Page 77 of Fallen Star

“Sapphire?” His voice sounds far away. “What’s wrong?”

Everything,I want to say.

But I can’t tell him. Can’t let him know what I am. What I need.

So, I make my breathing as shallow as possible, to push down the hunger until it’s manageable. Until I can trust myself to look at him without wanting to lick that blood off his arm.

It’s better now that the cut’s healed—now that the blood isn’t flowing—but I’m far more aware of my hunger than I was when I woke up in his arms earlier.

“I’m fine,” I say, now that I’ve regained some sense of control. “I think I’m just tired. And worried about Zoey.”

He studies me for a long moment, and my heart races with worry that he might push for more.

Finally, he nods. “We should break for food anyway,” he says.

Food.

If only he knew how right he is about the fact that I need to eat.

But he’s wiping the now not-fresh blood off his arm with a cloth, and then he picks up the sword, cleaning it as well.

When he rises, we’re so close that it makes my breath hitch.

I have no idea when we’ll have a chance to be like this again—just the two of us—after the storm ends. This cave has somehow become our little piece of Heaven.

Apparently, he feels the same, because in a flash, he’s kissing me again, this time with a fierceness that leaves no room for hesitation.

The sword clatters to the ground.

And in here, with Riven, the world narrows to just us, and we’re pulled back into a storm that’s purely our own.

Afterward, wrapped in Riven’s arms, even the howling storm feels distant.

And for once, he looks unguarded, his eyes softened in the dim light of the cave. It’s a version of him I don’t think anyone else gets to see—a glimpse beneath the frost.

“You’re quiet,” he says. “Regrets already?”

“No,” I quickly say. “I was just… thinking.”

He shifts, propping himself up on one elbow to look at me. “About?”

“About you,” I admit, turning to face him fully. “And Zoey, and Ghost. I’m sorry you didn’t have anyone else who was there for you. Really,trulythere for you.”

“My mother was there for me,” he says without pause. “Before she…”

He looks away, his eyes distant.

I stay quiet—not wanting to push, but also wanting to give him space to share.

“My mother wasn’t like the others in court,” he finally says, turning back to me. “She was softer. Kinder. Everything a Winter Queen wasn’t supposed to be.”

I stay still, barely breathing, afraid that if I move or speak, he’ll retreat behind his walls again.

“The court whispered about it constantly,” he says. “How she showed too much mercy. How she let her emotions guide her decisions, instead of logic. She heard every word, even when they thought she didn’t.”

“That must have been hard for her,” I say softly. “And for you, watching her go through that.”

“She wanted to change. To be what they wanted.” He glances at the ice barrier—as if she could be waiting outside in the storm—then turns his attention back to me. “So, she started searching for a way to suppress her emotions. To be the Winter Queen she thought they needed.”

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