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Sapphire

Pain.

The burning, unbearable agony spreads outward from my chest as Eros’s arrow rewrites me from the inside out. And it’s not just pain. It’s destruction. It’s a force tearing through everything I was, shattering me at the core and reassembling me with sharp, jagged edges.

I need it out.

So, I wrench the arrow free from my chest with a cry so feral it could slice someone’s heart in half.

Technically, given that I’m half vampire, a blow to the heart like this should kill me.

But this is hardly a normal arrow.

It’s Eros’s arrow. The god of love. Which, from what I can gather, is similar to being hit by one of Cupid’s arrows—if Cupid was a devastatingly handsome, cruel, vengeful god.

Needless to say, since I’m not dead, my supernatural healing is already knitting the wound back together, sealing over something far worse than a physical wound.

I should be fine. But as I push myself up into a sitting position, everything feels off. Foreign. Like my body recognizes itself, but my soul doesn’t.

Then, Riven’s voice cuts through the fog like a blade.

“Sapphire!” he says, although something in the way he speaks my name—a name he once murmured like it belonged to him—twists inside me like a knife.

He pushes past Eros, kneels next to me, and reaches for my shoulder.

When he touches me, my world rips apart.

It’s a shockwave of pain exploding through my mind, tearing through me like claws dragging across my soul. My vision blurs, my lungs seize, and suddenly, I’m re-living the horrible moments he and I recently shared.

The cold, emotionless way he kissed the dryad.

His once-familiar silver eyes locking onto mine as he told me he never loved me.

The way he let the ice magic from our deal nearly kill me, then proceeded to use the favor I owed him to take away any bit of free will I had left.

And then, of course, how he mocked my heartbreak, enjoying each verbal punch he swung.

The weight of each betrayal crushes down on me so hard that I nearly choke on it.

“Don’t touch me.” I shove him away, my hands trembling as I do.

He sits back slowly—barely affected by my push—and his expression shuts down, his features smoothing into that unreadable Winter Court mask of his. No softness. No warmth. No love.

Just… nothing.

But the second his touch is gone, so is the unbearable flood of memories. Sure, the ache he left behind remains, thrumming through me like a wound that refuses to close, but I’m no longer drowning in it.

“The arrow,” he says steadily, his silver eyes narrowing as he studies me. “Which one hit you?”

I force my breath to steady, pushing down the lingering wave of emotion that’s wrecking my body and soul.

“That one.” I point to the arrow in question, my eyes not leaving his.

He picks it up, tracing his fingers across its surface.

Lead.

His lips press together, his breathing heavier than before. It’s like he’s trying to stay calm, but I see the shift in him—the way his shoulders are locked too tight, his grip on the arrow white-knuckled, like he’s holding onto something that no longer exists.

Something in my stomach twists all the way up to my throat.

It’s not just pain. No—this is stronger than that.

It’s Earth-shattering, all-consuming heartbreak.

“Whatever you’re feeling right now,” he says, slowly and carefully. “It isn’t real.”

“You don’t know anything about ‘real.’ You don’t feel anything at all.” The words tear out of me before I can stop them, physically hurting me as they do.

“Sapphire—”

The way he says my name is too much.

The memory of him whispering it against my lips, murmuring it as our bodies were pressed against each other, saying it in that breathless way that made me think I was something precious to him…

It’s a knife to my ribs. A blade to my throat.

A dagger to my heart.

“Don’t talk to me like I’m still yours.” I hold his gaze as I stand, even as he stands as well, towering over me and looking down at me with those heartbreakingly cold eyes of his. “Don’t pretend like any of this means a thing to you—as if you didn’t trade away your love for me for a vial of sap. Don’t pretend you still love me.”

I hold my breath, praying he’ll say I’m wrong, and that he loves me despite the dryad’s deal.

He doesn’t.

After all, thanks to fae not being able to lie, he can’t say what he doesn’t mean.

I’m drowning in the truth of it when laughter slices through the tension and Eros strolls over, smug and satisfied.

“Please continue your heartfelt discussion,” the god says, holding his bow casually by his side. “I do so enjoy watching undeserving, unappreciated, selfish love crumble into pieces.”

Riven curses at Eros, moves away from me, and raises his sword.

The moment he steps away, something in my chest eases.

I can breathe again. Sort of. It still hurts, but it’s better than when we were only inches apart.

The god smirks, unbothered by the blade pointed at his heart.

“You fae think you can cheat love,” Eros continues, circling us, watching us with the arrogance of someone who knows they’ve won. “Manipulate it. Reshape it to your will. But love isn’t something to be bargained with, traded away, or twisted into something cold and convenient. It’s sacred. It’s meant to be held onto and cherished for all eternity. But you, Winter Prince, played with something you never deserved. Now, both of you will suffer the consequences of that cruel, foolish, reckless decision.”

And then, in a flash of golden light, Eros vanishes.

The dome shatters into nothing, and every arrow that littered the field— both gold and lead—fades into oblivion.

There’s only Riven and me.

And he’s just standing there, unreadable and cold, studying me with a chilling calm in his eyes that bear so much resemblance to those of the man I loved.

Yet, they’re so devastatingly, painfully, agonizingly different.

“You’re upset,” he says, the sheer simplicity of the word knocking the air from my lungs.

“Upset?” My voice sharpens, the heat of my magic pulsing beneath my skin. “Yes, I’m upset. Would you like a list as to why I’m upset? Because I could go on for hours.”

“By all means,” he says, so detached that it sends a fresh wave of pain—real, raw, and unbearable—through me. “Enlighten me.”

How does he do that? How does he speak to me like I’m nothing but a passing inconvenience? Like I’m something that will bend to his will if he acts unaffected enough?

I move before I realize it, pacing in a circle as my magic burns through my veins like a wildfire, demanding an outlet.

“You left me and Zoey in that frozen tower for days. Days. We could have died,” I say, wind blowing around me as the pain turns to anger. “You said you built those trials to save us, but they almost broke us. And you didn’t step in to help until you realized I was drowning.”

Something shifts in his gaze, sharp and restrained.

Or maybe it’s just more of the same emptiness.

I narrow my eyes, needing him to respond. “Do you even remember that?”

Do you remember the moment you realized you were falling in love with me? I think, although I don’t say it out loud.

Instead of replying, he watches me like I’m something to be studied—a puzzle he’s already solved and discarded. Like he has no idea why I’m making such a big deal about this.

The dryad apparently stole his soul along with his heart.

“You let that night fae take Zoey at the waterfall,” I continue, resentment building in my chest with each word spoken. “You could have stopped it. You’re the trained fighter. You’re the winter prince. You could have helped her instead of me. But you just let him take her. And now, whenever I think about her, all I see is the terror on her face when she realized she was beyond saving. Which never would have happened if you believed in me enough to trust that I could protect myself.”

Frost plays along his fingers, and he toys with it, like he toys with me. Like he toys with everything.

“If it helps you sleep better at night to think I’m the villain, then go ahead,” he replies, as icy and detached as ever. “As long as you’re alive, you can believe anything you want.”

“I believe you don’t love me,” I say without hesitation. “You never did.”

His expression doesn’t change. He just stands there. Unmoving, cold, and distant.

Which makes it even worse.

So, I channel my magic, sending water crashing over him like a tidal wave.

He doesn’t dodge it. He doesn’t even brace himself. He just lets the water hit him at full force, his face turned toward it as if he wants more of it.

“Refreshing,” he murmurs after the water hits the ground, running his hand through his wet hair as if he’s a model in a shampoo commercial. “Was that supposed to hurt?”

The world tilts.

I can’t hurt him. After all, it’s impossible to hurt someone who doesn’t care.

“Nothing could hurt as much as watching you bargain away your love for me,” I say, wind whistling through the trees as the memory of him kissing that dryad blasts through my mind. “You let me trust you. Let me love you. Then, you beat it into me that you never felt anything at all. You talked to me as if I was a punching bag you were trying to destroy until its insides were scattered across the ground like a smashed pinata.”

With each accusation I slam on him, his expression hardens, his eyes turning to ice.

But he still won’t fight back.

“Say something!” I demand, throwing everything I have at him—magic, fury, pain, and the agony of knowing that he’s standing right in front of me while still being impossibly far away. “Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me there was a reason. Tell me anything.”

For a moment, I don’t think he will.

Then, finally, he speaks.

“There’s nothing I can say that you’d want to hear.” His voice is quiet now. Almost too quiet. “Because even if I could, I wouldn’t take back what I did.”

And when he looks at me—empty and hollow, a shadow of the man I once loved—it breaks whatever hope I had that a part of him remembers what we were.

Then, he takes a slow breath, exhales, and lifts his gaze back to mine with detached indifference.

“However, as much as I’d love to keep standing here listening to a speech about how heartless I am, we have a job to do,” he says, turning slightly, looking off into the distance. “After all, the duskberry isn’t going to collect itself.”