Page 71 of Midnight Star

His hands curl into fists at his sides, the only sign of the turmoil gathering beneath the surface.

I want to run to him. To grab him and pull him back. To beg him one last time to find another way.

But there is no other way. Even if there was, themagic of the favor I owe him binds me into staying silent.

I’d still be furious with him if I wasn’t about to lose him.

Chryserra smiles—smug and greedy—as her bark-textured fingers reach out to cradle his face.

He doesn’t flinch—he doesn’t even move—but I can see the rigidity in his posture, every muscle in his body tensing like he’s bracing for a blow.

And then, without another word, she kisses him.

He looks like a statue, utterly still, his face void of any emotion. But he endures it, his jaw tight and his arms hanging straight by his sides, his hands curled into tight fists.

I don’t breathe. I don’t blink.

The words he just spoke—I love you—are ringing in my ears and vibrating in my bones, already ghosts of something slipping away.

A moment later, the ice shards surrounding him begin to melt. First, just a few droplets sliding down the jagged edges, glinting like tears in the moonlight. Then more. And more.

His posture relaxes, his clenched fists loosening.

Then, the melting quickens.

Each shard that disappears is a heartbeat lost. A piece of him—and of us—slipping away.

My nails dig into my palms, as if physical pain canremove the emotional pain. But it doesn’t. Everything inside me shatters as I watch the love Riven feels for me disappear, piece by piece, like sand slipping through an hourglass.

It’s like I’m being unmade, one slow, torturous second at a time.

When Chryserra finally pulls back, her eyes flutter closed, and she inhales deeply, savoring the golden light that transfers from Riven to her.

That light was his love for me.

And now, it’s hers.

The moment it absorbs into her body, every ounce of hope I had that his love for me ran so deep that the deal would fail shatters.

“It’s done,” she says, and when she opens her eyes again, there’s a satisfaction in them that wasn’t there before. “Such exquisite love. So rare. So beautiful. I’ll hold onto it, always. And now… I’ll leave you both to it. Collect as much sap as you can carry. It’s yours.”

“We will,” Riven says, and just like that, Chryserra walks over to the tree, gives me one last smug look, and vanishes into its trunk.

Riven turns away from her, his eyes meeting mine.

I wish they didn’t.

Because they’re cold. Distant. Clinical. Like he’s assessing a stranger instead of looking at someone he poured his heart out to moments earlier.

“We should collect extra sap if possible,” he tells me, getting straight to business. “It might prove useful for future potions.”

He walks to the pack, and I watch him, waiting for him to say something more.

He doesn’t. All he does is focus on the task at hand.

I guess it’s up to me then.

So, I stand straighter and take a tentative step closer, praying to every god in the Universe that he’ll run to me, kiss me, and say he still loves me.

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