20. Sapphire

Sapphire

The icy wind bites at my cheeks as Riven and his knights lead Zoey and me through the frozen woods.

It’s almost peaceful out here—if you ignore the fact that we’re being led to our deaths.

Riven won’t look at me. He won’t even acknowledge that I’m here.

As we trudge deeper into the forest, I spot a group of what I can only call fae-deer, their bodies sparkling with a soft glow that pulses like light through crystal. This place, for all its cruelty, is beautiful in a way that makes my heart ache for the life I was denied. The life I would have had if my true mother hadn’t traded me for a human child after I was born.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity of walking through the cold, we reach the lake.

The vast expanse of ice glistens under the moonlight— a shimmering, deadly mirror—and memories claw to the surface of the day when Zoey nearly died. And, from the way her face pales as she also looks on at the lake, I know it’s probably far worse for her.

Riven and his knights begin setting up camp at the edge of the lake, their movements quick and efficient. Ghost circles the camp, as if he’s on the lookout for predators.

As if there are predators in these woods more dangerous than the fae.

Once the fire is lit, Riven strides toward where Zoey and I are sitting next to it to warm up, with two plates of food in his hands.

“Eat,” he says, thrusting the plates into our laps.

Compared to the stale bread given to us in the tower, the bread, fruit, and cheese should be a luxurious feast.

Zoey immediately digs in.

My stomach growls, but I stare down at the food on the plate, not tempted in the slightest.

“Is this not good enough for your final meal?” Riven sneers at me.

I study him, the flames dancing in front of us somehow making the lines on his face even more deadly and beautiful, searching for a trace of warmth in this man made of ice.

I find none.

He leans forward, his voice low and tempting, his eyes trained only on me. “Do you want me to kiss you again, Sapphire?” he murmurs, soft enough so only I can hear. “Do you regret running from me the other night?”

I glance down at his lips, my heart racing faster.

But while my body still—annoyingly—wants him, there’s something it needs even more.

“I need meat,” I tell him. “The guards told me that fae don’t eat it, but I need it. I won’t be at my full strength if I don’t have it.”

Venom drips from my tone at those two words, and I pray that the reminder of his desire to strengthen me up so he can torture me as much as possible will make him want to help me.

His brow furrows, clearly caught off-guard by my request.

“What game are you playing, Summer Fae?” he asks. “What sort of sacrificial human ritual do you intend to perform?”

“No game, and no ritual,” I tell him. “I’m just hungry.”

“Then stop acting like a princess of nothing and eat.” He motions to the unappetizing selection on my plate, watching me in challenge.

He’s not going to help me.

I was an idiot for thinking he would.

All because he got close enough to tempt me with those stupidly perfect lips again .

I hate him. Completely and totally hate him.

“Fine.” I stand up, taking my plate with me, enjoying the feeling of looking down on him. “Perhaps it’ll look more appetizing when I’m not in the presence of such unappealing company.”

With that, I storm into my tent and settle down on its hard, bumpy floor.

This stupid cheese and bread will never satisfy the gnawing need in my stomach for meat. If I were in a grocery store, I’d march to the refrigerator section, rip open a pre-packaged steak, and inhale it on the spot.

I’ve barely taken a bite of the cheese when Riven steps inside, his tall frame filling the small space.

“Leave me alone so I can enjoy my ‘charcuterie board’ in peace,” I snap, glaring at him as the flap of the tent falls shut behind him.

“I thought you didn’t like cheese?” he asks, surprisingly and strangely playful.

So much that it takes me off guard.

“What kind of psycho doesn’t like cheese?” I reply.

“Likely a fae who asks for meat.” He raises a hand, and the air shimmers and crystallizes, encircling the tent like a frozen wall.

We might as well be in an igloo.

My eyes dart around, my chest tightening, needing to escape.

“I’d ask if you came in here to kill me, but that would make your torture trial game a lot less fun for you.” I cast my plate to the side and back away, wanting to put as much space between us as possible.

“I created the barrier to stop my men from overhearing,” he says simply.

“From overhearing what?” I shoot back. “The sound of me rejecting your advances again?”

He doesn’t flinch, but there’s something behind his eyes—a pain that flashes for the briefest moment, then vanishes.

“I didn’t come in here for that, although if you’re offering, I won’t say no.” His eyes travel up and down my body in a way that I wish would make me shudder in disgust instead of desire. “I followed you in here because I have something for you.”

My heart pounds, my breath quickening despite my resolve to stay in control. “I don’t want anything from you.”

“Not even this?” He reaches into his coat pocket and pulls something out, dangling it in front of me like a treat for a trained dog.

My bracelet.

I claw at it to take it back, but he’s faster than me, pulling it away before I can snatch it back.

“You stole it from me,” I say, and rage courses through me, the bracelet swinging in the wind that somehow made its way through the iced over tent .

“I didn’t steal your bracelet from you,” he says, so directly that it must be true. “I went back for it. To the silver tree, in the bushes where you said you lost it.”

I startle, frozen, and not from the ice surrounding us.

“You want something from me in exchange for it,” I say slowly, since after last night, I have a good idea what that something might be.

“I want you to trust me,” he says simply. “To know I’m not as heartless as you believe.”

“I don’t believe you’re heartless,” I tell him. “I know it.”

“You’re an infant in this world,” he reminds me. “You know nothing.”

I flinch back, fuming at his arrogance.

“I might not know much about this magical, wintry world of yours,” I tell him, holding his gaze, unwilling to back down. “But I work at a bar. People act like bartenders are invisible—like we’re part of the furniture. They say things they think we won’t catch, and they do things when they assume no one’s watching. But I see everything, Riven. I hear every word, notice every glance. I know more about the way people move through the world than they’d ever know or guess.”

“You think listening to drunkards confess their sins at a bar makes you some kind of expert on the fae?” He smirks, apparently unmoved by my little speech.

“I think I deserve more credit than you think. ”

“And I think that if I was heartless, I would have let my father kill you on the spot,” he says. “I wouldn’t have fetched your treasured little bracelet for you. And I certainly wouldn’t have kept your secret about that trick you pulled to break into my quarters.”

“What are you trying to say?” I ask, on guard for any word trickery he might be trying to use on me. “That you created these twisted trials to keep me alive?”

“Yes.” He nods, as if I’m finally getting somewhere. “I created these trials to keep you alive.”

“Oh,” I say, since given that he can’t lie, he’s telling the truth. Which means it’s time to switch gears. “So, tell me, Winter Prince. Why are you trying to keep me alive?”