Page 55 of Broken Star

Riven’s by my side in a heartbeat, his sword drawn, ice crawling along the blade.

The pigs squeal and hurry off.

And then, as quickly as it appeared, the flames dies down.

A woman now stands in its place.

She’s tall and regal, her dark curls spilling down her back in wild, twisting waves, streaked with gold like threads of fire woven through the strands. Her royal purple gown is embroidered with symbols I don’t recognize, and her eyes gleam with something far too knowing.

“Well,” she says, her voice rich and musical, “it’s been quite some time since I’ve had visitors who weren’t sailors or merchants.” Her gaze shifts between Riven and me—assessing, calculating, and eventually warming. “Welcome to Aeaea. I’m Circe—the sorceress who rules this island—and tonight, the two of you are my honored guests.”

Sapphire

Her honored guests.

It sets me on edge—there’s somethingtoonice about the way she’s greeting us—but at least it’s better than killing us on the spot.

“And who might you be, travelers who have found your way to my shores?” Circe asks, watching us closely.

Before I can get a word out, Riven steps forward. He’s all cool confidence, chest out, voice low and even.

“I’m Prince Riven Draevor of the Winter and Summer Courts.” His tone leaves no doubt, and Circe’s gaze lingers on him like she’s never seen a fae prince in her life.

Maybe she hasn’t.

Maybe she’s been stuck on this island alone for hundreds of years? I remember learning in school about a goddess whose name starts with a C who was stuck on an island alone, but I don’t think her name was Circe.

Plus, Circe’s a sorceress. Some sort of witch, judging by her command over fire. Not a goddess.

“And you?” Circe asks me, snapping me back into focus.

“Sapphire Hayes,” I say quickly, and the tide moves toward me, prepared to put out Circe’s fire in a giant wave if she tries anything.

“Sapphire’s being modest,” Riven breaks in, his eyes gleaming with mischief as he glances at me. “She’s actuallyPrincessSapphire Hayes Fairmont Solandriel Draevor of the Summer Court, the Winter Court, the New York Vampire Clan, and the star touched warrior of Celeste.”

Heat surges beneath my skin. “Riven?—”

“Oh,” he continues, as if I never spoke, “she’s also my wife.”

I glare at him, waves crashing with more force against the shore, wind blowing around me. Because while I wish I could say I’mnotRiven’s wife, the mark around my finger claims otherwise.

Circe studies us both, her eyes landing on me. “A winter and summer fae bound in marriage?” she says. “How unexpected. And, from the anger in your eyes, I’m assuming unwanted.”

“It was a political arrangement,” I say, my gaze quickly moving to stare down Riven. “Nothing more.”

Icicles form along the blade of his sword, which he’s lowered in a gesture of peace, but keptjusthigh enough to show he’ll attack if provoked.

Circe, however, remains focused on me.

“Marriage is such a tedious, antiquated concept anyway,” she says, waving Riven off as she steps closer to me, the air around us warming. “Now, on to more important matters—you claim to be chosen by Celeste?”

“It’s not a claim,” I reply, lifting my chin slightly. “It’s the truth.”

“Prove it,” she challenges, flames dancing along her fingertips. “Show me what makes you worthy of a goddess’s blessing.”

I glance at Riven, who sheathes his sword and gives me a subtle nod.

So, taking a deep breath, I center myself, feeling the push and pull of the waves against the sand and the wind blowing softly around my shoulders.

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