Page 29 of Stolen Star

Lysandra studies me again. But this time, her expression shifts, softening slightly.

“Perhaps I misjudged you, Winter Prince,” she says. “Your devotion to my daughter is admirable, even if somewhat… ferocious in its intensity.”

“My devotion,” I say, my voice even, “is what keeps her alive.”

Our eyes lock. Neither of us blinks.

She has no idea what I gave. What I’ve already lost. What I’m willing to sacrifice. And I’m not budging until we’re as protected as possible against Lysandra’s so-called trusted warriors.

Because yes, I want to win this war. I want to end the Night Court’s threat. But above all else, I will not live a life that doesn’t have Sapphire in it. Now that our souls are fused, I hopefully won’t even beableto.

Lysandra inclines her head. “Very well,” she says simply, and then she stands, makes her way to the doors of the throne room, and opens them.

Maeris and Thalia enter again, their expressions unreadable as they approach.

This time, they give us a little more space.

Good.

Let them feel the warning in my posture. Let them see the frost that clings to the stone at my feet. Let them know that if they try to cross me—if they try to hurther—I will stop time and make them pay for it before they can blink.

If my father knew the monster he was unleashing when he gifted me the compass, would he have handedit over so willingly? Or did he see what I’m only just beginning to understand—that no matter what state his mind is in, he will always do whatever it takes to forge me into the weapon he designed me to be?

No, not just a weapon. A legacy.

A silver storm that doesn’t ask for permission.

“Maeris. Thalia.” Lysandra’s voice jolts me out of my thoughts as she moves to stand in front of her throne, thin streams of water swirling like serpents around her fingers. “Prince Riven has raised concerns about your loyalties.”

Maeris’s expression remains impassive, but Thalia’s eyes widen slightly.

“Your Majesty?” Maeris asks, his tone respectful, but touched with the kind of bewilderment only centuries of service can justify. “We have served you faithfully for generations.”

“Indeed, you have,” Lysandra agrees. “But the alliance between our courts is new, and Prince Riven was recently betrayed by Winter Court guards he trusted implicitly. Guards who did not support his union with my daughter, and who tried to kill them both.” She gestures toward us with a fluid motion of her hand. “Given that experience, they have requested a binding oath of loyalty before you accompany them to the Pyros Vault.”

Understanding dawns in Maeris’s eyes, and hestraightens his shoulders, nodding once. “I will swear whatever oath is required,” he says.

Thalia hesitates for just a heartbeat, then nods as well. “As will I, Your Majesty.”

“Perfect,” Lysandra says, the sharpness of the word making it clear that it was never up for debate. “I will now state the terms of this oath.”

The room grows silent, the only sound the gentle splash of water in the fountains.

“You will swear to protect Princess Sapphire Hayes Fairmont Solandriel Draevor and Prince Riven Draevor with your lives, placing their safety above your own,” she begins, her gaze locked on the two summer warriors. “You will not betray them, abandon them, or turn against them with any intent, malicious or otherwise. You will stand between them and danger, follow their commands as if they were my own, and remain loyal to them until they return safely to the Summer Court.”

The weight of her words hangs in the air, heavy with power and implication.

“Maeris,” Lysandra commands. “Step forward.”

He moves without hesitation, stopping an arm’s length from the queen.

“Do you accept these terms?” she asks.

“I do, Your Majesty,” he replies without a second’s thought.

She offers her hand, and the moment their skin connects, water surges upward, encircling their wrists in glowing spirals that twine to their elbows. The magic pulses once, then sinks into their skin, leaving behind a blue shimmer that fades as quickly as it formed.

Maeris steps back, his expression solemn but unwavering.

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