“Hold still,” he warns me. “Because you’re about to have a piece of me burned into you forever.”
“I’m ready,” I tell him, and he takes the Disc from my hand, turning it once, then again, testing its balance.
The sapphire’s glow brightens at his touch.
“A star and an ice crystal intertwined,” he says thoughtfully, “where both elements become indistinguishable from one another. Just like us.”
My heart thrums against my ribs. “It’s perfect.”
“It’s going to hurt,” he warns.
“Everything about us has hurt,” I reply, keeping my palm steady. “The pain has always been worth it.”
“Spoken like a true Winter Princess,” he says, placing one of the Star Disc’s points against my palm, his touch gentle as he steadies my hand.
Then—pain. It cuts clean and hot, like fire laced in starlight.
I inhale sharply, somehow not flinching as he drags the point across my skin, carving with the precision of someone who’s mastered control in everything he does.
“Breathe,” he murmurs, his voice smooth and steady as his hand guides the Disc. “You’re doing great.”
He starts with the star—five sharp lines radiating outward, crisp and symmetrical. Then he carves an ice crystal over and through it, interlacing the points with delicate edges that mimic the frost patterns he creates when he’s trying to contain his emotions.
My water magic responds to my pain, droplets hovering in the air around us like suspended tears. But I don’t let them fall. Instead, I channel the magic into the blood on my palm, making it shimmer with a subtle blue glow.
“Beautiful,” Riven whispers, almost to himself, frost blooming around the cut as he continues with his design.
It’sus.
Water and frost. Summer and winter.
And it’s perfect.
When he finishes, he lifts my palm to his lips and kisses the edge of the wound, his eyes never leaving mine.
The intimacy of the gesture steals my breath away.
Then, wordlessly, he extends the Star Disc to me, his left hand outstretched, palm up.
“Your turn, Princess,” he says, and my fingers tremble as I take the Disc, now stained with my blood.
“Don’t worry,” he adds. “I won’t flinch.”
“I know you won’t,” I say, positioning the Disc above his left palm. “That’s what worries me. You never flinch, even when you should.”
His laugh is soft. “Just carve, Sapphire.”
I press the edge into his skin, carving the same pattern—a star at the center, with an ice crystal woven through it. My strokes aren’t as clean as his, but there’s a raw beauty to the result.
The air grows colder as frost spreads out below his feet, responding to the pain.
When I finish, I draw in a shaky breath and step back.
Our blood stains the Disc, blending along its edge like proof of what we just gave each other.
Then, stardust begins to fall—thick, silvery, sparkling flakes that land on our open wounds, mingling with our blood and sinking into our carved flesh.
“Now,” Riven says, watching me in a way that’s dark, beautiful, feral, andcertain.“We make our vows.”
