Page 78 of Midnight Star

It reminds me of Celeste.

It’s notexactlythe same—Celeste’s magic was celestial, vast, and all-encompassing. Like looking into the night sky and feeling the pull of eternity.

But his magic has a similar, unmistakable weight to it. Which means he’s not lying.

He really is a god.

“Riven,” I say, forcing steadiness into my voice. “Lower your sword.”

He doesn’t so much as glance at me. “Not a chance.”

“If he wanted to attack, he would have by now,” I say, keeping my movements slow and controlled.

“That doesn’t mean he won’t.” Riven’s voice is sharp, but there’s a flicker of something in his expression—something calculating and aware.

None of us say a word.

Finally, Riven exhales sharply and lowers his sword.

“Wise choice,” the man says, his warm smile turning somewhat predatory. “Allow me to properly introduce myself. I’m Eros, the god of love.”

“Love?”Riven scoffs, like he’s been doing every time I’ve mentioned the word since he traded his for me away.

“Indeed.” Eros’s expression darkens. “Which is why your current situation greatly interests me. You see, I couldn’t help but overhear your charming discussion about love being a liability. So, tell me, Winter Prince—do you really believe that’s true? Do you think love’s aliability?”

Riven stiffens. “What I believe is none of your concern.”

“Oh, but it is.” Eros circles us slowly, fluid and graceful. “You see, I can sense the void where your love for her should be. Stolen. Erased. Hollowed out like a gutted fruit. A disturbing perversion of everything sacred in this world.”

Hope flutters in my chest as I study the arrows in Eros’s quiver. As I do, the stream grows restless, the airthickening with enough moisture that droplets of water cling to my skin.

“You’re here to help?” I ask, stepping toward him. “To fix it?”

Riven lets out an incredulous laugh. “Sapphire?—”

But I don’t look at him. Ican’tlook at him. Not when the god of love is standing in front of us, acknowledging the void in Riven’s heart where his love for me used to be.

This is our chance to make this right. And I’m not going to lose it.

Eros draws an arrow from his quiver and twirls it playfully between his fingers, something undeniably dangerous flashing in his eyes.

I step back, slammed with the realization that no, he’s not here to help us.

“Did you know that I have two types of arrows? Golden-tipped, to bring on undying love,” he muses, and then he pulls out another arrow, this one darker— wicked-looking. “And lead-tipped, to cast consuming hate. Quite the dichotomy, isn’t it? The beauty of love, and the brutality of hate. Two sides of the same coin. Each arrow able to ignite either passion or fury the moment it strikes the heart.”

I swallow, my mouth suddenly dry, only able to focus on one thing. “The gold arrows,” I say slowly, praying with every bit of my heart that I can reason with the godstanding in front of me. “Can they restore love that’s been lost?”

Eros watches me for a long moment, his expression unreadable.

Then, he laughs, and something inside me breaks.

“Oh, sweet girl.” He shakes his head, as if I said something enjoyably foolish. “Do youreallythink I came here to help you?”

I want to say yes. I want to believe he sensed the emptiness in Riven’s heart and came here to make it whole again.

Unfortunately, as much as I wish it was true, I can’t lie. And everything about the way this god is interacting with us—his words, his tone, his expressions—points to anger instead of empathy.

A glance at Riven shows that he’s simply shifting impatiently, as if he wants to get this show on the road and hightail it out of here.

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