The roots holding me tighten, their rough texture biting into my skin.
The dryad, however, remains focused on Riven.
“What’s a winter fae doing in the Summer Court?” she asks him.
“I’m the winterprince,”he corrects her. “And the sap in your tree won’t just save lives in the Winter Court, but for the Summer Court as well.”
She doesn’t answer him. Instead, her gaze turns to me, studying me so intensely that I nearly squirm.
“And you,” she says. “You look familiar. Have I seen you before?”
“No,” I say, since when could she have possibly seen me? “I’ve never been to the Summer Court, let alone to your tree.”
“I suppose I’d remember meeting someone who can wield both water and air magic,” she replies. “And then there was that trick when you left your body. There were two of you. One in my roots, and the other a ghost.”
“I wasn’t a ghost. I was an astral projection,” I correct her. “It’s magic gifted to me by the star goddess.”
She tilts her head, and from the way her lips part, I think I’ve actually caught her by surprise.
“You’re claiming to be one of the star touched?” she asks.
“You’ve heard of me?” I ask in response.
“You’re not the first star touched to cross into this court,” she says. “There have been two others before you.”
“So, you know what’s at stake here,” I say, although from the way the roots tighten a bit more, I’m unsure if she sees me as a friend or a threat.
All I know is that she’s not killing me, which I take as a good sign.
“I’ve heard bits and pieces.” She shrugs, the leaves on the tree rustling with the movement. “However, the only thing at stake for me right now is the sap in my tree. And I do not tolerate thieves.”
“We’re not thieves,” I say quickly. “We didn’t mean to?—“
“Silence.” Her voice cuts through the air like a blade. “Your intentions do not matter to me. You touched my tree without permission. You fought against its defenses.”
“We apologize,” Riven says, his voice steady despite the sweat beading on his brow. “You’re correct—we should have approached with more respect.”
He glares at me, as if this ismyfault.
Which, admittedly, it sort of is, since I’m the one who reached out to touch the tree. Although, I had no reason to think that it housed a dryad who would punish me for doing so.
The dryad’s lips curl into something between a smile and a sneer. “Pretty words from a winter fae,” she says. “But words mean nothing when your actions speak of violence.”
My heart sinks. She’s not going to give us the sap.
I glance at Riven, but he’s focused on Chryserra, his face an icy mask.
“However...” Chryserra steps closer, her bark-like skin shimmering in the moonlight. “Perhaps we could come to an arrangement.”
“What kind of arrangement?” Riven asks, and I hear the careful diplomacy in his tone—the voice of a prince used to negotiating delicate situations.
“A deal,” she says, circling us slowly. “One that could benefit us both. That is, if you’re willing to listen.”
Riven glances at me, and I nod, since what other choice do we have?
“We’re listening,” I say.
She stops in front of Riven, tilting her head like a bird studying particularly interesting prey. “I heard what you said to her earlier, Winter Prince. That you love her. Is it true?”
