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Lysandra’s eyes narrow. “You dare question the loyalty of my warriors?”

“I dare to protect my wife,” I reply, my voice as cold as the frost spreading across the floor.

Through the bond, I feel Sapphire’s anxiety spike, her magic brushing against mine in gentle, rhythmic waves. She’s urging caution. Reminding me that not every threat needs to be met with a blade.

Reminding me that I’m not like the father who raised me.

Still… what if I’m more like him than I care to admit?

Because I’ve killed for Sapphire before, without hesitation.

But this was different. I stopped time .

I made a choice to not disarm or defend, but to execute my knights while they were frozen, stuck in the moment before their blades could reach her .

I robbed them of the chance to fight back. Not because I had to, but because I wouldn’t risk her for a fair fight.

And I don’t know what’s worse—the slaughter itself, or the fact that I don’t regret it. That it makes me feel more powerful than ever, and that I wouldn’t hesitate before doing it again.

“Riven’s concern is valid after what we experienced,” Sapphire’s voice cuts through my spiraling thoughts, measured and diplomatic.

Court-perfect. As if she was born for this—which, given her parentage, she was.

“If Maeris and Thalia are as loyal as you claim, a binding oath should be no issue for them.”

My ice retracts, curling back into me. Not because I’m any less haunted, but because I can’t look away from her. From how flawlessly she’s adapted to our courts, and how quickly she’s learned to speak our language.

Soul-fused or not, I’ll never be able to express how deep my love for her runs.

But I feel it now, sharper than before. And maybe that’s the problem. Because I’m hers. Fully and completely. And with me, she’ll always be safe. Always. Even if it destroys me. Especially if it does.

Lysandra studies me again. But this time, her expression shifts, softening slightly.

“Perhaps I misjudged you, Winter Prince,” she says. “ Your devotion to my daughter is admirable, even if somewhat… ferocious in its intensity.”

“My devotion,” I say, my voice even, “is what keeps her alive.”

Our eyes lock. Neither of us blinks.

She has no idea what I gave. What I’ve already lost. What I’m willing to sacrifice. And I’m not budging until we’re as protected as possible against Lysandra’s so-called trusted warriors.

Because yes, I want to win this war. I want to end the Night Court’s threat. But above all else, I will not live a life that doesn’t have Sapphire in it. Now that our souls are fused, I hopefully won’t even be able to.

Lysandra inclines her head. “Very well,” she says simply, and then she stands, makes her way to the doors of the throne room, and opens them.

Maeris and Thalia enter again, their expressions unreadable as they approach.

This time, they give us a little more space.

Good.

Let them feel the warning in my posture. Let them see the frost that clings to the stone at my feet. Let them know that if they try to cross me—if they try to hurt her —I will stop time and make them pay for it before they can blink.

If my father knew the monster he was unleashing when he gifted me the compass, would he have handed it over so willingly?

Or did he see what I’m only just beginning to understand—that no matter what state his mind is in, he will always do whatever it takes to forge me into the weapon he designed me to be?

No, not just a weapon. A legacy.

A silver storm that doesn’t ask for permission.

“Maeris. Thalia.” Lysandra’s voice jolts me out of my thoughts as she moves to stand in front of her throne, thin streams of water swirling like serpents around her fingers. “Prince Riven has raised concerns about your loyalties.”

Maeris’s expression remains impassive, but Thalia’s eyes widen slightly.

“Your Majesty?” Maeris asks, his tone respectful, but touched with the kind of bewilderment only centuries of service can justify. “We have served you faithfully for generations.”

“Indeed, you have,” Lysandra agrees. “But the alliance between our courts is new, and Prince Riven was recently betrayed by Winter Court guards he trusted implicitly. Guards who did not support his union with my daughter, and who tried to kill them both.” She gestures toward us with a fluid motion of her hand.

“Given that experience, they have requested a binding oath of loyalty before you accompany them to the Pyros Vault.”

Understanding dawns in Maeris’s eyes, and he straightens his shoulders, nodding once. “I will swear whatever oath is required,” he says.

Thalia hesitates for just a heartbeat, then nods as well. “As will I, Your Majesty.”

“Perfect,” Lysandra says, the sharpness of the word making it clear that it was never up for debate. “I will now state the terms of this oath.”

The room grows silent, the only sound the gentle splash of water in the fountains.

“You will swear to protect Princess Sapphire Hayes Fairmont Solandriel Draevor and Prince Riven Draevor with your lives, placing their safety above your own,” she begins, her gaze locked on the two summer warriors.

“You will not betray them, abandon them, or turn against them with any intent, malicious or otherwise. You will stand between them and danger, follow their commands as if they were my own, and remain loyal to them until they return safely to the Summer Court.”

The weight of her words hangs in the air, heavy with power and implication.

“Maeris,” Lysandra commands. “Step forward.”

He moves without hesitation, stopping an arm’s length from the queen.

“Do you accept these terms?” she asks.

“I do, Your Majesty,” he replies without a second’s thought .

She offers her hand, and the moment their skin connects, water surges upward, encircling their wrists in glowing spirals that twine to their elbows. The magic pulses once, then sinks into their skin, leaving behind a blue shimmer that fades as quickly as it formed.

Maeris steps back, his expression solemn but unwavering.

“Thalia,” Lysandra calls. “Step forward.”

Thalia approaches, and I catch it again—a tightness in her brow.

“Do you accept these terms?” Lysandra asks her.

“I do, Your Majesty,” she answers, her voice steady despite whatever I saw in her expression a moment earlier.

Their hands clasp, and again, the water seals the deal.

But I’m watching her now. Closely. And I won’t stop.

“Now,” Lysandra continues, pivoting with court-perfect grace, “we must discuss your journey to the Pyros Vault. Because as you know, its mortal realm counterpart in Mount Etna lies in Italy—a distance that could take weeks, or even months, to traverse in the mystical realm. Therefore, you will cross into the mortal realm and travel from New York to Italy by private plane.”

“By plane?” Thalia scoffs. “And who, exactly, is going to fly this plane? Last I checked, most fae don’t have pilot’s licenses. ”

I smirk despite myself. Because her distaste is common among our kind—especially those too old or too proud to adapt.

The idea of surrendering control to a metal contraption powered by combustion? Unthinkable.

Lysandra gives Thalia a small, somewhat understanding smile.

“I know someone who does,” the queen says. “T has flown for the Summer Court, the vampire kingdoms, and several shifter territories. She’s efficient, discreet, and utterly unflappable.”

I exchange a glance with Sapphire, feeling her uncertainty through our bond.

It mirrors my own. I’m not quite as accustomed to the mortal realm as I’ve had her believe, and while she was raised there, international travel wasn’t exactly part of her experience in Presque Isle.

As far as I’m aware, she’s never been on a plane at all.

She simply gives me a small, encouraging smile, then shifts her focus back to Lysandra.

“When do we leave?” she asks, her voice steady despite her fear.

Love for her rushes through me all over again. It’s the type of love that doesn’t just make me vulnerable, but that makes me willing.

Willing to suffer. To fall. To be her blade, her shield, and her ruin. Anything, so long as I’m hers .

“The veil between realms opens in less than an hour. T will be waiting in Central Park, and from there, she’ll take you directly to a private airfield.

Retrieve the Ember and return to us as quickly as possible,” Lysandra says, and she approaches Sapphire, placing her hands on her shoulders in a gesture that would seem motherly, if not for the calculation in her eyes.

“The fate of all realms depends on your success.”