Page 34 of Stolen Star

“I’m going to have it framed in gold,” he continues, refolding the drawing with precision and sliding it back into his jacket. “A fitting display for such a powerful statement.”

“Why?” I ask, unable to keep the edge from my voice.

His wings shift—just slightly—but enough to betray the tension running beneath his smooth exterior.

“Because I always want us to see it,” he says. “To see what you want. What you’re ready for. What you’re becoming. Now, come to breakfast as you are. You don’t need to change. Not forher.”

Her.

Sophia.

Aerix’s breakfast.

“I haven’t even brushed my hair,” I point out, confusion mounting.

“Good.” Aerix’s hand skims down my arm, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. “I like you this way. Wild. Untamed. Unafraid.”

From the way he leans forward, his eyes burning into mine, I think he’s about to release all that wild, untamed energy out on me.

Instead, he gives me a single nod, turns, and leads the way through the connecting door into his quarters.

When I step inside, I find a girl stands silently by the window, her head bowed, her hands clasped in front of her. She’s older than me—maybe in her lower thirties—with copper-colored hair and skin so pale it’s almost translucent.

I don’t know who she is.

All I know is that she’s not Sophia.

“Aerix?” I whisper, my voice catching.

His gaze remains fixed on the girl. “Sophia has been reassigned.”

“Reassigned?” I repeat. “You mean?—”

“To the barns,” he confirms, his tone casual, as if discussing the weather. “Her disrespect toward you yesterday was unacceptable.”

Horror floods through me as I think of Sophia—sweet, welcoming Sophia—now condemned to the barns because she accused me of killing Henry.

Which, as Aerix and I are both aware, was an accurate accusation.

“But I forgave her,” I say, the words rushing out. “I told her it was fine.”

He turns to me then, one eyebrow raised. “Sophia was not your servant to discipline,” he says, his wings shifting slightly, the only sign of his irritation. “She questioned you. Accused you. In my court, that is treason.”

My throat tightens. “You didn’t even tell me?—“

“You might have tried to stop me if I did,” he cuts me off, his eyes begging me to understand. “If you had, I would have listened to you. I would have given in. You don’t see it, but you could unravel me with a word, Zoey. You have more power than you know.”

My heart pounds as I take in his admission. Because all this time, I thought I was the one at his mercy, when in reality...

“Are we okay?” he asks, the question so human, so ordinary, that it catches me off guard.

I study his face—the perfect angles, the midnight eyes that have haunted my dreams since that first night in the bunker. He’s the dark prince who sends people to the barns for disrespecting me, who drinks human blood without remorse, and who sees most of my kind as little more than cattle.

And yet here he is, waiting for my answer like it’s the only thing that matters in all the realms.

Calm settles in. Not quite peace, but just enough clarity to nod. To breathe. To say what he needs to hear.

“Yes,” I say finally. “We’re okay.”

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