Page 3 of Stolen Star

“I’ll never stop showing you,” he says. “Because Ispent too long thinking I didn’t deserve to love you, or to be loved by you. Now, I know I do. And I’m here for you, always, until the end of time.”

His hands slip lower, one settling at the curve of my back, the other brushing the scar on my palm—the one he gave me when we sealed our vows in the Tides.

He traces those same eight letters onto my skin that he did in the ocean at Montauk:I love you.

My throat tightens. “You’re going to make me cry again.”

“I’ll allow it,” he says dryly. “As long as they’re tears of love and not more post-nightmare trauma.”

I laugh softly, shaking my head. “You really know how to ruin a moment.”

“Yet you married me anyway,” he says with that smirk I’ve come to love all too much.

“I love you,” I tell him, and then, rising on tiptoes, I kiss him—slow and intentional. There’s no urgency. Just the steady, reassuring pressure of his lips against mine.

His magic responds, ice and water swirling around us in a dance that mirrors the emotions flowing through our bond. And as we kiss, the world falls away until there’s nothing but us, standing together under the star-filled sky of endless winter.

When we break apart, I rest my head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart. It’s the most reassuring sound in the world. It’s a reminder thatwe survived the impossible—the dryad’s deal, Eros’s lead arrow, the Cosmic Tides, and so much more.

“What are you thinking about?” he asks.

“Everything that’s coming next,” I tell him, pulling back just enough to meet his eyes. “The Night Court. Zoey. All of it.”

His expression hardens. “We’ll get her back.”

“How?” The word comes out more desperate than I intend. “We don’t even know what condition she’s in, if they’ve hurt her, if she’s even?—”

“One step at a time,” he interrupts, catching my hands in his. “First, we go to the Summer Court for our diplomatic mission to publicly establish our alliance, and to pool our resources. Then we take it from there. Okay?”

“Okay,” I say, steadying myself—grounding myself in him.

He pauses for a few heartbeats, drinking in every inch of me.

“I’m going to keep you safe, Sapphire,” he says, the sharpness in his eyes intense enough that it could cut through realms. “No matter what creatures from nightmares jump out at us, I’ll keep you safe, through all of it. I swear it.”

“I know you will,” I say, giving him a small smile. “But as a reminder… I’m not exactly defenseless myself.”

“You do look so incredibly sexy when you throw thatStar Disc,” he says, his vibe easily shifting to match my own.

“And you look so incredibly sexy when you do… anything,” I say, since it’s impossible to pick only one.

“Then it’s a good thing we’ll have an entire carriage to ourselves for three days straight while we make our way to the Summer Court.” He smiles mischievously, his fingers skimming my waist. “Plenty of time and privacy to fullyappreciateeach other.”

“A carriage?” I pull back, blinking at him. “You mean a horse-drawn carriage through the fae realm?”

A small smile tugs at his lips. “Yes, a carriage,” he says. “How else did you expect us to get there?”

“Portaling to the mortal realm, stealing a car, and entering the Summer Court through Central Park?” Magic stirs beneath my skin, responding to my frustration. “Wouldn’t that be faster?”

“Faster, yes—assuming there are no roadblocks to slow us down. More strategic, no. We’ll have a royal entourage.” Riven shakes his head, as if suggesting anything else is appalling. “It will show the Summer Court that we’re strong and united. Besides, fae avoid entering the mortal realm when possible. We’re not…” He pauses, as if searching for the right word. “We don’t belong there.”

“So, Zoey stays captive for longer because fae are allergic to roads and highways?” I frown, my voicerising. “We both know how to drive. And, for your benefit, I’ll let you DJ this time around.”

“You’d really submit yourself to… what did you call it again?” he asks, giving me a knowing smirk as he thinks. “A brooding orchestral piece to match my whole frozen heart aesthetic?”

I smile at his perfect recollection. “I happen to love your frozen heart aesthetic,” I tell him, trailing a finger up his chest. “Especially when that heart melts for me.”

“I willalwaysmelt for you,” he says quietly, serious again. “And I never told you, but that third song—the one you settled on…”

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