Page 78 of Fallen Star

“That’s why she was so desperate to make that potion,” I say, everything starting to click.

The potion that killed her.

“Yes,” he says, tightening his arms around me. “She couldn’t find the final ingredient, but she was gifted and intuitive with her magic—like you are. So, eventually, she decided she was confident enough to try anyway.”

“It killed her,” I whisper what I already know is true.

“Froze her heart completely.” The words come out rough, like they’re being torn from his throat. “My father and I found her in her quarters. She was just sitting there, like a statue made of ice. And when he touched her, she shattered.”

I push up onto my elbow so I can see his face, and when he meets my gaze, the raw honesty there takes my breath away

“I won’t lose my father like I lost her,” he says. “The court needs stability. A ruler who can balance logic and emotions without being destroyed by either. So, we’ll get the ingredients for the potion. All of them. And then we’ll—well,you’ll—brew it correctly. And then, hopefully, he’ll be okay. Hopefully everything will be okay.”

I wish I could say it’ll all work out like he wants it to.

But I can’t. Neither of us know how any of this will turn out.

“I’ll do my best,” I say instead, and I mean it.

Not just because the faster we get this potion made and give it to his father, the faster we can start searching for Zoey. But also because I want to do this for Riven. Even if we didn’t make that deal to help each other, I’d want to do it for him.

It breaks my heart to see him so alone.

He shifts closer, his arm wrapping around me as he settles back against the pack we’re using as a pillow. “Get some sleep,” he says. “We’ll need our strength when the storm ends.”

I nod, but as I close my eyes, his story lingers in my mind.

The woman who tried to be something she wasn’t. The man who broke when she died. And the son left to pick up the pieces.

Then there’s the quiet truth I don’t dare say out loud: I think Riven’s stronger than both of them.

And I can’t help wondering what the Winter Court would be like ifhewas the one who was king.

Zoey

A knock poundson my door, startling me awake and swinging open before I can ask for a few minutes to get out of bed.

The fae servant who brought me from the throne room to my suite is there. The nice one. Her posture’s perfect, her face is expressionless, and her wings are retracted, like all the servants around here seem to keep them.

“Prince Aerix requires your presence,” she says, and my stomach drops.

I know what this means. Jake warned me about it during our time in the courtyard.

Thefeeding.

“You’ll need to get ready.” She eyes me up and down in disapproval—as if I should somehow look perfect, even after being jolted awake. “Would you like my help, or would you prefer to prepare yourself in private?”

“In private.” I don’t have to think twice about my answer.

“Very well.” She nods and closes the door, giving me space to “prepare” myself.

There’s no getting out of this. And I’d rather go to Aerix willingly—with my dignity intact—than be dragged out of here and carried to wherever he wants to see me.

I eventually settle on a cream-colored, ankle-length, silk dress with long sleeves and a corset-style top—one of the dresses Sophia explained was a “morning dress.” Also known as: a dress appropriate to wear for the start of the day.

Well, start of the night, due to the Night Court’s nocturnal schedule. But same idea.

Of course, I leave my hair down. After what the king did to me, I never want to wear it up ever again.

---