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The rest of our journey passes swiftly and easily.

Now, the Summer Court gates rise before us as the sun reaches its peak, trees woven together with flowering vines that bloom perpetually in defiance of the seasons.

Ghost and Nebula leap from the carriage, choosing to march regally beside us. Their presence sends a clear warning—these are not pets, but sentinels. Battle-tested, bonded, and ready to kill.

The sentries at the gate stare openly at our approach, their expressions shifting from curiosity to suspicion.

“Princess Sapphire,” the first guard says, bowing his head. “Welcome back to the Summer Court.”

Back.

As if this place was ever a true home to me.

The second guard eyes the empty carriages in our caravan. “The Summer Court was informed that you would be arriving with a diplomatic entourage,” he says simply.

“There were complications on our journey,” Riven says, his voice carrying the unmistakable authority of royalty. The kind that demands they cease all questioning at once.

The guards nod at each other, then step out of our way.

As we pass through the gates, the weight of stares follow us. Summer fae lining the flowering path toward the palace, their eyes tracking our progress, whispers rising in our wake.

“The hybrid princess...”

“...unnatural...”

“...where are their guards?”

“...Winter Prince in our midst...”

Riven’s hand finds mine, his grip firm. “Ignore them,” he murmurs. “They’re just afraid of what they don’t understand.”

When we arrive at the palace, we disembark from the carriage and are led through the grand corridor to the throne room. It’s a vast chamber where the glass ceiling allows full view of the sky, and water flows down crystal walls, collecting in pools where lilies float.

At the far end, seated on a throne carved from living wood and blooming with flowers, is Queen Lysandra .

My mother.

A fact that feels far from real.

The royal announcer—a tall summer fae with flowers woven through his hair—eyes us with barely concealed shock before composing himself.

“Her Royal Highness, Princess Sapphire Hayes Fairmont Solandriel Draevor of the Summer Court, the Winter Court, and the New York Vampire Clan,” he declares, stumbling over the sheer weight of my titles. “And His Royal Highness, Prince Riven Draevor of the Winter and Summer Courts.”

“Leave us,” Lysandra commands.

The announcer bows and vanishes.

The queen studies me for a few uncomfortable seconds, her expression giving away none of her thoughts.

“Daughter,” she finally says, the word undeniably strange between us. “Prince Riven. And…” Her gaze drifts to the cheetah and snow leopard by our sides.

“This is Nebula, my familiar,” I introduce my cheetah. “We were united after Riven and I left the Summer Court.”

Riven gestures to Ghost, his voice coolly regal. “And this is Ghost—my familiar, and perhaps the only creature in existence more stubborn than I am,” he says, drawing a smile from Lysandra.

Her laugh spills freely, melodic and teasing. “Winter Prince, your wit remains delightfully tempting,” she says. “You nearly make me regret that my daughter is the one who claimed you first.”

Riven’s eyes glint mischievously. “A near miss, indeed,” he says. “But fortunately for you, Sapphire is a natural at the endless task of managing both my sarcasm and my insufferable disposition.”

I shake my head with mock exasperation. “Someone had to protect the realms from his ego,” I say, turning to him. “Although… I have to admit that I’ve grown rather fond of it.”

His expression shifts to that soft, real smile that he only ever gives me. And when he speaks to Lysandra, his gaze remains locked on mine.

“She’s the only one brave enough—and perhaps foolish enough—to love me exactly as I am,” he says. “And I’ll always honor her courage… by never changing a thing.”

My breath catches. Because this side of Riven—the side that openly loves me with no reservations—is one I’ll appreciate until the end of eternity.

Lysandra’s gaze drifts between Riven and me, a knowing smile playing at her lips.

“My, how things have changed between you two,” she muses. “The last time you stood in this chamber, the air practically froze from how much you hated each other.”

My cheeks warm at the memory—the hatred that wasn’t mine, and the emptiness in Riven’s eyes that wasn’t his. The lead arrow’s poison and the dryad’s bargain still feel like a nightmare, even though we overcame them in the Cosmic Tides.

“A lot’s happened since then,” I say, reaching for Riven’s hand.

He glances at our intertwined fingers, then back at Lysandra. “We’ve faced darkness I wouldn’t wish on anyone, but it showed us exactly who we are together,” he tells her. “It turns out that love— true love—is worth dying for.”

Lysandra’s lips curve knowingly, and she shifts her focus to me.

“The streams of fate wouldn’t allow you to give up so easily,” she says.

“Despite your protests, the threads binding your souls proved unbreakable. Which brings us to where we are now. Because the bond between you two is strong enough to reshape worlds, and we’ll need that strength for the challenges ahead.

But first—” Her tone shifts, becoming more serious, her gaze steady as it returns to Riven.

“I must ask about the caravan that was supposed to accompany you. Where are your guards?”

Riven’s jaw tightens, his grief spiking through our bond. “They’re dead,” he says simply, his voice dropping to a dangerous chill. “Calder, my combat instructor since childhood, orchestrated an ambush. It turns out that not all in the Winter Court will accept our alliance. ”

“That would make it too easy, wouldn’t it?” Lysandra gives him a knowing smile, a surprising amount of empathy crossing her eyes. “But you did what needed to be done to protect my daughter, and I will not fault you for it.”

“Sapphire helped, too,” Riven jumps to my defense. “She’s devastatingly deadly—and beautiful—with the Star Disc.”

“So, you did get the Disc.” Lysandra’s tone sharpens with interest, her posture straightening. Then, she claps, the gesture strangely childlike and delighted. “Show it to me.”

I unsling it from my belt and place it into her outstretched hands.

She runs her fingers across the weapon’s edge, her eyes glinting with approval—until she pricks her fingertip on one of its razor-thin points.

“A star weapon with bite,” she murmurs, watching the crimson bead with interest. Her blood smells like honey, as if summer lives inside her veins.

“Now, the war council awaits. Time is no longer our friend, and we must solidify our plans against the Night Court and their allies.”

She returns the Disc to me, and as we follow her down the hall with Ghost and Nebula padding silently beside us, I squeeze Riven’s hand. He’s tense, bracing for hostility the way he would before a battlefield, but I pour calm through the bond, like a breeze across ice .

“I love you,” I whisper, as if it’s a secret just for him.

A slight smile touches his lips. “Good thing,” he murmurs back. “Because we’re about to walk into a room full of summer fae who have spent centuries hating everything about the Winter Court.”

“Yet here you are,” I say, “holding the hand of the Summer Princess.”

“Yes,” he agrees, his silver eyes meeting mine with fierce devotion. “Here I am. With you, where I was always meant to be, until the end of time.”