Page 11

Sapphire

Riven, to his credit, sleeps on the floor without giving me too much of a headache.

He’s too busy strategizing our next moves to bother devoting any of his headspace to me. And clearly, he has no heartspace to offer, given that he doesn’t have a heart. At least not one capable of offering anyone anything.

Not even his newly wed wife.

But the headache of this unwanted marriage is a problem for later. Right now, we need to get the potion to the Winter King to restore his sanity.

The general plan for after arriving to the mortal realm? Steal a car and drive to Maine, so we can jump through the portal near Presque Isle to get back to the Winter Court.

Once there, Riven will yet again partake in his favorite pastime—using me as a weapon. Because with our new alliance, any harm the Winter Court tries to inflict on either Riven or me will mean war, since we’re now both royalty of the Winter and Summer Courts. And not only has Lysandra written a letter to verify the union, but the inked bands on our left ring fingers will be more than enough proof.

No wonder Riven was so eager to propose the moment he learned I was Summer Court royalty. I’m even more of an asset to him as a princess than I was as a star touched summer fae vampire.

And to stack on top of the already massive list of reasons I hate him, I sleep terribly. Because even as he lies there, silent and still, I can’t stop looking at him.

It’s a cruel trick of the dark. Because without the cold gleam in his silver eyes, the emptiness in his gaze, and the indifference on his face, he looks like the Riven I fell in love with. The one I slept next to in the cave and in those igloos. The one I trusted with my life.

My entire body aches to crawl over to him and nestle myself in his arms. From there, he’d pull me close and tell me that he’s always loved me, and that he never stopped loving me.

But that isn’t the world we live in. And every time I inch closer to the edge of the bed, it’s like I’m looking at a ghost of the Riven I thought I knew.

And that’s what hurts most of all.

I must have eventually fallen asleep, because I wake to fingers brushing my shoulder. Cold, familiar fingers that make my heart freeze and my lungs seize up.

I push them off me with all the force I can manage.

“Forgive me, Princess,” Riven says, frost crawling to his wrist as he looks down at me with those assessing eyes of his—the ones that manage to tease and torture me at the same time. “I wasn’t aware that waking you was a crime punishable by death.”

My dagger’s out in a heartbeat, and I back away from him as far as possible before nearly falling off the bed.

“Apology not accepted,” I finally say, and then, slightly quieter, I add, “I wouldn’t waste an execution on someone who already feels dead to me.”

He flinches, but his guard’s back up in seconds.

“I doubt you’d get very far, given how a few drops of my blood drove you feral the other night,” he says, sizing me—and the dagger—up. “I’d volunteer as a test subject if we weren’t going to be thrown into another realm in five minutes.”

My grip tightens on my dagger, humiliated by his willingness to exploit my weakness for his blood.

“Four minutes,” he says, glancing at one of the many gold clocks in the room. “If you put that dagger down, we could have some fun in those four minutes. Or don’t put it down. I’d rather enjoy disarming you before we?—”

“Shut. Up,” I snap, surprisingly making him do just that.

He takes a sharp breath inward, that heartbreaking indifference plastered on his face once more.

“Your loss.” He shrugs, and if I didn’t know that the emotions he felt for me had been stripped from his heart, I might have believed he was hurt by my rejection.

As it is, I move to the side of the room and put my boots back on.

I’m already dressed in some casual “mortal realm clothes” that Lysandra gave us last night, so at least I don’t have to deal with the awkwardness of changing in front of Riven during these not-so-glorious remaining minutes in our royal nuptial chambers.

“What do you remember from that kiss?” he muses as he rummages through his pack, ensuring everything we need is in there.

“You’re not seriously bringing up your kiss with the dryad again, are you?” I ask, and the air stirs around me, as if it can protect me from whatever cruel commentary of his is coming next. “Because the biggest thing I remember is that I wish I could rip that memory out of my mind as easily as you ripped your love for me out of your heart.”

He sets the pack down and fixes his eyes on me.

“I suppose that’s my answer,” he says, his gaze drifting down to his left hand—where the silver and blue lines intertwine around the base of his ring finger.

Oh.

He means that kiss. The one in the chamber’s pool.

I straighten, chewing on my bottom lip as I think back on the moment after we submerged ourselves in the water.

I remember going under, feeling a strange shift in reality, and surfacing with a deeper level of suspicion about Riven’s motives than before. Anything beyond that is like trying to recall a dream that slips further away the longer you reach for it.

“Does it matter?” I finally ask, since clearly the kiss was so painful that my mind doesn’t want to process it.

Riven doesn’t respond right away. Instead, he closes the pack, and the silence stretches long enough that I almost think he’s finished with the conversation.

Then, finally, he speaks.

“I don’t remember, either,” he says, and he slings the pack over his shoulder, seemingly relieved that I also have no idea what happened in that water.

The hairs rise on my arms, the water in the small fountain by the window moving faster as every nerve in my body goes on edge.

“Did you do something to me?” I ask him, moving closer, even though each step feels like I’m stepping on shattered glass.

He stays put, pinning me down with that intense gaze of his that makes me feel like if I move, I’ll break.

“Trust me, Princess,” he says, and frost creeps along his fingertips, like some sort of threat. “If I did something to you, you’d have woken up in my arms—not across the room with a dagger in your hand.”

The memories that cut through my mind at his comment are too much.

So, I tear my gaze away from his, pushing down the thoughts of all the times I did wake up in his arms. Back when I thought his touch meant something. Back when I believed his lies. Back when I believed I was his.

I’m yanked out of the flashbacks when our chamber walls dissolve into mist, replaced by plain gray stone in an empty room with a radiator unit under the window that says, please no sitting. The air’s heavy with the promise of rain, and dark clouds are blocking any hint of starlight.

I’ve never been here before—I’d never left Maine before a few weeks ago—but Riven told me last night that when we returned to the mortal realm, we’d be in Belvedere Castle in Central Park.

“We should go,” Riven says, all business again. “Before the humans arrive.”

We make our way down to the ground floor, and the moment we step outside, a figure emerges from the shadows. A girl wearing a hooded cloak, maybe a few years older than me, moving with precise, measured steps. As if she’s been waiting here for us, ready to strike.

My dagger’s out in a flash, my magic at my fingertips, a breeze already stirring in the damp, heavy air.

Riven’s equally as prepared with his sword, frost crawling along the blade.

The girl, however, doesn’t flinch.

“Those weapons won’t be enough,” she says without introduction, her eyes fixed on me with unnerving intensity. “Neither will the contents of your pack. But luckily for you, I’m here to advise you on what’s coming next. And trust me—you’re going to be very, very grateful for my help.”