Page 11 of Stolen Star

I clutch the pen tighter.

“It’s not about what you’ve given me,” I rush toexplain, desperate for him to understand. “It’s about wondering if I’ll ever see anything else. If this is all there ever is—these rooms, and these walls, day after day, year after year.” I swallow hard, but now that I’ve started, I can’t stop. “I keep thinking about what the rest of my life will be like, and I can’t see beyond these chambers.”

He doesn’t get angry.

He gets still. Dangerous. Quiet.

A storm building behind locked doors.

“You have freedom here,” he says, his voice so soft and measured that it feels more dangerous than if he’d shouted. “Everything you could ever want. You never have to fear the world again.”

I swallow, heart pounding. “Aerix?—”

“Haven’t I kept you safe?” he continues. “From the Court, from the king… from being discarded like Victoria?” His jaw tightens, his eyes narrowing.

“I know,” I whisper, guilt tightening in my chest. “You have. But?—”

“It’s still not enough.”

His gaze drops from mine, his fingers curling around the pen resting on the harpsichord. His movements are precise, but I can see the tremble beneath the grace. The effort it takes for him to not snap the pen in two.

“Do you still want this?” he asks quietly, studying it as if he can’t bear to look at me.

“Of course I want it. I meant what I said, Aerix—Ilove you.” I hesitate, my voice softening as I force myself to continue. “But I can’t live like this forever.”

He nods once, and that single, mechanical movement terrifies me more than any outburst.

Then, with absolute calm, he places the pen back in my hand.

“Then draw your freedom,” he says. “Show me where you think you belong.”

“Aerix—” I start, but he silences me with a kiss, his lips lingering on mine as if trying to memorize their shape. When he pulls back, he gives me one final look, then turns away and walks out, leaving me alone in the lavish silence of my suite.

My gaze lands on the sketchbook resting on my nightstand. The leather binding is creased from how often we’ve passed it between us—its pages filled with sketches of me, Aerix, and of us together. We’ve spent these past few weeks adding to each other’s work, a silent dialogue of ink and paper.

I flip open the cover and run my fingertips over our intertwined drawings. Each one pulses with the energy we poured into it, reflecting pieces of ourselves we’ve shared in stolen moments. It’s by far the most precious thing I’ve ever owned.

With newfound determination, I find a fresh page and smooth it out.

Draw your freedom.

A challenge and a plea.

And so, I do.

The blood from the pen flows smoothly as the Night Court palace takes shape beneath my hand, its spires and arches more imposing than beautiful. I draw the entrance where I first arrived, terrified and defiant, on Nyx’s back with Aerix’s arms around me. I bring the streets to life where night fae leered at me in town, whispering cruel predictions about how long I would last.

But I change it.

In my drawing, Aerix still rides Nyx… but I’m on a jaguar of my own, my back straight, my chin lifted.

And the night fae who line the pathway aren’t leering or threatening.

They’re bowing their heads. Not in fear, but in respect.

To both of us.

SAPPHIRE

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