Page 33 of Broken Star

When he finally speaks, his voice is quieter. Not softer. Just… edged in something worn thin.

“I was an ordinary soldier in the Winter Court’s militia,” he starts, and I blink, the words not matching the man in front of me.

But Aerix isn’t looking at me anymore. Not really. His gaze is fixed somewhere else—on a past that feels so far away, I wonder if he’s convinced it was ever real.

“My father was a fisherman, and my mother a seamstress,” he continues. “We lived in a small settlement on the outskirts of court. But Kallista was different. A noblewoman. The daughter of a minor lord, but still far above my station.”

I inhale quietly, letting him see the interest in my eyes. The invitation.

“I’m guessing she had the sense to see you as someone who was very, very important?” I ask, keeping my voice light, my expression just teasing enough to make the question feel like a compliment.

Flattery is my sharpest weapon right now.

“We fell in love,” he says, flat and resigned. “I planned to propose—in secret, of course. But she cared about her status. She was always worried about what her father might say, or what her noble friends would think. So, I started asking around for some potions or enchantments that might help her open her mind.”

“You mean like a love potion?” I ask, baffled by the fact that someone as beautifully tempting and regal as Aerix would ever need alove potion.

He exhales sharply, his lips pressing together before curving into something almost self-deprecating.

“Yes, it was foolish,” he admits, “but I was desperate.”

I study him carefully. Because desperate isn’t a word I would ever associate with Aerix. At least, not with this version of him.

“Go on,” I say gently, still extremely aware of the closeness of his body, and the way mine wants to cling to the tension thrumming in the air between us.

As he thinks, his eyes trail along the curve of my neck. Slow, deliberate, and dangerous.

I brace myself for the possibility that he might decide he wants some dessert.

He hesitates for a moment, as if he’s contemplating it, too.

But then, he continues.

“A friend of mine—my best friend—claimed she knew of something that might help. She offered to take me into the Wandering Wilds to find the ingredients.”

His gaze drops to the silky sheets between us, like the memory is something he wishes he could press into the fabric and bury beneath him.

“I trusted that friend completely,” he continues. “But she led me straight into a group of night fae. She wanted to join them, and they promised her she could if she brought someone with her. Specifically, someone from the Winter Court’s militia. They turned us on the spot. I never got to say goodbye to Kallista. Never got to propose. Once I was turned, returning to the Winter Court was out of the question.”

I stare at him, his words coiling in my mind. All of it—his past, his transformation, his ruthlessness—woven into something far more complicated than I expected.

And then, I realize something important. Something that shifts the game entirely.

“Your friend is also here.” The words slip from me carefully, like a knife gliding across glass. “The one who tricked you.”

“She was a farmer’s daughter in the Winter Court,” he says, cold and controlled. “Now, she goes by Princess Cierra Nightborne of the Night Court.”

I suck in a sharp breath, remembering the fight he and Cierra had here, in this room, when she almost killed me.

More importantly, I remember how close he was to strangling her with his bare hands.

“Did you and Cierra ever…” I drop my gaze to his still-bare chest, figuring that’s enough to get the message across.

“No.” He smirks, and the certainty in his answer sends warm satisfaction curling through my stomach. “But you, Zoey,” he continues, pausing to trace his fingers along my lips in a way that makes my heart race even faster. “You have nothing to worry about. Because yes, I was entranced by Kallista. But when it came down to it, she was weak. She let her family and friends control her. You, on the other hand, don’t let anyone control you.” He lowers his voice, almost reverent now. “Which makes you far better than she ever was.”

A prickle of satisfaction needles through me as I return his hungry stare, hanging onto his every last word.

“Does that mean I have nothing to worry about when it comes to measuring up?” I ask, although I already suspect what the answer will be.

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