Page 5

Sapphire

Lysandra freezes.

“The Blood Coven,” she repeats, as if the three words turned her body to ice. “We neutralized that threat after vanquishing their shadow army from New York City.”

“The Blood Coven is far from neutralized,” Riven says. “As I said, they’re currently in a growing alliance with the Night Court. And the Night Court isn’t just another enemy. They’re former winter fae who’ve been turned into vampire hybrids.”

Lysandra’s brow furrows. “That’s not possible.”

“It shouldn’t be,” I say, grateful to have something to focus on other than my fury at the fact that Riven had the audacity to mock me to the point of proposing marriage. “But it is. Because the first night fae was a winter fae turned by Ambrogio.”

If we hadn’t already gotten Lysandra’s full attention, speaking the name Ambrogio does it.

From there, we explain everything we learned from Zythara. The Night Court’s growing numbers, their alliance with the Blood Coven, and their goal of becoming Revenants.

Lysandra’s on the edge of her throne as she listens.

The best part?

Since Riven and I are fae and can’t lie, she has to believe us.

“In order for the Winter Court’s army to launch a coordinated attack on the Night Court, it will need to be as strong as possible,” Riven finishes. “My father has handled my mother’s passing… less than ideally. Sapphire and I are creating a potion to stabilize him, so he’s best equipped to lead the upcoming war. She and I made a deal that binds her to do everything in her power to help me until the potion is completed,” he adds, as if he’s particularly proud of that part. “There’s only one ingredient we don’t currently possess. Duskberry. And we’ve heard that the only place it can be acquired is your personal garden.”

Lysandra initially says nothing.

Instead, she lets the silence stretch, her gaze moving between Riven and me as if she’s a cat deciding how to toy with its prey.

Then, finally, she focuses on me and smiles.

“I will give you the duskberry,” she decides, although she continues on to add, “if you accept the Winter Prince’s marriage proposal.”

Her words slam into me like a fist to the ribs.

“You can’t be serious,” I say, although from the satisfied look on her face, she’s definitely serious.

“You will give me your answer at sunrise,” she continues. “Which means you have two hours to make your decision. And in case you were planning on making any impulsive attempts to return to the mortal realm at six, the magic here will only let you through if I allow it. And—” She stops to give me a pleased smile. “I will not currently allow it.”

Throughout everything she just said, only two of her sentences make sense in my racing mind.

I will give you the duskberry.

If you accept the Winter Prince’s marriage proposal.

“You can’t do this,” I say, my voice shaking with barely contained fury.

Her expression remains calm. “You made a deal with the Winter Prince,” she says—as if I needed reminding. “To do everything in your power to aid him in his quest for the potion.”

My pulse stutters.

“Yes,” I say. “But?—”

“And I,” she continues, “have declared that the duskberry will only be given to you upon the binding of your alliance. Which means, by the terms of your own agreement, you must now decide—marry Riven, or die breaking your word.”

“That’s not a fair choice.” Magic surges inside me, and wind explodes outward, knocking a particularly large goblet off a side table.

Lysandra doesn’t flinch. She doesn’t even blink.

“Power demands sacrifice,” she says simply. “Plus, the Winter Prince is far from hard on the eyes. And the two of you do seem to… enjoy each other.”

Riven gives her an appreciative smile, then focuses on me. “I know you hate it,” he murmurs, “but she has a point.”

I turn on him so quickly that my hair whips across my face. “I would rather rip my own heart out than marry you.”

“Given that you’re half vampire, that would probably be messy,” he muses, slow, dark, and unbothered. “Not to mention dramatic.”

“Dramatic,” I repeat, clenching my fists as another wave of fury rushes through me. “I can show you dramatic.”

Before either of them can respond, I close my eyes and project across the room.

My physical body collapses to the floor.

Lysandra’s eyes go wide as she looks from my body, to where I’m standing across the room in my astral form, then back to my body. “What—” she starts, but Riven’s already moving, dropping to his knees beside my body, checking for injuries.

“Don’t touch me,” I snap at him from my astral form.

His jaw tightens, but he leans back slightly.

Lysandra focuses on me—the me in my astral form—her amusement returning. “Now that,” she says slowly, “is interesting. How did you do it?”

“I’m star touched,” I tell her, since that was the major thing Riven and I purposefully withheld when we told her everything else. “Blessed by Celeste. The star goddess.”

I can practically see Lysandra’s mind working, processing this new information.

And then, as I’m learning she tends to do, she smiles. “I’d expect nothing less of my daughter than to be chosen as one of the gifted four,” she finally says.

Something like pride surges through me at having impressed the Summer Queen.

But right now, I need to focus on making my point—making sure she knows I’m not someone she should be messing with.

“I’m impenetrable in this form,” I tell her, determination coursing through my veins when I turn back to Riven. “Show her. Run your blade through me. Like you did in your quarters when you thought you could kill the projected version of me.”

He stiffens. “I didn’t know it was you.”

“You wouldn’t have cared if it was.”

The moment the words leave my mouth, he rushes toward me in a blink and strikes.

There’s no pain. No impact. Just the strange sensation of steel passing through where I should be standing.

“Satisfied?” he asks, smirking as he twirls his weapon around. “No need to respond—that was rhetorical. I know how much you enjoy it when I penetrate you with my sword.”

Before I can think, my dagger’s in motion, slicing a clean, perfect line across his forearm.

He doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t even glance down at the blood seeping out of the cut, rich and dark against his skin.

Because he’s looking at me. Watching me with a look that makes me unsure if he’s going to kiss me or strangle me.

And then, the scent hits me.

A rush of hunger, violent and all-consuming, slamming into me like a storm. But it’s not just hunger clawing through my veins. It’s want. Pure, overwhelming desire as memories of Riven—his mouth on mine, his hands gripping my body, the way he held me in a way no one else ever has—crash over me like a wave.

His lips curve, something wicked crossing his eyes.

“You’re staring,” he murmurs, lifting his arm slightly, tilting it just enough to let another drop of blood spill free. “You like that, don’t you? My blood. My magic.” He steps forward, slow and deliberate, closing the space between us inch by inch. “You like me.”

I drift closer to him, unable to resist the pull of his blood, his presence, his everything. I want to taste him. To?—

No.

At the last possible second, I snap back into my body.

When I push myself up to sit, Riven’s already in front of me, holding out his hand, offering to help me up. A layer of blood coats his skin, but now that the wound is healed, it doesn’t tempt me like it did when it was fresh.

I glare at him and stand, refusing to accept his assistance.

He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t need to. The heat in his gaze says everything.

He enjoyed this.

And, knowing Riven, I expect him to use it. To torture me with it. To prove that no matter how much I hate him, and no matter how badly he’s already hurt me, he knows exactly how to control me.

But I can’t let him. I have to be stronger than that.

Lysandra taps a manicured finger against her throne, studying me with renewed interest. “That was enlightening,” she finally says. “Now, tell me about this projection ability.”

The abrupt change of subject throws me off balance, but I cling to her question, needing something to distract me from how I nearly pounced on Riven and gave him exactly what he wanted.

“My star touched ability is exactly what it looks like. Astral projection.” I jump into the explanation, continuing on to give Lysandra as many details as possible.

She listens attentively, letting me speak.

“So, you see,” I say when I’m finished. “I have enough power that I don’t need to marry Riven to convince the Winter Court to listen to us.”

“And yet,” Lysandra says, utterly unmoved, “my terms remain the same. Accept the prince’s proposal, or leave without the duskberry.”

A hollow pit forms in my stomach as my body turns against me, the ice magic from the deal stirring beneath my skin.

It’s slower this time. I assume it understands that it doesn’t have to kill me until sunrise, when I have to give Lysandra my answer. But it’s still there. Lingering. Reminding me what’s to come if I refuse the queen’s offer.

The deal’s magic will win. It always does.

“Fine,” I say, unwilling to put myself through the pain of nearly freezing to death again. “I accept Riven’s proposal.”

The ice magic recedes.

I can’t bring myself to look at Riven. I want to sink into the floor as it is, so the smug expression he surely has on his face right now will make me want to die on the spot.

“Excellent,” Lysandra says with a triumphant smile. “The ceremony will be held tomorrow—privately, of course. And once the marriage is complete…” she emphasizes those last words carefully. “You’ll have your duskberry.”