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“I challenge you to prove you still can.”

The distinction is important. Because I’m not here to steal his crown. I’m giving him one last chance to hold onto it.

From there… well, we’ll deal with that when it comes to it.

“Very well,” he says at last, a cruel smile spreading across his face. “The Trial it is. Although you may regret this path, traitor prince. I taught you much, but not all I know.”

My jaw tightens, and I steady my breathing, picturing a layer of ice around my heart to stop it from burning. Because this isn’t just a fight for the court. It’s a fight for my soul. For the part of me that refuses to becomehim.

The Lonely King.

My father turns to Valerian.

“Stay back with five of your choosing to guard the Prince and Princess. The rest of you—gather every noble, every warrior, and every servant who can be spared.” He fixes his gaze on me again. “One hour, in the Frost Arena. Let the whole court see the fate of those who dare to defy me.”

With a sweep of his cloak, he strides from the throne room, icicles dropping from the ceiling and shattering on the marble floor in his wake. Guards peel off after him in hurried steps, careful to avoid the plummeting projectiles.

The moment they’re gone, Sapphire whirls to face me, her brilliant blue eyes wide with panic. “Are you insane?” she demands, water swirling around her in restless currents. “What even is this Trial? What did you just drag us into? What did youdo?”

I exhale shakily, forcing steadiness into my tone. “The Trial of Frost and Blood is an ancient tradition,” I explain, keeping my voice low. “A formal combat. It’s the only way I can test my father’s ability to rule without being branded a traitor. It ends when one yields or—” I stop myself, but she finishes my sentence in a fearful hush.

“When one dies?”

“Death is rare.” I aim for reassurance, even though my chest clenches at the thought.

“Rare isn’t never,” she says, grabbing my shirt and pulling me close, her warmth burning through the carefully constructed ice around my heart. “Riven, the vision—the one from the Cosmic Tides. You sitting alone on the Winter Throne, broken and empty. What if this is how it happens? What if you’re forced to kill him, and you become the Winter King?”

Her fear crashes over me through our bond, raw and desperate.

“I won’t kill him,” I promise, covering her hand with mine. “That’s not why I invoked the trial. I just need him to agree to drink the potion.”

“And if he doesn’t yield?” she presses. “If he forces you to make that choice?”

I pause as memories of my father’s training snap through my mind—every bruise, and every ice-sharpened warning. Because the truth is, I don’t know. My father has never been one to surrender.

“I’ll do everything I can to find another way,” I say, although it sounds hollow, even to my own ears. “I won’t become that version of myself. I promised you, remember? No matter what futures the Tides showed us, we forge our own path. Together.”

“This seems like the exact kind of path that could lead to that future,” she mutters, gathering herself enough to continue. “Let me help you. We can fight him together.”

I shake my head. “The Trial is one-on-one. Father against son, king against heir. If you interfere, the guards will kill you on the spot. And I won’t risk that. I won’t risk losingyou.”

Not again. Noteveragain.

I reach for her left hand, her magic warm against my skin. “I know what I’m doing, Sapphire,” I tell her, searching her eyes and tracing the mark on her palm, desperate for her to believe in me.

Because without her, I’m nothing.

Just when I fear she might move away from my touch, she shivers, her eyes softening.

“I trust you,” she says, and I relax slightly, grateful for her love. “I just don’t trust ancient fae traditions that involve combat with your mentally unstable father.”

Despite everything, I give her a half-smile. “That’s fair.”

Ghost nudges my leg, while Nebula presses against Sapphire.

“We should prepare,” I say, looking around at the guards in the throne room. “Word will spread like an avalanche. The arena will be packed. Every noble will want to witness the spectacle, hoping for a chance to curry favor with whoever emerges victorious.”

Sapphire nods, then steps closer, pressing her forehead to my chest. “Promise me something,” she says, her voice muffled against my shirt.