Page 8 of Broken Star

Finally, at 4:08 AM, the huge doors at the far end of the room swing open, and Queen Lysandra glides through.

She moves like sunlight, her golden gown trailing behind her in a whisper of fabric and magic. At her side walks a younger fae who must be close to my age, although something about her seems... different. Less radiant. As if she’s a worn-down penny in this shiny place.

Lysandra’s human child,I remember the Winter King ranting the first time Zoey and I met him in the Winter Court.

But it’s the queen who holds my attention. Because looking at her is like looking in a mirror.

The same white-blonde hair. The same sharp cheekbones. The same nose, and even the same shaped lips.

You cannot deceive me, Lysandra,the Winter King said to me in his throne room.Those blue streaks in your hair are hardly a convincing disguise.

But I can’t get a good look at the queen’s eyes, because she isn’t looking at me.

Her focus is purely on Riven.

And he’s just standing there, cold and composed, as if he didn’t rip my heart to shreds a few hours ago and throw it out to rot.

“Prince Riven Draevor,” the queen says, inclining her head ever so slightly. “The Winter Court rarely graces these halls with its presence. To what do I owe this unexpected visit?”

Riven steps forward, offering the kind of perfectly measured bow that only royalty could manage—low enough to be respectful, but not so deep that it suggests submission.

“Your Majesty,” he greets smoothly. “The need for this visit outweighs any courtesy of prior notice. I bring urgent matters that concern not just my court, but yours as well.”

The silence stretches.

Then, finally, the queen speaks again.

“Leave us,” she says to the guards, not bothering to turn in their direction. “And take Freesia with you.”

They leave with the dull, brown-haired girl, the doors shutting behind them with an echoing finality.

Now, it’s just me, Riven, and the queen.

I don’t know whether I want to demand answers, scream, or turn around and walk out altogether. But before I can even open my mouth?—

Riven speaks for me.

“This is Sapphire Hayes,” he says, motioning to me as if I’m a footnote in his grand adventure. “She fell into the Winter Court a few weeks ago, confused and afraid, with water magic she didn’t understand. She was raised in the mortal realm by an aunt who looks nothing like her, and a mother she’s never known. So, tell me, Your Majesty,” he continues, each word as sharp as ice. “How does a summer fae changeling end up living as a human in Presque Isle, Maine?”

Throughout everything he says, Lysandra still won’t look at me. She won’t even acknowledge my existence.

I might as well be a speck of dirt to Her Royal Majesty the Summer Queen. Unworthy of entering her court, let alone being in her throne room. Unworthy of being spoken to. Unworthy of anything at all.

And I know that feeling far too well. Because I saw it in Riven’s eyes when he looked at me after kissing the dryad.

Just like that, the pain of that moment slams into me with unrelenting force. And as the fury grows—accompanied by the shame from when Riven told me I meant nothing to him—my magic flares to the surface.

Wind blows through the throne room, scattering flower petals and knocking a trinket from one of the tables lining the walls.

Finally, the queen’s attention snaps to me, and the resemblance is impossible to deny.

“Air magic,” she says softly. “You’re not just a summer fae. You’re also part vampire. And you have your father’s eyes. Damien Fairmont. The vampire king of New York City.”

Sapphire

“My father is a vampire king?”I ask Lysandra, since out of all my suspicions when I walked in here, that certainly wasn’t one of them.

Obviously, I knew I’m part vampire. But vampireroyalty?

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