Page 19 of Stolen Star

He glances at our intertwined fingers, then back at Lysandra. “We’ve faced darkness I wouldn’t wish on anyone, but it showed us exactly who we are together,” he tells her. “It turns out that love—truelove—is worth dying for.”

Lysandra’s lips curve knowingly, and she shifts her focus to me. “The streams of fate wouldn’t allow you to give up so easily,” she says. “Despite your protests, the threads binding your souls proved unbreakable. Which brings us to where we are now. Because the bond between you two is strong enough to reshape worlds, and we’ll need that strength for the challenges ahead. But first—” Her tone shifts, becoming more serious, her gaze steady as it returns to Riven. “I must ask about the caravan that was supposed to accompany you. Where are your guards?”

Riven’s jaw tightens, his grief spiking through our bond. “They’re dead,” he says simply, his voice dropping to a dangerous chill. “Calder, my combat instructor since childhood, orchestrated an ambush. It turns out that not all in the Winter Court will accept our alliance.”

“That would make it too easy, wouldn’t it?” Lysandra gives him a knowing smile, a surprising amount of empathy crossing her eyes. “But you did what needed to be done to protect my daughter, and I will not fault you for it.”

“Sapphire helped, too,” Riven jumps to my defense. “She’s devastatingly deadly—and beautiful—with the Star Disc.”

“So, you did get the Disc.” Lysandra’s tone sharpens with interest, her posture straightening. Then, she claps, the gesture strangely childlike and delighted. “Show it to me.”

I unsling it from my belt and place it into her outstretched hands.

She runs her fingers across the weapon’s edge, her eyes glinting with approval—until she pricks her fingertip on one of its razor-thin points. “A star weapon with bite,” she murmurs, watching the crimson bead with interest. Her blood smells like honey, as if summer lives inside her veins. “Now, the war council awaits. Time is no longer our friend, and we must solidify our plans against the Night Court and their allies.”

She returns the Disc to me, and as we follow her down the hall with Ghost and Nebula padding silently beside us, I squeeze Riven’s hand. He’s tense, bracing for hostility the way he would before a battlefield, but I pour calm through the bond, like a breeze across ice.

“I love you,” I whisper, as if it’s a secret just for him.

A slight smile touches his lips. “Good thing,” he murmurs back. “Because we’re about to walk into a room full of summer fae who have spent centuries hating everything about the Winter Court.”

“Yet here you are,” I say, “holding the hand of the Summer Princess.”

“Yes,” he agrees, his silver eyes meeting mine with fierce devotion. “Here I am. With you, where I was always meant to be, until the end of time.”

SAPPHIRE

The war roomis different than the lavish throne room—it’s severe and utilitarian, dominated by a large table formed from a single, massive tree stump.

Maps of the mystical realm and the mortal realm cover the walls, marked by colored pins and careful lines of strategy. Guards stand at attention, watching with curious eyes as we enter, their expressions shifting with wary respect.

Around the table stand a dozen summer fae, their bodies adorned with various symbols of rank and station. Some wear armor etched with flowing patterns that remind me of water in motion, while others are dressed in robes embroidered with the symbols of the Summer Court.

“My advisors,” Lysandra says, gesturing to the assembledfae. “My weapon forgers, strategists, and military commanders.”

A tall fae with golden hair steps forward, his deep blue eyes assessing us with cold calculation.

“Prince Riven,” he says. “Princess Sapphire. I am Commander Thorne, head of the Summer Court’s military.”

Riven inclines his head in acknowledgment. “Commander,” he says simply.

“I must admit,” Thorne continues, “we were expecting a more... substantial entourage.”

“The Winter Court’s loyalty is more fractured than anticipated,” Riven answers coolly, his voice edged with ice. “But the majority of the court stands with us.”

A murmur of approval ripples through a few of the commanders. Thorne nods, and Lysandra steps forward to the table, waving her hand across its surface.

Water rises from hidden channels within the wood, coming together into a shadowy outline that I realize is meant to represent the Night Court—although much of it remains blurry and undefined.

“The Night Court remains largely unknown to us,” Lysandra says. “We only know what the Winter Court has uncovered— that they’ve been stealing winter fae from the borderlands and transforming them into night fae.”

A chill runs through me as I think of Zythara—thenight fae we captured and tortured in the Wandering Wilds.Shewas the one who provided the information about what the Night Court is doing to the winter fae. I hated what we had to do to her to learn what we did, but it’s impossible to deny that it was invaluable.

“Fleur, show them what we’ve been working on,” Lysandra commands.

A slim, silver-haired fae steps forward and places a cloth bundle on the table. She unwraps it with careful movements, revealing a dagger with a blade that emits a warmth that my instincts recognize immediately—summer magic.

“Our theoretical advantage,” Fleur explains. “Weapons infused with summer magic. Since the night fae are winter fae who were transformed, we believe they retain their fundamental vulnerabilities. Summer magic should, in theory, be effective against them.”

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