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Sapphire

Riven’s casual attitude makes me want to scream.

He doesn’t care about me. He doesn’t care that my heart was shattered by his careless bargain and a god’s cursed arrow. The only thing that matters to him is finishing that potion.

I need to get away from him. Now.

So, I turn and take one step away from the palace. Then another.

Then… ice spears through my veins. It sinks deep into my muscles, wrapping around my bones like chains forged of frozen steel.

I stumble, gasping as it tightens its suffocating, determined hold.

“Wow,” Riven muses, his tone so light and unaffected that my vision swims with fury. “You really don’t learn, do you?”

If I wasn’t frozen in place, I would launch myself at him. I would tear through his detached indifference, rip away his careful composure, and force something real out of him. Something that proves he isn’t as unshaken as he pretends to be.

But the magic pulses harder, sinking its claws deeper into me, forcing me to my knees.

“Go. To. Hell,” I grit out, my fingernails raking the dirt as if the earth can anchor me against this overwhelming force of frustration that is Prince Riven Draevor of the Winter Court.

He crouches beside me, one arm braced against his knee, watching me with infuriating ease. “Freezing Hell over would be an enjoyable challenge,” he says lightly. “But I’ll settle for watching you shiver at my feet instead.”

He says it so carelessly. So effortlessly. Like this is nothing more than entertainment to him. Like he enjoys watching me fight against something I can’t possibly win.

I try to summon my magic—to force him back, to do anything—but it’s buried beneath layers of ice. Trapped and suffocated, just like I am.

“I hate you,” I say to him, the words scraping against my throat.

“And I don’t blame you for it.” He shakes his head, stands, and offers me his hand. “Now, get up. We have work to do.”

I stare at his outstretched hand, my breath uneven.

I’ve taken that hand before. When he helped me onto Ghost’s back, when he steadied me after falls during training, and every time he helped me get my bearings after I astrally projected.

He always held me when I came back. Cradled me, concerned about me, making sure I was okay.

Now, he’d probably just look down at me and criticize me for not getting up quickly enough.

“I can wait here all day,” he says when I don’t move. “But I doubt you can say the same. As you know firsthand, the ice magic will get worse the longer you resist.”

Another wave of frost surges through me, and my body locks up further, my lungs constricting as sharp, unbearable cold sinks deeper into my chest.

“Sapphire, as much as I’m enjoying watching you attempt to prove a point, I have to say… it’s not a very good one.” His tone remains light, almost bored, but there’s something beneath it. A razor-sharp precision—a cold, calculated edge. “You can hate me all you want, but you agreed to this deal. And unless you’ve developed an immunity to the wrath of fae bargains, I’d wager you won’t last much longer trying to fight it.”

I dig my nails deeper into the dirt, forcing myself to focus through the pain. I refuse to give him the satisfaction of seeing me break. Not after he’s wrecked me so many times before.

“You’re wasting your energy,” he adds, detached and infuriatingly steady.

“You would love that, wouldn’t you?” I clench my teeth, my breathing uneven. “Watching me struggle. Watching me suffer. Just like you always have.”

He tilts his head slightly, as if considering the accusation. “That’s not true.”

A bitter laugh scrapes my throat. “Isn’t it? Tell me, Riven, how clueless did you think I was? How entertaining was it for you to watch me believe you cared about me?”

He sucks in a sharp breath, as if it’s taking all his energy to not slam into me like he did back at that tree.

“I do enjoy being entertained,” he says coldly, destroying me from the inside out.

“I can’t believe that every time you told me you loved me, you were playing with my mind,” I continue, the words coming out in uncontrollable fury. “I can’t believe that every night we spent in each other’s arms, you were taking what you wanted and tricking me into thinking you cared.”

His jaw tightens. “Think about what?—”

“Every. Single. Time,” I cut him off. “You were using me. Tell me, was it fun? Did you enjoy watching me fall for it? Watching me fall for you?”

He exhales, slow and measured, running his fingers through his annoyingly perfect hair. “Believe what you want,” he says. “There’s no changing what’s been done.”

“I hate you.” The words spill out again, hollow and raw.

“Message received. You’re not getting any points for creativity here.” He crouches again, but this time, his voice drops lower, losing some of that smug amusement from before. “But no matter how much you hate me, I’m not going to let you die.”

He says it like it’s a fact. An obligation. A strategy.

But I know the truth. Because the love he had for me—if it ever existed at all—is an empty well inside his heart. Gone. Forever.

The Riven I thought I knew might as well be dead. All that remains is this shell of the person in his place.

And that’s what hurts worst of all.

“I will never forgive you for what you did,” I say, forcing so much venom into my words that I swear—just for a second—I see something flicker in his eyes.

Shame? Apathy? Remorse?

I can’t tell.

And he speaks before I can ask.

“You’re really willing to let your hatred for me kill you?” he muses, shaking his head in disappointment. “Celeste’s chosen warrior, dying not in some epic battle, but because she was consumed with hatred for the method the man she loved used to keep her alive? You’d reject your star touched destiny out of spite?”

“You don’t love me,” I snap, although the bite is somewhat ruined by my chattering teeth.

“Semantics.” He shrugs, and my fingers curl into fists, my nails pressing into my palms at how he’s trivializing the fact that he used me and broke me in ways I never dreamed possible. “But whether I love you or not, you’re bound to me until the potion is finished. So, if you want to throw a fit, by all means—freeze yourself to the ground.” He gestures at the dirt beneath me, watching me with so much emptiness that it tears at my soul all over again. “But personally, I think you’ll do a much better job saving Zoey from the Night Court if you’re alive and not dead.”

Zoey’s name slams into me so hard that I nearly completely collapse from the pain.

She needs me.

So, I squeeze my eyes shut, forcing down the humiliation, resentment, and white-hot fury clawing at my ribs.

Because this isn’t about Riven. It’s about Zoey. And I won’t let her suffer because of me.

“Fine,” I give in, and the ice begins to unravel, melting away from my skin and releasing me from its crushing grip.

Riven offers his hand again.

I ignore it, forcing myself to my feet and wiping as much dirt from my knees as possible—as if they’re specks of indignity that can be brushed away in seconds.

His smirk returns, slow and smug as he watches my attempt to gather myself together. “See?” he taunts. “That wasn’t hard.”

Wind gusts through the clearing.

I want to hit him.

Instead, I contain my magic and turn away, forcing my legs to move toward the Summer Palace. Forcing myself to pretend he doesn’t exist.

He unfortunately makes that impossible when he falls into step beside me, his hands in his pockets, looking infuriatingly pleased with himself.

“If you ever want to collapse into my arms again, just say the word,” he tells me, glancing at me as he waits for my reaction.

I glare at him, and my hand goes to the hilt of my dagger, craving the steadiness it provides.

Because one day, the deal I made with him to help him make the potion will be over.

And when that day comes, Prince Riven Draevor will know exactly what it means to be broken—just like how he broke me.