Page 18

“There were complications on our journey,” Riven says, his voice carrying the unmistakable authority of royalty. The kind that demands they cease all questioning at once.

The guards nod at each other, then step out of our way.

As we pass through the gates, the weight of stares follow us. Summer fae lining the flowering path toward the palace, their eyes tracking our progress, whispers rising in our wake.

“The hybrid princess...”

“...unnatural...”

“...where are their guards?”

“...Winter Prince in our midst...”

Riven’s hand finds mine, his grip firm. “Ignore them,” he murmurs. “They’re just afraid of what they don’t understand.”

When we arrive at the palace, we disembark from the carriage and are led through the grand corridor to the throne room. It’s a vast chamber where the glass ceiling allows full view of the sky, and water flows down crystal walls, collecting in pools where lilies float.

At the far end, seated on a throne carved from living wood and blooming with flowers, is Queen Lysandra.

Mymother.

A fact that feels far from real.

The royal announcer—a tall summer fae with flowers woven through his hair—eyes us with barely concealed shock before composing himself.

“Her Royal Highness, Princess Sapphire Hayes Fairmont Solandriel Draevor of the Summer Court, the Winter Court, and the New York Vampire Clan,” he declares, stumbling over the sheer weight of my titles. “And His Royal Highness, Prince Riven Draevor of the Winter and Summer Courts.”

“Leave us,” Lysandra commands.

The announcer bows and vanishes.

The queen studies me for a few uncomfortable seconds, her expression giving away none of her thoughts.

“Daughter,” she finally says, the word undeniably strange between us. “Prince Riven. And…” Her gaze drifts to the cheetah and snow leopard by our sides.

“This is Nebula, my familiar,” I introduce my cheetah. “We were united after Riven and I left the Summer Court.”

Riven gestures to Ghost, his voice coolly regal. “And this is Ghost—my familiar, and perhaps the only creature in existence more stubborn than I am,” he says, drawing a smile from Lysandra.

Her laugh spills freely, melodic and teasing. “WinterPrince, your wit remains delightfully tempting,” she says. “You nearly make me regret that my daughter is the one who claimed you first.”

Riven’s eyes glint mischievously. “A near miss, indeed,” he says. “But fortunately for you, Sapphire is a natural at the endless task of managing both my sarcasm and my insufferable disposition.”

I shake my head with mock exasperation. “Someone had to protect the realms from his ego,” I say, turning to him. “Although… I have to admit that I’ve grown rather fond of it.”

His expression shifts to that soft, real smile that he only ever gives me. And when he speaks to Lysandra, his gaze remains locked on mine.

“She’s the only one brave enough—and perhaps foolish enough—to love me exactly as I am,” he says. “And I’ll always honor her courage… by never changing a thing.”

My breath catches. Because this side of Riven—the side that openly loves me with no reservations—is one I’ll appreciate until the end of eternity.

Lysandra’s gaze drifts between Riven and me, a knowing smile playing at her lips.

“My, how things have changed between you two,” she muses. “The last time you stood in this chamber, the air practically froze from how much you hated each other.”

My cheeks warm at the memory—the hatred thatwasn’t mine, and the emptiness in Riven’s eyes that wasn’t his. The lead arrow’s poison and the dryad’s bargain still feel like a nightmare, even though we overcame them in the Cosmic Tides.

“A lot’s happened since then,” I say, reaching for Riven’s hand.