Page 82 of Burning Star

Is this what happened to my mother? Did she scream until the frost swallowed her whole?

Suddenly, he stills, his limbs going limp.

It’s done. Over. Finished.

The floor of the arena bottoms out from under me. Because this is my fault. I killed him. And now, the darkness the Tides showed me will become my reality.

But then slowly, agonizingly, he lifts his head and pushes himself up. His eyes—the same silver as mine—are sharp with intelligence, free from the feverish madness that’s haunted them for decades.

“Riven,” he says, as if he’s speaking my name for the first time.

My heart stutters as he moves to his feet. Because he doesn’t say my name with the bark of command, or the hiss of disappointment. It’s not heavy with scorn or weighed down with expectations I’ll never meet.

For once, he speaks it like it means something. LikeImean something.

Which somehow breaks me more than anything else ever could.

But I keep my expression neutral, ready to defend myself if this is another trick.

“Father,” I respond, tightening my grip on my sword.

He turns in a slow circle, his gaze sweeping the silent faces of the Winter Court. And when he returns his focus to me, his eyes are haunted—guilt, regret, and pain etched into every line of his face.

“The things I said to you. The way I treated you—” He stops abruptly, his jaw tightening, frost crackling along his clenched fists. “You deserved better.”

Another shot of pain through my heart.

But still, I don’t waver.

“I did deserve better. But in some ways, everything you said and did made me stronger,” I admit, watching him carefully, clueless of what this man—this sane version of my father—will do next.

To my astonishment, he sinks to one knee, bowing his head to me. Not in submission—a Winter King submits to no one—but with the quiet dignity of a man facing the truth.

“You were never weak,” he says, steady despite the tremor in his shoulders. “And I only hope that someday, you can forgive me.”

Magic stirs within me, ice and water swirling at my feet as I fight to maintain composure.

I am, after all, the Winter Prince. No matter how much my heart has warmed for Sapphire, ice still runs in my veins. And I will not show weakness in front of the court—especially not in a moment as important as this.

“I don’t need your approval anymore,” I tell him, since I’m pretty sure I gave my desire for his approval away when I killed his knights to follow Sapphire into the Wandering Wilds. “But I will accept your respect.”

He nods and reaches for his hand, removing the ring that’s been worn by the Winter King for as long as our court can remember. Then, he presses it into my left palm—the one Sapphire and I marked with our vows.

And as he looks up at me, it’s not as a king, or as a tyrant.

It’s as a man who’s finally seeing his son.

“I tried to make you cold,” he says, speaking slowly, gathering his thoughts. “I thought ice was strength, and that love made you weak. But you found strength despite every lesson I drilled into your heart.”

Tightness grips my chest, a mix of relief and sorrow. Because these are the words I once would have died to hear. Now, they feel too late—yet still powerful enough to shake me.

But I can barely focus on his words.

I’m too busy studying the ring. It glints in the light, cruel and beautiful. And if I slide it onto my finger, I’ll become king—possibly the one who sat on a frozen throne, drowning in silence, creating frosty memories on windowpanes of everyone who abandoned me, betrayed me, and broke my heart.

My father, apparently unaware of the dread racing through my bones, continues to speak.

“This ring has passed from king to king since the Winter Court’s founding,” he says, watching me intently. “And now, it passes to you.”

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