Page 7

As I respect Riven’s wishes and turn, Nebula presses against my legs.

I sink my fingers into her golden fur, drawing comfort from her warmth.

Ghost stays beside Riven, loyal to the end. And, like Ghost, I stay close enough that Riven knows I’m with him, even if I can’t watch. Even if I can’t help.

Other than his one whispered apology—meant for the knights, not for me—there are no screams. No cries of pain. There are only quiet, methodical steps as Riven moves from one frozen guard to the next, doing what needs to be done.

I keep my eyes closed, but each moment of his guilt and grief spikes through our bond.

“It’s done,” he finally says, and I turn to see him standing in the center of the clearing, surrounded by fallen bodies.

Calder, Lira, Kyler—people who shared meals with us, laughed with us, and protected us. All of them lie motionless, their expressions locked in their final moments of betrayal, rage, or fear.

Riven’s sword is still in hand, his face a perfect mask of control. But his eyes—the ones I know better than my own by this point—are shattered.

“We need to take care of the bodies,” he says mechanically. “We can’t leave them here like this.”

I want to go to him, to pull him close and share this burden with him. But the way he’s holding himself—too rigid, too controlled—shows me he’s barely keeping it together.

“Riven,” I say gently.

He doesn’t look at me. “We should build a pyre. It’s the fastest way.”

“Riven, please. Look at me.”

His eyes find mine, and the pain in them steals my breath away. This is Riven without his armor, without his defenses. This is the boy who lost his mother, who watched his father descend into madness, and who trusted Calder as a mentor—only to have that mentor try to impale his heart with a sword.

“This wasn’t your fault,” I tell him, stepping closer. “None of this was your fault. ”

“I should have known,” he says again. “I’ve known Calder my entire life. How did I not see this coming?”

“Because you trusted him. Because he was family to you.”

“And he tried to kill you.” Ice crackles around his clenched fists. “They all did.”

I reach for him, needing to bridge the space between us, to offer some comfort in this nightmare. But my fingers barely brush his arm before time resumes.

Bodies fall. Blood spills.

I want to turn away, but something inside me can’t.

Riven steps away, turning to survey the clearing with clinical detachment. “Let’s get this over with,” he says, moving away from me to gather some wood.

I swallow the hurt and follow his lead, channeling my energy into the grim task at hand. Nebula and Ghost patrol the perimeter, alert for any new threats.

When the work is finally done, Riven stands before the pyre, staring at Calder’s body. There’s so much death—and all of it because Calder couldn’t accept change. Couldn’t accept me.

Flames crackle as they consume what’s left of the Winter Court guards. Neither of us speaks for what feels like an eternity.

“I thought some of them were my friends,” Riven says quietly, like he’s speaking to himself instead of to me.

“As much as I could call anyone friends, at least. Being a winter prince never allowed much room for that. Friendship requires equals, and I’ve never been allowed equals.

Especially when my father made it clear that I wasn’t deserving of love—or deserving of having anyone care about me as anything more than a deadly weapon for the Winter Court. ”

“You have me now,” I remind him softly, stepping closer, needing to ease the ache radiating through our bond. “You’ll always have me.”

The moment the words leave my lips, the image of me standing over Riven’s body, blood-soaked dagger in hand, my eyes hollow with hate, flashes through my mind.

All rivers reach the sea eventually. No matter how many branches they take along the way.

That’s what she—the version of myself in the vision—said to me. And then there was the newest version of the nightmare, where she conjured that torch and burned Riven and Zoey’s bodies…

“What are you thinking?” Riven asks me, apparently feeling my troubled thoughts through the bond.

It’s moments like these that I wish I could lie. Or that I was at least as skilled as Riven is at spinning truths from lies.

“Sapphire?” he presses again, and something in his eyes tells me that he needs to know—that he won’t rest until I tell him .

“I was remembering the Tides,” I say simply, hoping to leave it at that.

“What were you remembering from the Tides?”

“The visions,” I say softly. “The nightmare. The one of me…” I trail off and glance at the burning bodies.

“We shattered the Tides,” he says sharply, reaching for me and lacing his fingers through mine. “We carved our vows in blood and starlight. You won’t become her, just like how I won’t become that frozen shell of a king, alone on the throne.”

I exhale shakily, his words grounding me, like a tether to the present.

“I love you,” I say the only words that come into my mind. “I’m yours forever.”

Ghost rumbles low in his chest. Not a growl, but something softer. A sound of approval.

“As is Ghost,” I add, my eyes traveling up Riven’s sword to meet his gaze again. “And Frostbite.”

I can’t help but smile at that last part.

Riven breathes out a short, almost disbelieving laugh, as if the sound surprises him after all this ruin.

“You’re never going to let that go, are you?” He shakes his head, his eyes losing some of their haunted shadows.

“The fact that you named your favorite weapon when you were five?” I tease, squeezing his hand. “No, I don’t think I will. But it’s endearing. Honestly. ”

“Then perhaps you should join in with yours.” He gestures to the Star Disc at my side. “That thing should have a proper name.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Are you serious?”

“Deadly,” he says, but there’s a hint of playfulness in his voice that tells me he’s trying—for my sake—to lift us both from the weight of what just happened. “How about Comet?”

“Too simple,” I counter, playing along. “It needs something more... imposing.”

“Frostline,” he suggests with a smirk.

“That’s just trying to complement Frostbite.” I roll my eyes.

“Guilty.”

I shake my head. “It’s a star weapon, not a snowflake.”

“Fine. Then maybe Glimmercut,” he offers next. “Or Moon Doom.”

“Moon Doom?” I repeat, laughing despite myself. “It’s a star, not a moon. And I’m starting to question your grasp of astronomy.”

“I grasp enough to know that Glimmercut suits it,” he says, his fingers trailing frost along my arm with deliberate slowness, like he’s memorizing the shape of me all over again. “Elegant but deadly, just like its wielder.”

My breath catches, and I pull the Disc from my belt, studying the way starlight reflects off its polished surface.

“Glimmercut,” I test the name, feeling how it rolls off my tongue. “I like it.”

“Then Glimmercut it is.” Riven nods, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. “A worthy name for the weapon of the star touched princess who stole my heart and razed my world.”

He wraps his arms around my waist, drawing me close. For a long moment, we just exist, surrounded by the crackle of flames and the hum of magic. His heartbeat is steady beneath my ear, a soothing rhythm reminding me he’s alive, safe, and mine.

“I like this,” he murmurs after a while, his voice quiet, almost hesitant.

“Naming weapons?” I tease, lifting my chin to meet his gaze again.

“No.” He pulls back enough to look at me, his eyes impossibly soft—although still haunted. “Having you stand with me. Even after…” He glances at the pyre, his jaw tight. “Even after everything. You ground me, Sapphire. You have since the moment I saw you across that bar.”

He doesn’t say it, but I feel his panic through the bond. The terror that I’ll fade away, that he’ll wake to find it was all a dream. That the gods—or fate—might rip me from his arms again .

So, I rise onto my toes and press a kiss to his lips. It’s soft and slow, a silent promise that says everything I can’t put into words.

I’m here with you, and I’m not going anywhere.

When we break apart, the moon is high, casting silver light across the clearing. Ghost and Nebula sit quietly nearby, nuzzling each other and watching us with calm, knowing eyes.

“Glimmercut and Frostbite,” I say, trying—and failing—not to smile again. “Quite the formidable team.”

Riven chuckles, taking my hand and leading me away from the smoldering remains of the pyre. “The most formidable team,” he agrees, but then he glances back, his expression turning cold again “And one the Night Court will soon regret crossing.”