JESSIE

Damien Duval takes the dais at the head of the Duval House ballroom and the gathered crowd—house vampires and mortals—go immediately silent.

It’s not hard to see why Damien can command a room with nothing but a look. He radiates power, demands respect even when he’s dressed down.

Technically we’re holding a party of celebration, but he’s in a pair of black jeans and a black bomber jacket.

When I asked Bran why he and Damien left the tuxes behind, he told me, “It’s Jimmy’s time to shine.”

And shine she does.

She’s wearing a tailored suit dress with cape sleeves and straight shoulders. The bright chartreuse color absolutely pops against her dark skin. Her hair is slicked back in a smooth bun and the diamonds hanging from her ears catch the light every time she moves, glinting like stars.

She is a vision all her own, but when she steps onto the dais behind Damien, she immediately eclipses him.

We are all watching her now. It’s impossible to take our eyes away.

“Everyone, thank you for gathering tonight,” Damien says, his voice booming across the ballroom. “Duval House has an important announcement.”

Bran comes up behind me and wraps his arms around my waist. His breath pools at the sensitive spot just beneath my ear. “Hello little mouse.”

I try not to giggle. I don’t want to make a single peep during Jimmy’s moment.

“Shhh,” I tell Bran and he plants a kiss on my neck, before straightening behind me, the picture of a perfect, well-behaving boyfriend.

“As many of you know,” Damien goes on, “we have had a tumultuous few months, both here at Duval House, and beyond in Midnight Harbor. And while I was indisposed, it was Jimena and Bran who held us together.”

The crowd nods and murmurs to themselves.

“It was during that time that I realized I might have outlived my usefulness at Duval House.”

More murmurs, looks of surprise and shock.

“I may be immortal,” Damien adds, “but I am not invincible, and nor is my time finite.”

Bran tightens his hold on me. I’m not sure if he means to betray how he’s feeling, but the tension that wells up in his embrace says all I need to know. It must be bittersweet, all of this, for him, for Damien, and for Jimmy.

“Ss of today…” Damien pauses, his gaze cutting across the room. “Bran and I are officially stepping down as head of Duval House.” He steps aside and holds out his arms for Jimmy. “I’d like you to please welcome your new Head of House, Jimena Baudelaire.”

The crowd roars with applause and Jimmy steps forward with ease. Like she was born for this.

**

Jimmy is quickly swallowed up by the crowd, by the swell of excitement and congratulations.

Damien pours bourbon into four separate shot glasses just as my sister comes up beside him.

Habit has me checking her for signs of fatigue or magic.

But she looks like my sister, having returned to her former self before a rival vampire and witch house cursed her, followed by a fae queen taking possession of her.

She’s been through a lot.

But ever since we took down the Summer Queen in the fae realm, and broke that magical bond between them, Kelly has been looking better and better.

There’s a healthy glow to her face and a new sparkle in her eye, but more than that, there’s a new drive to her, like she’s no longer afraid to live her life exactly how she wants to live it.

“To Duval House,” Damien says, raising his glass.

Bran pulls his up. “To Duval House.”

They drink.

Kelly and I hoist our glasses in respect and then down our shots.

The alcohol burns, but Duvals only drink the best liquor and this one is no different. It’s smooth and spicy and warms my belly.

“So where will you go first?” I ask them.

Kelly gets in close to Damien and he quickly pulls her into his side, his arm anchored over her shoulders. “I want to go to France,” Kelly says. “I want to see where Damien grew up.”

I sense Bran’s surprise and when I look over at him, there’s unchecked emotion on his face. “You’re going home?” His voice is low and rough.

Damien nods. “You’re welcome to join us.”

Bran’s jaw tenses. “I’m not sure I’m ready.” He gets control of the nostalgia and adds, “Besides, we have too much work to do in the fae realm. The Winter Palace is coming along, but I’m worried the reconstruction crew won’t honor the original design and architecture the way I want them to.”

“I’m sure it will be fine,” I tell him.

He gives me a look like I’ve just suggested we lasso the moon. “’Fine’, Mouse? It will not be fine.”

“The fae know what they’re doing,” I say, but I’m not entirely confident in that statement and Bran immediately proves me wrong.

“Last week I found one of the tradesmen sanding away at an original Walfire mural in the ballroom. If I could have a heart attack, I would have dropped fucking dead.”

“Who is Walfire?”

He cuts me with a look. “You are forbidden from leaving that palace until you’ve spent a week in the library reading up on your court’s history.”

I lean into him and lower my voice. “Will you be there teaching me? Giving me rewards for my lessons?”

The word “lessons” is loaded with suggestion.

His hand comes to the back of my neck, fingers just teasing with pressure. “If you behave yourself.”

Kelly groans and waves the air between us. “I can’t watch this. Get a room, you two.”

I bust out laughing. If only she knew the half of it.

“When do you leave?” I ask them across the table.

Damien checks his phone. “In about ten minutes. The jet leaves in two hours.”

“Wait…jet?! In two hours. Duval House has a jet?” I look up at Bran and he shrugs like this fact is irrelevant.

If I’d known we could fly around the world in a private jet, I would have been planning a vacation by now.

“I wish you would have given me a warning,” I tell Kelly, but immediately regret it. I don’t want her to feel guilty. “I mean…I’m excited for you. But also…two hours.”

She grimaces. “I tried sending you a text a few days ago, but you know there’s no cell service in the fae realm and it failed. I meant to tell you when you got back but I forgot.”

After disentangling myself from Bran, I make my way around the table and wrap Kelly in a hug. “I’m going to miss you.”

“I’m going to miss you too.” She squeezes me tightly against her. “We’ll be together again. I promise.”

When I pull back, there are tears welling in her eyes.

“I’d love for you to visit me in the fae realm when the palace is done.”

She sniffs and dabs at her eyes. “I’ll be there the moment you invite me.”

We collapse into one another again, hugging each other until the very last second.

**

I wake the next morning in my massive bed in my massive bedroom in the Winter Palace.

It’s the Queen’s Quarters, and it’s the entire west wing. My sitting room and bedroom has the best view of the snowcapped mountains to the north, but sleeping with a vampire means I wake to complete darkness.

Sunlight doesn’t affect Bran here like it does in the mortal realm, but we have blackout drapes just to be on the safe side.

I stretch beneath the thick, down filled duvet. My white cotton sheets are always crisp and just cool enough to be comfortable.

God I love this feeling.

“Good morning, little mouse,” Bran says, his mouth dangerously close to my neck.

“Good morning.”

I roll over and nuzzle into him. He still smells like him, like dark amber, but the longer we’re in the palace, the more he smells like winter. Like snowy nights. It immediately makes me feel at home.

I never realized how much I felt like myself in a winter setting. For my entire life, I had convinced myself I was a summer girl. Hah. Ironic now that I think about it.

“Are you ready for today?” Bran asks.

“Is it too late to cancel?”

He chuckles against my neck. “You aren’t getting out of this one. Even if I did allow it, your brother would drag you back easily enough.”

I groan. I know he’s right.

With our goodbyes said and our business concluded in Midnight Harbor, there is just one more small, tiny thing left to cross off our to-do list in the fae realm: my official coronation.

Technically speaking, I’m the only living survivor of the Winter Court, so ceremony or not, I’m the seat of power. I’m not one for parties where I’m the center of attention, but when Arion told me it would benefit me and my court to make it official in the eyes of the entire realm, and Bran backed him up, I was out of excuses to avoid it.

Now, the day is here.

Within a handful of hours, the entire fae realm will come to the Winter Palace to watch Baspin and Arion perform the rites to officially name me Queen of the Winter Court.

Just thinking about it makes goosebumps pop on my arms.

Bran’s hand trails down my stomach. He takes a fold of the soft fabric of my nightgown and pulls up. The drape of fabric between my legs caresses my clit and a sharp little thrill zings through me.

“Perhaps I can help settle your nerves,” Bran says.

“Oh? How so?” I say, already knowing exactly what he means and knowing exactly how much I want that.

Bran doesn’t answer with words. Instead, he answers with actions.

He teases at the fabric again and it tickles in the right place. I moan, arching against him, coaxing him on.

His hand comes up, brushing against my pebbled nipple beneath the thin fabric before pinching it hard, sending a shockwave through my body.

There is never any moment in time, place, or state of being where I do not want the attention of Bran Duval. When I do not want his hands on me. When I do not want to pull pleasure from him with my entire soul.

He kisses me. Softly at first, a brush of his lips. His tongue darts out, meeting mine and I groan into him.

The kiss turns frenzied and deep and his hand trails down between my legs finally giving me what I want.

He touches me through the fabric of my nightgown first and the fabric is immediately damp with my pleasure.

I wrap my arms around him, trying to pull him on top of me, but no amount of magic or willpower will make Bran do what he doesn’t want to do. Apparently I’m not getting his cock yet. He’s going to make me wait for that. How long? Minutes? Hours? Absolutely not days. I will riot.

Finally, he lifts the nightgown away and the feel of his skin on me, his fingers circling my clit, it’s practically supernatural.

My nerves light up. My brain pings with excitement. My body trembles.

He runs his fingers down my slit and sinks one inside, then another while his thumb presses against my swollen nub.

“Oh god,” I say, barely a whisper, barely a sound. “Please,” I moan out.

And then he’s gone.

The sudden absence of pleasure, of his touch, jolts me upright.

The blanket is yanked from my body and then Bran is between my thighs, hands hooked around my legs as he buries his face into my center, his mouth on my most sensitive area.

I’m already flying. I’m already at the edge. And his mouth on me is all it takes to build the crescendo hard and fast.

“Bran…I want…please.”

“Shut up, Mouse,” he says on a growl. “And come in my mouth.”

Within seconds I’m sailing over, my fingers like claws in his dark hair as my hips writhe beneath him, his tongue tasting my come.

He groans into me, devouring my pleasure with several swirls of his tongue.

When it’s over, my muscles are jelly. I practically melt into the bed.

Eyes closed, white light flashes in the darkness.

“Better?” Bran asks me.

I pry open an eye to look up at him. Some light has stolen in through a part in the drapes and I find Bran smiling down at me, his mouth glistening with my orgasm, his fangs protruding from his mouth.

“Much,” I say.

He bends down and plants a quick kiss on my clit and I jolt again, still overwhelmingly sensitive from the orgasm.

“You have exactly ten minutes and then I’m dragging you from bed. Understood?”

I close my eyes again and sink into the plush bed, smiling to myself. “Fine. Yes.”

“Good girl.”

**

My heart is thundering in my chest like a herd of wild reindeer.

Oh god.

Oh god.

Everyone is here. Baspin and Bran and Bianca and Sam have been reporting all of the updates to me as afternoon has descended into twilight.

Now it’s time.

Now I have to walk out there in front of the entire fae realm and pretend I know what I’m doing, that I believe I deserve the title I was born to, that I have what it takes to run this court.

Do I?

Yes, you do.

I want that voice in my head to be mine but it sounds suspiciously like Bran’s.

Because Bran is always the one to push me outside my comfort zone, to remind me I’m stronger than I think.

Earlier, while my hair was being curled and pinned, and my makeup applied, Sam and Bianca were chatting about how normal it is to feel like an imposter, or to doubt one’s place, especially in a place of power.

“Women shy away from power,” Bianca had said. “Because we’re conditioned to believe we either aren’t built for it or don’t deserve it. Even in most witch houses, which you’ll know are historically matriarchal, it’s the men who still talk over us, who try to take power for themselves.”

“Which is the biggest pile of bullshit,” Sam had cut in.

“Yes.” Bianca smiled, nodded. “Bullshit.”

“But queen?” I’d said.

“Why not? Men take on roles of leadership all of the time with far fewer skills and way less experience,” Sam reminded me.

She wasn’t wrong.

“You will make a fair and just queen,” they’d said, almost in unison.

Now, I’m safely in the hushed darkness behind the stage curtains in the Winter Palace ballroom. We’ve spent the last several weeks working on this space so it would be the first finalized for the coronation.

Beyond the curtains, I can hear the din of conversation and the soft melody of fae music. Because the Winter Court lacks musicians, Arion sent over the Summer Symphony and as a show of respect, they learned several Winter songs.

The one currently being played reminds me of Christmas with the lute being the hero, accompanied by a mandolin, a flute, and a violin.

It’s so unlike everything I grew up with in Midnight suburbia. Kelly loved 90s alternative rock and pop music. My mom used to listen to Johnny Cash and Frank Sinatra and Billie Holiday.

This music is so otherworldly. So very fae.

Footsteps sound on the stage and Arion quiets the crowd.

There’s a rush of air beside me and suddenly Bran is there. He’s wearing a fae jacket tailored to his body. It’s crushed blue velvet with silver embroidery around the sleeves and lapel to indicate his status within the Winter Court: the Queen’s consort.

He’s taken to the role with far more grace than I would have expected of a several-hundred-year-old vampire.

“Is the princess ready to become queen?” he whispers as outside the curtains, Arion tells the crowd how proud he is of his sister, of me.

“I’m ready,” I say, and I really do mean it even though I feel like I might vomit or pass out or maybe both.

My ears buzz and heat fans up my chest.

“Please welcome the Princess of the Winter Court, Jessie McMahon.”

The curtains pull back and soft golden light floods onto the stage.

Bran takes my hand and holds it up and out, guiding me forward.

**

The next hour is a blur.

We move through the ritual and the rites. Arion recites from an ancient fae tome bound in leather the color of emeralds. He speaks of duty, responsibility, but above all, love.

In one of the rites, I’m presented with a glass globe with a rose inside. Reciting my oath to the Winter Court, its fae, and the fae realm at large, I place my hand on the globe and send my power inside. The rose glistens with frost and several icicles grow and hang from the petals.

It’s supposed to symbolize life where it intersects with my fae winter power.

When that’s complete, the crowd goes silent and I step forward.

This is it. This is the moment I’ve been prepping weeks for.

“And now,” Baspin says on my left, “it is the Winter’s pleasure to introduce you all to its queen.”

Power blooms at the center of me, rushing up my throat, up through my head.

I have no mirror to check my reflection, but I know the instant my crown forms into several tines of ice, glittering with frosted gems.

The crowd sucks in a collective breath, and then roar with applause.

Tears burn in my eyes and I clamp my teeth together to stop my chin from wobbling.

Finally, I am exactly where I’m supposed to be: stepping into my power.