Page 22

SAPPHIRE

Ghost lies motionless on the altar, his white fur luminous against the dark stone.

But he’s not alone. Beside him lies a cheetah, golden and graceful even in stillness, its body covered with delicate ivy that pulses with a gentle green light.

I follow Riven cautiously, my eyes scanning the chamber for possible threats. And I’m glad I’m aware of our surroundings, since Riven is only focused on one thing.

“Ghost,” he says again, reaching the altar and placing a trembling hand on the snow leopard’s head. “What happened to you?”

Ghost doesn’t stir. His chest rises and falls in shallow breaths, but otherwise, he might as well be carved from stone.

“He’s sleeping,” I say, drawing closer to examine both animals. “They both are.”

“But why?” Riven’s voice is tight with frustration and worry. “And the cheetah… they’re familiars of the Summer Court. Of summer fae.”

Something in what he says resonates with me, and I reach for the cheetah, my fingers hovering over its golden fur. The ivy covering its body hums at my presence, responding to my summer magic, and I’m drawn to it in a way that’s impossible to explain.

But before I can touch the cheetah, the air around the altar shimmers, and words form on the stone beneath the sleeping animals.

Awaken them with a love that cannot break.

Riven’s expression darkens with impatience. “I don’t have time for riddles,” he says, running his fingers through his perfectly tousled hair. “Tell us how to save Ghost.”

The words shimmer and change.

Not just any love. A love that defies endings. A love that can’t be shattered.

“A love like ours,” I say, understanding blooming inside me.

As if in response, light spills across the floor and comes together in the shape of a man with golden wings and eyes that hold the wisdom of eons.

“Princess Hayes Fairmont Solandriel Draevor of the Summer Court, Winter Court, New York Vampire Clan, and the star touched warrior of Celeste,” he says my full, utterly pretentious name and titles. “And Prince Riven Draevor of the Winter Court and Summer Court. I’ve been waiting for both of you.”

Riven steps protectively in front of me, frost forming a shield between us and this ethereal man who looks startlingly familiar. “Who are you?” he asks, keeping it simple.

“I am Anteros,” the man says, inclining his head. “God of requited love. Brother of Eros, although he views love as a weapon, whereas I see it for what it is: a gift to be honored.”

Water droplets form around me, so defined that they’re pointed, and I take an angry step toward the god.

He—to his credit—steps back.

“Your brother shot me with a lead arrow,” I say, the memory of that hatred still fresh, even though it—thankfully—hasn’t come back since we emerged from the Cosmic Tides. “He made me hate the man I love.”

Riven steps next to me, his ice joining my water. “I was the one who deserved to be punished,” he says, his gaze locked on Anteros’s. “Not her.”

Anteros raises an eyebrow. “Were you not punished, Winter Prince?” he asks. “By her rage? Her hatred?”

“That wasn’t punishment. That was torture,” Riven replies. “I took it because I deserved it. But watching her hate me—watching her burn because of something your brother did—that wasn’t justice. That was cruelty.”

Shards of ice explode out of the floor near the altar, and I fear Riven’s about to attack this god on the spot.

Even though I hate what Eros did to us—and am prepared for anything from Anteros—attacking this god for his brother’s actions doesn’t strike me as the best idea. I’ve already incurred the wrath of one god too many in my lifetime.

But I’m still ready to reach for my dagger at a moment’s notice.

Finally, Riven exhales shakily, his eyes meeting mine.

“Eros took the shot, but that arrow was tipped with my mistakes,” he says, the words breaking my heart. “And I’ll never stop trying to make up for them.”

“You died for me,” I say, and I’ll repeat it a thousand times if it means he’ll understand how much his sacrifice—regardless of how reckless it was—meant to me. “You deserve all the love in the world. And I’m never going to stop giving it to you. Ever.”

Riven’s breathing slows, and it’s like we’re the only two people in the universe.

But then Anteros moves toward us, his steps leaving trails of golden light in his wake, drawing our attention back to him.

“Few survive my brother’s arrow with their love intact,” he says, watching me in a way that almost looks like he’s impressed. “Fewer still overcome a dryad’s bargain. You’ve done both.” He gestures to the frost and water swirling between us, which must have formed without me realizing it. “Your bond has transcended the efforts of those set on destroying it. So now, I’m going to reward you for that… if you play my game.”

Ice crackles beneath Riven’s feet.

“What kind of game?” he asks. “And what does this have to do with Ghost? And the cheetah beside him?”

“The cheetah’s name is Nebula,” Anteros says, moving to stand beside the altar. “She’s Ghost’s soul twin. Born of Summer as he was of Winter.”

I step closer, fascination overriding caution. “Soul twin?”

“Two halves of one whole,” the god explains. “The celestial goddesses—moon, sun, stars, and storm—sent both animals here, where they entered their slumber.”

“What kind of slumber?” I ask, since it sounds exceptionally foreboding.

“Not a harmful one.” Anteros shrugs it off. “Think of it like the eternal sleep placed on Endymion so he could be with Selene forever. Love keeps Endymion in the world of dreams with Selene… and your love can bring Ghost and Nebula back to this world with you.”

As he speaks, my eyes are unable to leave the cheetah. Because she’s beautiful. There’s something ancient and powerful about her—regal and wild—and I feel the weight of her importance deep in my chest.

Riven moves toward Ghost and places his hand upon the snow leopard’s head with an ache so intense I can feel it. And when he refocuses on Anteros, his eyes narrow with determination, his hand going from Ghost’s head to the hilt of his sword.

“Name your game,” he says to the god. “The goal, the rules, and the prize.”

Anteros smiles, clearly liking what he’s hearing.

“The trial is not one of strength or magic,” he says. “You’ve proven yourselves more than capable of surviving gods and curses alike. No—this trial is about truth.”

The god lifts his hands, water and ice spiraling between us and the altar as a pool begins to form. It solidifies into a perfect mirror, its surface smooth as glass, yet shifting constantly—sometimes showing my reflection, and sometimes Riven’s.

Riven stiffens beside me, and Anteros lowers his arms, his gaze steady.

“This is the Heart’s Reflection,” the god says. “A ritual few are called to, and even fewer pass its test.”

My throat tightens. “What do we have to do?”

“Love is not merely felt,” he says, looking between us. “It’s seen. If you truly love each other—if your bond has overcome poison and sacrifice—then you must see what the other sees.”

“We share a soul.” Riven glares at the god, frost crawling up his arms. “She sees me. Her entire essence has been inside me. It’s…” He pauses, shaking his head and turning to me. “Incredible, terrifying, and unraveling all at once, and I don’t know if I’ll ever deserve it—but I’ll spend forever trying.”

I cross my arms and huff, although I can’t stop the smile that’s creeping across my lips. “Can you please go back to being insufferable?” I ask, since we need to focus on passing this trial instead of arguing with Anteros before it can even start. “It’s much easier than assuring you that you deserve my love, always and forever, until the end of time.”

The air pulses between us.

Then, his grin turns wicked.

“I’m just giving you balance,” he says, taking a step toward me. “The tortured soul and the cocky prince, all rolled into one perfect disaster.”

My breaths quicken, and I want to pounce on him and show him just how much of a disaster he turns me into when he gets all sexy and moody on me.

“Focus.” Anteros’s voice echoes through the chamber, stopping me from doing any Winter Prince pouncing.

Both of our gazes snap to the god.

“I might be a god of love, but people in love can be so exhausting,” he says with an eye roll. “Now, do you want to know the rules of your trial, or not?”

Riven’s grin fades, and his attention shifts to Ghost, a cold breeze swirling through the chamber.

“Tell me how to wake him,” he says to Anteros.

“Gladly,” Anteros says, and the watery mirror shimmers, the surface rippling with images that blur and change. “You will kneel before the Reflection and gaze into it. Your hearts will be stripped bare, and you’ll see yourselves as the other sees you—the beauty, the strength, the flaws, and the wounds you try to hide. If you reject what you see, the Reflection will boil away, and the ceremony will fail. Ghost and Nebula will remain bound, locked in sleep for all eternity.”

The weight of his words crashes into me, my magic stirring anxiously beneath my skin.

“Here, there are no masks. No defenses,” Anteros continues. “There’s only truth. And if you accept each other’s truths fully—the good and the broken, the pain and the beauty—the Reflection will become light, and that light will flow into the altar’s heartstones. Then—and only then—will Ghost and Nebula awaken.”