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In theory.

“The weapons are only part of our effort,” Lysandra adds. “Our true challenge is breaching their defenses. Until recently, it seemed impossible. However, we’ve been doing research in the depths of our sacred temple, and there, we found our answer.”

“The Ember of Prometheus,” a scholarly-looking fae says, stepping forward with a water-form illustration of a glowing stone about the size of a soccer ball. “An ancient relic of pre-Court magic. With it, we can createa counter-enchantment strong enough to tear down the Night Court’s wards.”

“But you don’t have fire magic,” I point out, watching the water illustration carefully.

“The Ember isn’t just fire,” Lysandra says. “It’s a creation of the primordial gods. A force capable of bridging magical divides.” Her gaze lands squarely on me. “With your unique combination of winter, summer, vampire, and star magics, you are our best hope of wielding it.”

Riven tenses beside me, his emotions flaring through our bond. Protectiveness, concern, and defiance.

Our eyes meet. We don’t need words.

“We’ll go,” we say in unison.

The room falls silent, every eye watching us with a mixture of shock, respect, and in some cases, barely hidden skepticism.

“Your willingness is admirable,” Commander Thorne finally says, “but we must consider the risks. You’re both irreplaceable components of our alliance.”

“Yes,” I agree. “We are irreplicable. Especially because I can dothis.”I reach for Glimmercut, and in one fluid motion, I send the Disc spinning across the room. It streaks through the air, trailing stardust in its wake, before slicing cleanly through the summer-infused weapon Fleur had just proudly displayed—splitting it in half and returning to my outstretched hand.

The two halves clatter to the table, water spilling from the dagger’s core.

Fleur stumbles back, pale. Even Thorne stiffens. Lysandra’s eyes glint—not just with approval, but with pride.

“I’m not just a princess to be locked away in a palace while others fight in my name,” I say, the Star Disc humming with power in my hand. “I was chosen by a goddess who forged a celestial weapon for me.” I step closer to Riven, our magics weaving together—ice and water, starlight and wind. “Riven and I share more than magic. We share a soul. Together, we’re the most dangerous force in existence. If anyone can retrieve the Ember, it’s us.”

Fleur’s too busy gaping at the ruined weapon to focus on my statement. “You just destroyed a priceless enchanted dagger…” she says, her voice trembling. “Do you realize how much time—how much magic?—”

“I demonstrated what our enemies will face while fighting us,” I say, sliding Glimmercut back into its holder. “You can recreate the dagger. But there is no forging another us.”

Riven’s pride pulses through our bond as his hand finds the small of my back, ice magic cool against my spine.

“My wife is correct,” he says, the word cracklingbetween us like a vow renewed. “We’re not asking permission. We’re telling you what’s coming.”

Fleur nods stiffly, gathering the broken halves of the dagger with trembling hands.

Lysandra gestures to the map on the table. “You’ll find the Ember in the Pyros Vault,” she says, pointing to a mountain, back to business. “It exists parallel to what mortals know as Mount Etna in Sicily, Italy, although the part of the mystical realm you’ll enter is far more dangerous than its earthly counterpart.”

“You’re sending us to a volcano?” Riven asks, his brow furrowing.

“Not just any volcano,” the scholarly fae adds, a little too eagerly. “The Pyros Vault is guarded by creatures born of flame and stone. The heat alone is enough to kill most summer fae, let alone winter.”

I move closer to Riven. Because I won’t let anything hurt him. We’ll either leave that mountain together, or we won’t leave at all.

“And the Ember itself?” I ask.

“Volatile. Unpredictable,” Lysandra answers. “It holds the original fire that Prometheus stole from the gods.”

Riven’s fingers trace the outline of the Stillpoint Compass in his pocket, his magic coiling around me. “We’ll need every advantage,” he says, an unsettling darkness crossing his eyes.

“Which is precisely why you won’t leave immediately,”Lysandra declares, her gaze following Riven’s movement. “That compass is too valuable an asset to not be fully charged. You’ll wait until after the full moon, when its power has reset.”

Riven stiffens beside me. “How did you?—”

“I know the artifacts of the fae realms, Prince Riven,” Lysandra says with a knowing smile. “The Stillpoint Compass was created in the Lost Fae Temple with its summer twin—the Astral Compass—which was invaluable a few months ago in defeating the shadow souls in the mortal realm.”

“The full moon is in three days,” Commander Thorne points out. “We’ll use that time to prepare you.”