Page 15

SAPPHIRE

The Star Disc blazes to life—an explosion of light and power—and we’re soaring through the Tides, air currents guiding our way.

“It’s working!” I shout, exhilaration coursing through me as we glide toward the spectral ship.

Riven laughs, wild and free, his arms locked tight around me. “Of course it is,” he says, his breath cool against my ear. “Your magic is extraordinary.”

“And your existence is distracting in the best way possible,” I reply with a smile, although I manage to keep my focus on the spectral ship, which is calling to the Star Disc like a magnet.

The three pigs stand on the deck. They’re watching our descent with what almost looks like boredom, as if sailing through cosmic space on a glowing disc is perfectly ordinary. One of them even yawns.

Then, we land. Not with a jolt, but with a slow deceleration of starlight. A perfect glide.

The moment our feet touch the ghostly wood, the Disc dims in my hand.

Riven doesn’t move. Not right away. Instead, he lingers behind me, his body pressed to mine like he wants to stay like this forever.

I’d let him if he did.

But eventually—reluctantly—he steps back.

“That,” he says, slightly breathless, “was incredible.”

I turn to him, my pulse still racing. “The flying part, or the trusting each other with our lives while riding a cosmic death disc part?”

“Both,” he says, his voice laced with something softer now—wonder, maybe. “Although, let’s be honest—I’ve been trusting you with my life since tasting the pink drink you made me. Not to mention that I helped you through those trials, killed my knights for you, became a fugitive of my own court for you, faced down monsters beside you, bled for you, married you, died for you, and let you fuse your soul to mine.” He lifts a brow. “And you’re worried about a flying disc?”

Each incident he mentions sends a thrill through my spine.

“When you list it all like that, we really do have a problem making rational life decisions,” I say, and then I’m scanning the deck of the ship, making sure there aren’t any cosmic monsters about to jump out at us.

“Rational is boring,” Riven replies, sword out, also checking our surroundings. “And if there’s one thing you’ve never been, it’s boring.”

My water magic ripples around my fingers, responding to the warmth spreading through my body. But as much as I want to pull Riven into the ship’s cabin and finish what we started at the top of the tower, we need to sail out of the Tides first.

“Celeste said we just have to think about where we want to go, and we’ll go there,” I say, forcing myself back into focus. “Out of the two of us, you’re obviously the expert on the Winter Court’s geography. So, where should we go? What should we think about?”

“I don’t want to find a where,” Riven says, a shadow crossing his eyes. “I want to find a who.”

“And who’s that?” I ask, curious.

“Ghost,” he says simply, and from the longing way he says his familiar’s name, I don’t think finding him is a want as much as a need . “We should have him by our sides when we return to the Winter Court.”

“Then we’ll go to Ghost.” I nod, squeezing his hand that’s not holding his sword.

The ship rocks, and the Tides swirl around us, as if they approve of our decision.

“We need to get this ship sailing,” I say, looking up at the cosmic sea.

“Air magic should do it,” he says, sheathing his sword. “Especially since we both have it now.”

“If it doesn’t work, we’ll have to bribe Circe’s pigs to row us out,” I mutter, shooting him a sidelong look.

“They’d unionize before they lifted a hoof,” he says, threading his fingers through mine.

The instant we touch, something raw and volatile explodes in my chest. Magic. Desire. The shared heartbeat of two people who have survived too much and aren’t done burning.

“Think of Ghost,” Riven murmurs in my ear. “Of what he means to me.”

So, I do.

His ice-blue eyes, and his white fur like snow light. His loyalty carved in silence. The way he stands beside Riven—not because he’s bound to, but because he chooses to.

He’s not just a companion.

He’s proof that Riven is more than cold calculation. That beneath the armor and ice, there’s a heart that loves fiercely and unconditionally.

As I think about Ghost, the ship groans, the sails snapping with a sudden wind. My magic surges outward, and Riven’s frost answers it—two forces blending, weaving into one, spiraling through the currents of the Tides and pulling the ship forward.

When I open my eyes, Riven’s staring at me like I’m a constellation he’s terrified will disappear if he blinks.

“Don’t forget this,” he says, and while his voice is steady, I can feel something deeper beneath it. An unspoken fear. A plea.

A lump forms in my throat. “I won’t forget. I couldn’t, even if I tried.”

“Swear it,” he says, his eyes burning into mine.

“I promise,” I say, but it’s not enough.

Not for us.

So, I reach for the Star Disc, the sapphire in its center pulsing with the rhythm of our hearts.

“We need something permanent,” I decide, studying it, thinking.

Riven lifts an eyebrow. “More permanent than fusing our souls?”

“I was thinking more like vows we make ourselves,” I say, moving my gaze from the Star Disc to him. “Not ones twisted by politics, or that exist because I shoved my soul into your body to resurrect you. I want this to be ours. Chosen. Claimed. Etched into us by our own hands.”

I pull the Star Disc closer, flipping it so one of its sharp edges catches the starlight. It’s lethal and alive, humming with the energy of something older than fate. It’s so sharp that I wonder…

I meet Riven’s gaze and extend my left hand, palm up.

“Carve it into me.”

His eyes darken. “Are you asking me to mutilate you with a star-forged weapon?”

“I’m asking you to scar me with something sacred. Right here, where you told me you loved me under the water.” I gesture to the spot on my palm. “I want to carry it with me forever, even if we forget everything else.”

Slowly, he breaks into that dangerous smirk of his that precedes chaos. Or confessions. Or both.

“If we’re marking each other,” he says, brushing his thumb across my palm, “then I’m choosing the design. You may have the cosmic weapon, but I’m the superior artist here.”

I laugh, watching as he creates intricate frost patterns up to his elbows, as if reminding me of his creative talent.

“I was hoping you’d say that,” I tell him, since his designs fascinate me more than I think he realizes. “You create beauty with your ice, and I want to carry that beauty with me—always.”

He leans in, his voice a whisper against my skin. “It takes something beautiful to create something beautiful,” he says, and as I realize what he means by it, I narrow my eyes at him.

“You’re complimenting yourself again.”

“Not entirely,” he says with a smile that makes it impossible to not love him. “Because it takes something beautiful to inspire something beautiful, too.”

The second part erases any hint of irritation I had at the first.

“Then give me something as deadly, as intricate, and as breathtakingly impossible as you are,” I say. “Because I want to wear your love like a memory that never fades.”

Air rushes around us, and I’m not sure if it’s from me, from him, or from both of us.

“Hold still,” he warns me. “Because you’re about to have a piece of me burned into you forever.”

“I’m ready,” I tell him, and he takes the Disc from my hand, turning it once, then again, testing its balance.

The sapphire’s glow brightens at his touch.

“A star and an ice crystal intertwined,” he says thoughtfully, “where both elements become indistinguishable from one another. Just like us.”

My heart thrums against my ribs. “It’s perfect.”

“It’s going to hurt,” he warns.

“Everything about us has hurt,” I reply, keeping my palm steady. “The pain has always been worth it.”

“Spoken like a true Winter Princess,” he says, placing one of the Star Disc’s points against my palm, his touch gentle as he steadies my hand.

Then—pain. It cuts clean and hot, like fire laced in starlight.

I inhale sharply, somehow not flinching as he drags the point across my skin, carving with the precision of someone who’s mastered control in everything he does.

“Breathe,” he murmurs, his voice smooth and steady as his hand guides the Disc. “You’re doing great.”

He starts with the star—five sharp lines radiating outward, crisp and symmetrical. Then he carves an ice crystal over and through it, interlacing the points with delicate edges that mimic the frost patterns he creates when he’s trying to contain his emotions.

My water magic responds to my pain, droplets hovering in the air around us like suspended tears. But I don’t let them fall. Instead, I channel the magic into the blood on my palm, making it shimmer with a subtle blue glow.

“Beautiful,” Riven whispers, almost to himself, frost blooming around the cut as he continues with his design.

It’s us.

Water and frost. Summer and winter.

And it’s perfect.

When he finishes, he lifts my palm to his lips and kisses the edge of the wound, his eyes never leaving mine.

The intimacy of the gesture steals my breath away.

Then, wordlessly, he extends the Star Disc to me, his left hand outstretched, palm up.

“Your turn, Princess,” he says, and my fingers tremble as I take the Disc, now stained with my blood.

“Don’t worry,” he adds. “I won’t flinch.”

“I know you won’t,” I say, positioning the Disc above his left palm. “That’s what worries me. You never flinch, even when you should.”

His laugh is soft. “Just carve, .”

I press the edge into his skin, carving the same pattern—a star at the center, with an ice crystal woven through it. My strokes aren’t as clean as his, but there’s a raw beauty to the result.

The air grows colder as frost spreads out below his feet, responding to the pain.

When I finish, I draw in a shaky breath and step back.

Our blood stains the Disc, blending along its edge like proof of what we just gave each other.

Then, stardust begins to fall—thick, silvery, sparkling flakes that land on our open wounds, mingling with our blood and sinking into our carved flesh.

“Now,” Riven says, watching me in a way that’s dark, beautiful, feral, and certain. “We make our vows.”