Page 7 of Broken Star

Eventually, we reach the gates, and the two guards posted at either side of the stone entrance stiffen at our approach. Their expressions are neutral—carefully so—but there’s something different when they see me. A slight widening of their eyes. A split-second hesitation.

Something that feelsoff.

Riven shifts beside me, adopting that insufferably regal stance of his.

“I’m Prince Riven Draevor of the Winter Court,” he says calmly, as if this is the type of grand entrance he makes every day. “I’m invoking diplomatic law and requesting an audience with Queen Lysandra.”

The guards’ grip on their weapons tightens, but Riven continues before they can respond.

“As a royal visitor who has declared no harm against the Summer Court, I hold a right to be escorted to the throne room. And while your queen isn’t required to meet me there, the survival of both our courts depends on what I’ve come here to say.”

The shorter guard studies him, then gestures at me, his fingers curled around the hilt of the blade sheathed by his side.

“And her?” he asks.

“She’s with me.” Riven’s voice brooks no argument. “And denying a diplomatic request would be a violation of the ancient accords. Do you wish to be the ones to answer for that?”

Again, the guards hesitate.

“Youdoknow the law,” Riven presses them further. “Do you not?”

I can practically see the calculations running through the guards’ minds.

Finally, the taller guard nods. “You speak truly of the law, Prince Riven of the Winter Court,” he says, clipped and professional. “Come inside, and we’ll escort you to the throne room.”

* * *

The walls in the Summer Palace shimmer with an inner radiance, and everywhere I look, there are flowers blooming from vines that twist along the ceiling.

It should feel welcoming. This is supposed to be my court, after all.

But something about the way the guards keep stealing glances at me sets my teeth on edge.

“Here.” The shorter guard stops before a set of towering gold doors and opens them, revealing a massive chamber where summer magic pulses from every surface. Columns with bright green vines climb to where a blanket of sweet-smelling flowers cover the ceiling, and the marble floor gleams so much that it looks like it’s made of sunlight itself.

“It’s beautiful,” I whisper before I can stop myself.

Riven’s lip curls slightly. “If you enjoy feeling like you’re trapped inside a greenhouse.”

I stiffen, since it’s the kind of comment he’d make before he threw everything between us away. And now, I can’t tell if he’s trying to get a rise out of me, or if this is who he’s always been, stripped of the illusion I once believed in.

I shoot him a glare, but he’s already moving further into the room.

The guards watch his every movement.

“The queen has been informed of your arrival,” the shorter guard says. “You will wait here.”

More guards line the walls—at least a dozen of them. Their eyes track both of us, but it’s me they’re watching the closest.

“Quite the welcoming committee,” Riven murmurs, beads of sweat forming on his forehead.

Of course—the Summer Palace must be designed to weaken winter fae.

For once, Riven’s the one struggling. It’s not anywhere close to the pain he caused me, but for now, as we stand here waiting for the queen, it’ll do.

A glance at the ornate gold clock above the throne shows that it’s 4:03 AM.

Only about two hours until six. The time when Central Park opens, and we’ll have our window of entry back into the mortal realm.

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