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His fingers trail along the scar of frost and starlight carved into my left palm—our vow made in blood. Then he traces eight letters into it, slow and deliberate:

I love you.

My heart all but bursts with gratitude for him, and I turn his hand over, tracing the same words onto his scarred palm.

When I finish, he brings my hand to his lips and kisses the center, his eyes never leaving mine. There’s something wild in his gaze—something beautiful and broken, the kind of storm that only exists after love survives death.

“I’ll keep you safe,” he says, his voice dropping lower. “No matter what it costs. No matter what I have to do, or what I have to become.”

There’s something in the intensity of his gaze that sends a chill through me—not from his ice magic, but from what I feel radiating through our bond. Fear. Doubt. And a darker emotion I can’t quite name.

“Riven?” I reach out, tracing the sharp line of his jaw. “What aren’t you telling me?”

He blinks once, the mask of the Winter Prince sliding back into place so quickly it steals my breath away. “Nothing I want you to worry about,” he replies, clearly wanting to leave it at that.

But I feel it. Beneath the frost, the storm churns.

Without thinking, I lean in and kiss him. It’s tentative at first—a question without words—and I tug him closer, needing something solid to hold on to. Needinghim.

For a heartbeat, he remains still. But then the wall crumbles, and his arms wrap around me, pulling me impossibly closer, his lips moving against mine with an urgency born of fear, need, and love.

When we break apart, his breathing is ragged, his eyes darker and wilder than before. And for just a moment, I see him. Not the prince. Not the warrior. Not the weapon. Butthe boy who lost his mother. The one who watched his father descend into madness, and who has now taken the lives of those he once called friends—all to protectme.

“I won’t let you face this alone,” I whisper, resting my forehead against his. “Whatever’s coming, whatever you’re afraid of becoming—you don’t have to carry it by yourself.”

I slide my hands up his chest, feeling his heartbeat steady beneath my palm.

“It’s yours,” he says. “Our souls are fused, Sapphire. Every breath I take is yours. Every heartbeat belongs to you. As long as I’m alive, no god, no court, and no fate will ever take you from me again.”

The storm still rages in his eyes, but now there’s heat crackling through it, too.

In response, I kiss him again. Harder. There’s no question this time. Only fire.

And then—something snaps.

His hands, usually so controlled, turn desperate as they slide beneath my nightdress with the sort of urgency that makes my body heat with desire. Every touch sears. Every breath is shared. And soon, we’re moving together in perfect rhythm, as if our bodies remember the dance, even when our minds are lost to fear and fate.

Magic builds between us—water and ice colliding, swirling up into a dome of shimmering beauty above the bed. Then it bursts, collapsing into a gentle rain that soaks the sheets, our hair, and our skin.

We’re drenched in magic. In each other. And it’s wonderfully, impossibly perfect.

“I love you,” Riven whispers against my skin. “You’re mine, Starlight. Always.”

I freeze. Not from fear, but because I feel the truth of the name through our bond. The way he’s held it in silence. The way it slipped free now, when he was too undone to stop it.

He lifts his head to meet my eyes, and there’s no smirk this time. No shield.

Just truth.

“That’s what you are to me,” he continues, brushing a damp strand of hair from my cheek. “My Starlight. You always have been, ever since you navigated us through the Wandering Wilds by the stars. But,” he says, and the smirk returns, curling at the edges of something far too sincere, “if you’re still uncertain about my state of existence, I’m happy to demonstrate it again. And again. And again.”

My stomach flips, and I tilt my head thoughtfully, fingers skating across his shoulder. “It might be wise to test that theory at least one more time,” I tell him, feigning as much seriousness as possible. “For scientific purposes, of course.”

He leans closer, his voice a velvet whisper against my ear. “Then allow me to provide you with conclusive evidence.”

His mouth finds mine again, just as demanding, just as consuming. I gasp as his hands slide down my sides, trailing intricate, freezing patterns of ice that bloom and melt against the heat of my skin. My fingers tangle in his hair, dark silk beneath my palms, as I pull him closer, as if I could ever be close enough.

The kiss deepens, turning into something hungrier, something primal. Something not just about proving he’s alive, but aboutclaimingthat life. About feeling it burn between us, through us.