Page 78 of Burning Star

I force myself upright, my vision blurring with pain. Blood drips from a cut above my eye, freezing on my skin.

The crowd’s silence has given way to murmurs, no doubt already speculating on the outcome of this increasingly one-sided battle.

But I won’t let myself fall. I won’t let him win.

“You forged nothing.” I unleash a torrent of ice daggers, followed by a wave of frost.

My attack connects, slicing into his side and forcing him back a step. A rush of triumph flares in my chest—until he straightens, his eyes hollow and cruel, merciless in their intent.

“No,” he agrees. “I failed.Youfailed. And because of that, you arenothingto me.”

The arena floor cracks beneath us, groaning as ice spikes erupt from every surface, cutting off my escape routes. I try to counter, my magic surging as I attempt to neutralize his, but it’s like trying to stop an avalanche already in motion.

He hurtles forward with his blade again, every blow landing with crushing force against mine, driving me backward.

Eventually, a particularly vicious strike knocks my sword from my hand.

The weapon skids across the ice, coming to rest far beyond my reach.

Frostbite,I think the sword’s name that I gave it in childhood. One whispered in secret, a name I shared only with Ghost. It’s a name I haven’t thought about in years. Now, it tugs at something deep in me, making me yearn for the innocence I lost long ago, when swords were toys and enemies were shadows.

My father’s next attack knocks the air from my lungs, sending me to my knees.

Blood spatters the ice. The crowd takes a collective intake of breath, and Sapphire’s terror rushes through our bond.

My father stands over me, victorious, frost swirling around him.

His blade rests at my throat, the edge sharp enough to draw a thin line of blood without him applying any pressure at all.

“You never deserved to be my son,” he says through clenched teeth. “I gave you every chance to harness your power. Every lesson and scar were for your own good. And yet you remain soft. Weak.” He lifts his chin. “I deserved someone ruthless. Someone who understood that power is all that matters. Someone who would defend our court with an iron fist and never flinch from necessary cruelty. Someone who would savor the taste of blood on his lips and smile when his enemies begged for mercy. Someone who took what he wanted and owned it instead of opening his heart andlovingit.”

I swallow past the blade at my throat, already well-aware of how my father wants me to be. Cruel and cold, caring for nothing but power, matching the chaotic madness that consumes him.

“Yield,” he commands, pressing the blade closer. “Admit your weakness and beg for the mercy you don’t deserve.”

Blood drips from a half-healed cut on my cheek as I lift my head to meet his gaze.

I could surrender. I could avoid becoming the Lonely King, consumed by ice, sitting on a throne I never wanted.

But… I don’t. Becausehervoice cuts through the silence, clear and steady.

“You don’t have to be like him,” Sapphire calls across the arena, and I don’t dare to look at her—not with my father’s blade at my throat. “You don’t have to fight the way he wants you to fight and win the way he wants you to win.”

My father’s eyes narrow. “This Trial is between father and son alone,” he says, and then he’s creating a spear of ice in his hand and hurling it at her heart.

Sapphire dodges—barely—the spear embedding itself in the arena wall behind her.

The crowd screams.

Queen Lysandra will likely want to burn down this court in retaliation for my father’s attack on her daughter, but that’s a problem for later. Because Sapphire’s words spark a recognition in me, clearing my mind like a gust of wintry air.

Since we stepped foot in this arena, I’ve been fighting this battle on my father’s terms, matching his cold precision and his merciless calculation. I’ve been trying to beat him at a game he’s been playing for centuries—a game he taught me how to play since I was a child.

But that’s not who I am anymore. That’s not the man who fell in love with a star touched summer princess, who gave his last drops of life so she could live, and whose soul she called back from death. It’s not the one who learned that vulnerability can be a strength, and that love is more powerful than fear.

It’s not the one who gained magic from her—magic I’ve been too blinded by my childhood traumas to remember.

“Well?” my father demands, pressing the blade harder against my throat. “What will it be, boy? Surrender, or death?”

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