Page 15

Sapphire

I can’t navigate by stars during the day. So, here I am with the cloaked girl’s handwritten map, tracing the note she wrote on the back of it with my fingers.

No matter how powerful you are, you and the Winter Prince cannot take on an entire fae court alone. You need more.

It was the final piece of evidence Riven and I needed to convince us to follow her instructions. Because Celeste said that exact phrase to me on the Midnight Star.

Which means Riven and I are heading to Montauk.

For the entire car ride, he’s been cold, hard, and distant, talking strategy with detached precision, going over preparations and expectations as if none of this—none of us —meant anything at all. And every time I look at him—searching for the Riven who loved me, who might reach for my hand and tell me that everything will be okay—I come up blank.

That’s what he is now.

Blank.

It’s too much—too painful.

So, I reach for the car’s center console, find a song I like, and twist the volume knob all the way up. Anything to drown out the devastation that slams into me every time I hear the flatness of Riven’s voice or see the indifference in his eyes.

A hard bass pounds through the speakers, rattling the frame of the car as it drowns him out.

But even though I like the song, it’s not angsty enough to match the feeling of trying to keep it together after the man I loved bargained away his emotions for me and then forced me to marry him for political gain.

Same with the next song.

Finally, the third one feels right, and I sit back in mild satisfaction with my choice.

Riven exhales sharply.

A heartbeat later, he reaches over and calmly turns down the music.

His fingers barely brush mine, but even though I rip my hand away, it’s too late. The memory is already flashing through my mind, accompanied by a rush of fury as I see him in the tent with me before the lake trial, dangling my bracelet in front of me while using it to blackmail me.

I need you alive because you’re useful to me.

I want your magic, so therefore, I want you.

There’s power in being useful, Sapphire. Power you’ve barely begun to understand.

And then, the way he pulled me flush against him. Tempting me, telling me to prove to him why he was working so hard to keep me alive , clearly looking for more than just a kiss.

It’s sick. He’s sick. And the worst part? He never tried to hide it. He was upfront with me about who he was from the beginning, and I ignored it because I felt alone, and because it felt good to be held and loved.

But he didn’t love me. He was using me the entire time.

The version of Riven beside me right now—this is the real him. This is the Riven I would have been seeing all along if I hadn’t been blinded by everything that makes him painfully irresistible to me.

I press my nails into the pads of my fingers, channeling the emotional pain into something physical.

It helps, but only slightly.

“Hate me all you want,” he says evenly, his voice clear over the now-muted song, “but you need to figure out a way to function around me, no matter how irresistibly distracting my presence might be.”

Hate.

He says it like it’s simple. Like it’s a conscious choice. As if I wouldn’t tear this feeling out of my heart if I could—burn every memory of him to ash if it meant I could breathe again.

“Fine,” I grind out. “But that doesn’t mean I have to listen to your voice for the next few hours.”

“Then allow me to provide you with something more engaging.” His fingers tighten around the steering wheel, delicate patterns of frost creeping over the leather. “Because the first song you blasted had no lyrical depth. The second was an insult to rhythm. And the third was just… noise.”

I glare at him, even though he was right about the first one.

“You would be a music snob,” I mutter.

He arches a brow. “I prefer taste over self-inflicted torture.”

He’s more insufferable by the second.

I cross my arms over my chest, glaring at him again.

“So, I suppose you have a refined, regal taste in classical compositions, Your Highness?” I say, letting sarcasm drip from every word. “Maybe some brooding orchestral pieces to match your whole frozen heart aesthetic?”

“I prefer the sound of me correcting your form when you spar.” He smirks, then adds, “Your Highness.”

“Call me that again, and you’re walking to Montauk,” I snap, turning the music back up—but not all the way up.

He glances at the console, but this time, he doesn’t touch it.

“I see you’re leaving me to strategize alone about how to keep us alive,” he muses. “Therefore not giving yourself a chance to voice your opinions and have a say in your future.”

He shifts gears effortlessly.

“You hate me because I made decisions for you,” he continues, “and now you hate me because I’m trying to have a conversation with you. There really is no winning, is there?”

My magic surges, sending so much wind blasting through the car that the dashboard vents rattle, as if a storm has burst to life.

He barely reacts. He doesn’t tense, doesn’t glance at me, and doesn’t bother telling me to calm down.

“The mysterious cloaked girl ominously waiting in the park to assign us a deadly quest said we were supposed to drive away from the storm,” he says. “Not bring it into the car with us.”

I force a breath through my nose, clenching my fists to keep them from shaking.

The storm dies down, but I can still feel it thrumming beneath my skin, ready to lash out again the next time he decides to push me.

“Then talk,” I say, lowering the volume—just a little. “Strategize. Whatever you need to do to keep yourself and your favorite asset alive.”

His lips part slightly, as if he’s about to say something he shouldn’t. But then, just as quickly, his face hardens, becoming cold and detached.

“Don’t you mean to keep me and my wife alive?” he finally says, and the frost on the steering wheel thickens, creeping up his wrists like a silent tether.

I don’t dignify him with a response. I just cross my arms again, focus on the suburbs rolling by alongside the highway, and let him speak.