RIVEN
The throne roomis colder than I remember.
Ice crusts the massive pillars in jagged formations that weren’t there when I left, and the frost on the marble floor creeps up the walls like climbing vines. Icicles hang from the chandelier overhead, beautiful in their deadliness, and the windows are covered with frost.
The air hums with madness. Corruption.
Dread curls through my stomach at the memory of the older version of myself—the Lonely King—creating frost patterns along those same windowpanes. My first meeting with Ghost, the wedding kiss in the water with Sapphire, and my sword impaling the mysterious night fae.
I will not become the Lonely King. Whatever happens in the confrontation with my father, I will not take his crown.
Valerian positions his guards at the entrance, while four more emerge from the shadows to line the perimeter. They stand at attention, although their eyes dart between Sapphire and me, waiting for the slightest excuse to attack.
“Stay alert,” I murmur to Sapphire. “Judging from the state of the throne room, my father’s mind is fracturing faster than the court dares to admit.”
She nods, her water magic humming beneath the surface.
Ghost and Nebula move closer to our sides, their muscles coiled and ready.
Finally, the doors at the far end of the hall crack open, and my father strides in. His long, leopard fur cloak trails behind him, and a crown of ice glistens atop his dark, silver-streaked hair. His eyes—wild, glacial, and sharp—lock onto mine with a fury I haven’t seen since the day he told me my mother was gone.
Magic ripples from him in waves, the temperature in the room plummeting further.
“So,” he says, his voice a deadly whisper that carries across the room, “the traitor prince returns—with the Summer spy who should have died by his hand.”
I step forward, placing myself slightly in front of Sapphire. “Father?—”
“Silence!” he roars, and spears of ice erupt from the floor around him. “You dare call me father? After what you’ve done?”
The guards tense, hands moving to their weapons.
“You murdered my knights,” my father continues, each word accompanied by another spike of ice shooting from the floor. “You fled the court with a condemned traitor. You abandoned your duties, your throne, and your blood.” His eyes narrow to slits. “You are no son of mine.”
I stand steady—as I’ve always done—not letting him see how much every word shakes my soul.
“We’re here to help you,” I say, keeping my voice measured despite the frost threatening to spiral out of my fingertips.
A bitter laugh escapes him. “Help me? By bringing the Summer Court’s assassin into my throne room?”
His attention snaps to Sapphire, and he hurls a dagger at her heart.
Ice erupts from my right hand, creating a shield. At the same time, water from my left hand coils in a sharp current, wrapping around the projectile and redirecting it away from Sapphire.
The weapon crashes into the marble pillar behind us, nearly impaling the head of one of the guards in the process.
Sapphire’s fingers are inches from her dagger—or to her Star Disc—but she doesn’t draw. Instead, she glances at me, silently confirming what we already decided: it’s too soon to reveal our strongest weapon.
My father staggers back, his eyes wide.
“What—” he begins, staring at the mixture of water and ice swirling around us. “You wield water?”
I lower my shield, keeping the water dancing at my fingertips.
“Yes,” I say, holding his silver gaze.
His face contorts, twisted by fury and madness. “You are of Winter!” he snarls. “You cannot wield Summer’s gifts!”
“Yet here I stand.” My voice rings with hard finality. “Still your son, no matter how much you want to deny it.”
