets my spine.

When he calls Reina up next, my body becomes a live wire of adrenaline. Reina’s eyes are locked onto mine as she moves into position across from me. Eclipsa fits her with a vest. Twin fish-braids carve down either side of Reina’s head. A few dots of old blood stain the strips over her nose.

Someone came to play.

“Summer,” the Winter Prince calls, and I glance over my shoulder at him, just in time to spot the baton he tossed—hurtling end over end at my face.

On instinct, my hand flies up, and, for once, my fingers aren’t clumsy as they flex around the cold bar and I manage to catch it.

Yes!

I’m incredibly pleased with myself . . . until Eclipsa tosses a baton to Reina, who snags it without breaking eye contact with me. Inara grins behind her.

Crap.

Cold sweat crops on my temples as I take in her predatory stance—legs spread, one leg forward like she’s ready to pounce—and the lethal gleam in her dark eyes. Mack said all the other shadows have trained in mixed martial arts their entire life in preparation for the academy.

I caught her by surprise the other day. That won’t happen again.

The Winter Prince crosses his arms over his chest and sweeps a dark gaze over both of us. “The rules are simple: if Reina touches me, she wins. If Summer touches Inara, Summer wins. Your job”—he glances at Reina before letting his icy blue eyes settle on me—“is to protect your keeper. Anyone who lights up the other’s vest three times wins by default.”

Rhaegar grunts in annoyance at the Winter Prince’s implication that I’m his shadow, but my focus doesn’t deviate from Reina. The moment I look away, she’ll strike.

We circle each other. The room goes quiet, highlighting the thrum of my heart pounding in my skull. I can’t quite catch my breath. Can’t blink for fear—

One second Reina is in front of me. The next, she’s hurtling for me at lightning speed. I throw up my baton, barely blocking the end of hers from striking the target above my heart. The impact of our batons colliding splits the air and reverberates in my forearm like electricity.

I might have knocked her baton aside, but her body keeps coming. She pivots, her shoulder slamming into my chest.

My arms spin as I fly back on my ass. The mat does little to soften the blow, pain shooting up my tailbone. With me out of the way, she lunges for the prince.

Hell, no. I pop to my feet and rush her. Seconds before she reaches the prince, I slam my baton into the red target at her neck, sending her sprawling. The red light flickers, filling me with hope that I can win.

From my periphery, I swear the prince’s eyes crinkle with amusement.

Rhaegar and Mack cheer, along with a few of the Seelie. I find myself grinning, my dry lips practically pasted to my teeth.

Reina fell to her hands and knees, but she explodes back to her feet with a grunt. When she turns around, I flinch at the fury inside her eyes. Nostrils flared, she glances over at Inara, who gives her a little nod.

Wiping her mouth, Reina stalks toward me, mouthing, you’ll pay for that, bitch.

I’m ready this time when she attacks. I might not know martial arts, but I’m fast, and I manage to dodge her advances. But each charge, she gets closer.

Meanwhile, I’m slowing down. My arms ache; my head spins wildly from the exertion.

Then her baton catches me in the mouth. My bottom lip splits open as blood splatters.

Mother trucker, it hurts.

My adrenaline turns the pain into a dull ache, and I prod the area with my tongue, ensuring I still have teeth left. After that, she catches me on the temple, knocking me dizzy. Blood drips from my forehead into my eye. My fingers and hands are next. She strikes over and over with lethal speed—too fast to be human.

Every time she makes contact with me, the crowd gasps.

The next few minutes are a blur of metal flashing and throbbing pain. She lands blows everywhere. At first, she’s not even trying to hit my targets. She’s going for my exposed flesh. My face. My head. My hands. Anywhere there’s breakable bone.

Anywhere that will cause excruciating pain.

At some point, Eclipsa begins to rush over, but the Winter Prince holds up his hand to stop her. They argue and then Eclipsa storms to the corner, arms crossed.

Is he enjoying this? Watching me slowly get beaten to a pulp? Rage and betrayal surge inside my veins, forcing me to keep going.

Before I can switch my attention back to Reina, her weapon connects with my shoulder. I hardly feel the blow, even as the force slams through my body.

I stumble.

A few seconds later, a pulse of red flashes from my vest. Another. I didn’t even see her strike. The pain and adrenaline form a fuzzy cloud around my vision. I’m gasping for breath, not even caring how winded I sound. My bare feet slip on the puddles wetting the mat, a mixture of my sweat and blood.

A stinging blow to my abdomen nearly drops me to my knees. The air flees my lungs. I can’t breathe.

For a split second, I lose sight of the prince.

And then Reina switches the baton from her right hand to her left. I follow the movement as she swings the baton at my head, barely ducking as the baton glances off my skull. Waves of dizziness crash over me until I’m drowning in darkness.

Blinking, I claw my way to the surface just in time to catch sight of her bare foot inches from my face.

The roundhouse kick feels like being hit by a sledgehammer to the face. Next thing I know, I’m on my back, staring at the metal ceiling fan whirring above. As the room erupts in cheers, she steps over me and touches the Winter Prince with her baton.

A light, gleeful touch.

Damn.

Get up, I order my body. But it just lays there, broken and sad, in flagrant disregard to my order.

Traitor.

On her way to her cheering fan club, Reina smirks down at me. “Might want to put some ice on that.”

Ouch.

Mack rushes over with a towel for my face. “Is anything broken?”

“Just my ego,” I moan as I press the towel to my lip; the white fabric comes away soaked in blood.

Mack helps me up to a sitting position.

I wince, tears of pain and humiliation stinging my eyes. “Everything hurts and I’m dying.”

She snorts. “You might wish you were dead right now; I saw Bane filming the entire thing.”

“Wonderful.” I’m scared to even touch my face and assess the damage. “How bad is it?”

Mack snags her bottom lip between her teeth. “Imagine if a psychopath took a metal baton and smacked you in the face repeatedly. You look like that.”

I groan as throbbing fire prods my brain. How many times did she hit me? Gathering all my courage, I run my fingers over my face and head. The examination reveals two lumps on my left side, a swollen lip, and a bloodied eyebrow the size of a golf ball.

Eclipsa bounds over to me, an infirmary kit in her hands. “You lasted way longer than I thought you would.”

I pull the towel away from my lip, frowning at the blood. “Thanks. I think.”

As Eclipsa procures a butterfly bandage for my eyebrow, Mack stares in awe at the Unseelie assassin. But I’m too tired and beaten up to care that one of the Six is talking to me.

“She was . . . fast,” I mutter. “Freakishly fast.”

Eclipsa glances at Asher as he strides over carrying a bucket of water and rags. Mack looks like she might pass out at the sight of another of the Six, but she collects herself enough to gape idiotically at them.

Asher clicks his tongue as he drops to one knee beside us, his bulky body taking up a ton of space. “Prince should have called it. Reina was definitely using a speed spell.”

“She cheated?” Mack demands, forgetting her awe over their presence. In her world, cheating is the worst sin possible.

Asher is bent over, flashing a beam of light into my eyes. He glances up through a curtain of dark hair to appraise Mack.

For a moment, his gaze lingers, and I swear sparks alight in his exotic green eyes.

Whoa. Dragon boy definitely checked her out.