Page 32 of Golden Star

“We’re not spies!” I blurt, and the moisture in the air surges forward, splashing the king across the chest and soaking his fur coat.

The room goes silent.

The king’s eyes widen, his hand slowly rising to touch the wet fabric.

My heart feels like it stops entirely, my blood freezing in my veins, my legs going weak.

He’s going to kill me.

“You dare!” His face twists in fury, and he jumps to his feet. “Queen Lysandra thinks she can send spies to mock me in my own court? She thinks I don’t know her schemes? That she’s trying to kill my people near the border? Is this her latest tactic—coming here with her human child to provoke me?”

Queen Lysandra?

Her human child?

“Do you think I’m blind to the Summer Court’s treachery?” he rages on, pacing back and forth in front of his throne. “She’s been plotting against me for centuries. And now, coming here to mock me—to humiliate me in front of my court?—”

Zoey moves closer to me, trembling.

I wish I could tell her everything’s going to be okay.

Unfortunately, I can’t lie. I also don’t think talking is going to do either of us any good right now.

The nobles in the room shift uncomfortably, unease spreading through the crowd.

“You, YourHighness, have taken a step too far by coming here,” the king says to me, his breaths long and heavy as he reaches for his sword. “I will take care of you myself.”

“I’m not Queen Lysandra,” I tell him, panic breaking through my fear. “I’m not here on her orders. I don’t even know who she is.”

He stops dead in his tracks, his eyes blazing. “Lies! You cannot deceive me, Lysandra. Those blue streaks in your hair are hardly a convincing disguise.”

“I’m not lying,” I continue, trying to calm myself, to counter the king’s madness. “I don’t know anything about the Summer Court, or about their queen. My name is Sapphire Hayes. I grew up human, in a small town in Maine, where I work as a bartender. I didn’t even know I had magic until today. I swear it.”

The king’s eyes burn into mine, and I see the madness there—the deep-seated paranoia and rage, the obsession with whatever war he’s waging against this queen.

Riven steps forward, his posture stiff. “Father,” he says, calm and measured. “You know as well as I that she cannot lie. She’s telling the truth.”

The king’s gaze snaps to Riven, wild and accusing. “You defend her?” he asks. “You would stand there and defend a spy of the Summer Court?”

“She is not Lysandra.” Riven remains steady, despite the tension in his shoulders. “She’s exactly what she claims—a summer fae who grew up ignorant of her power.”

The king’s eyes flicker between Riven and me, still seething, but less certain now. He clenches the arm of his throne so hard that I half-expect the ice to crack beneath his grip.

I hold my breath and take Zoey’s hand, well-aware that these might be our last few moments alive.

“Take them to the tower,” the king finally says, dismissing us with a wave of his hand. “We’ll deal with them in due time. If, of course, the tower doesn’t take them first.”

The king spins around and leaves the throne room, slamming the door behind him so hard that the ice wall attached to it cracks.

Two knights move toward us, and Zoey’s grip tightens around my hand, her eyes wilder and more scared than I’ve ever seen them before.

But beneath the fear… determination.

I know my best friend. She’s not going to give up until we’re back home, or dead.

“Riven—” I start, desperate for him to hear me out.

I don’t even know what I want from him—what I can reasonably expect from him. Help? Acknowledgment?

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