Page 62 of Midnight Star

“Return to your body,” he says. “Now.”

“But you’re still trapped?—“

“And getting more trapped by the second because you’re still fighting.”

He forces himself to relax, and the roots around my unconscious body continue to loosen, too.

He’s right. Our struggle is only making things worse.

So, I take a deep breath and snap back into my body.

Returning is always jarring, but this time it’s accompanied by the strange warmth of the roots around me. They’re still holding me in place, but their grip is almost curious now. Like they’re studying me rather than trying to crush me.

I tense up, trying to wiggle free.

The roots tighten their grip, squishing me, threatening to shatter my bones.

“Sapphire,” Riven says calmly. “I love you, but if you don’t relax, this tree is going to crush us before I kiss you again. And that’s not the tragic ending I signed up for.”

Those three words when they come from him—I loveyou—are always enough to make me melt. Especially when they’re said in the same sentence as kissing him.

Now, they help me relax, and I steady my breathing, letting the tension drain from my limbs.

The roots stop thrashing. And then, slowly, they lower me down. A glance at Riven shows that he’s being lowered, too.

But the tree doesn’t release us. Sure, my feet are planted firmly on the ground, and I can breathe again, but the roots are still a cage around me, threatening to break me if I try anything against them.

I stay as still as possible, not wanting to make any sudden moves.

In the silence, the tree creaks, its trunk shifting as a someone steps out from the bark, as if emerging from another world. She’s tall and slender, her skin the color of rich wood, with moss and vines cascading from her shoulders like a living cloak.

Her glowing green eyes sweep over us, an unsettling combination of curiosity and authority in her gaze.

“I am Chryserra, a dryad of this sacred grove. This tree is my flesh and blood.” Her eyes narrow, glittering with amusement as they sweep over me and Riven. “And you’ve come for its sap.”

“The sap is crucial for saving lives,” Riven says steadily. “We had no intention of harming you or your tree.”

The roots holding me tighten, their rough texture biting into my skin.

The dryad, however, remains focused on Riven.

“What’s a winter fae doing in the Summer Court?” she asks him.

“I’m the winterprince,”he corrects her. “And the sap in your tree won’t just save lives in the Winter Court, but for the Summer Court as well.”

She doesn’t answer him. Instead, her gaze turns to me, studying me so intensely that I nearly squirm.

“And you,” she says. “You look familiar. Have I seen you before?”

“No,” I say, since when could she have possibly seen me? “I’ve never been to the Summer Court, let alone to your tree.”

“I suppose I’d remember meeting someone who can wield both water and air magic,” she replies. “And then there was that trick when you left your body. There were two of you. One in my roots, and the other a ghost.”

“I wasn’t a ghost. I was an astral projection,” I correct her. “It’s magic gifted to me by the star goddess.”

She tilts her head, and from the way her lips part, I think I’ve actually caught her by surprise.

“You’re claiming to be one of the star touched?” she asks.

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