Riven
I stare out at the raging storm beyond the wall of ice I’ve created to barricade the cave, searching for any sign of Ghost in the swirling white chaos.
The howling wind carries no trace of him.
Nothing. My familiar has never been gone this long before, and the gnawing worry in my chest grows with each passing minute.
Ice spreads beneath my fingertips where they rest against the cave floor.
I try to breathe evenly, to maintain the composure expected of the Winter Prince, but Ghost’s absence tears at me in ways I can’t control.
My magic responds accordingly—thin layers of frost forming and melting in rhythm with my breaths.
I sense Sapphire’s approach before I see her.
The subtle shift in the air as she moves closer, the warmth of her presence cutting through the chill I’ve wrapped around myself like armor.
I expect her to keep her distance. After everything that’s happened between us, she has every reason to stay away.
But she doesn’t. She settles beside me instead, close enough that I can feel her warmth, yet far enough that we don’t touch.
The relief I feel when she doesn’t walk away is embarrassing. Weak. I shouldn’t need her presence like this, but I do.
“Tell me about Ghost,” she says, her voice soft in the stillness of our shelter. “How did you meet?”
The question catches me off guard. Not because she’s asking about Ghost, but because of the genuine curiosity in her tone. Not pity. Not manipulation. Just... interest.
I remain silent, weighing how much to reveal. Vulnerability has never served me well—not with my father, and not at court. Showing weakness is an invitation for others to exploit it. Yet with Sapphire, the walls I’ve built seem to crack without my permission.
“I was eight,” I finally say, still watching the storm rather than looking at her. “Lost in the forest at the edge of Winter Court territory after sneaking out of the palace. I was angry at my father. I thought if I ran far enough, I could leave it all behind.”
The memory surfaces with painful clarity—the biting cold of that winter night, the fear that clawed at my throat as darkness fell, the childish belief that I could somehow escape my birthright by simply running away.
I’d been naive enough to think freedom was something I could find if I just went far enough.
“What happened?” she asks, and her voice draws me back to the present.
My fingers trace patterns in the frost beneath us, unconsciously forming the same spirals of ice magic I’d released that night, desperate to find my way home once I realized how foolish I’d been.
“Ghost found me. He appeared through the trees, like he was made of snow itself.” The image is still vivid—Ghost’s powerful form emerging from the darkness, his eyes gleaming with intelligence that felt ancient even then. “I thought he was going to eat me.”
Despite the worry, a faint smile tugs at my lips. I’d been certain I was going to die that night, torn apart by a predator I had no hope of fighting. Instead, I found the only companion who’s ever truly known me.
“But he didn’t,” Sapphire says, drawing me out of the memory.
“No.” The smile remains, genuine in a way few of my expressions ever are. “He just... walked up to me. Sat there, staring like he was trying to figure me out. Eventually, I stopped shaking long enough to reach out, and he let me touch him. That’s when the bond formed.”
“The familiar bond?”
I nod, feeling the phantom echo of that connection snapping into place—the rush of ancient winter magic, the sudden awareness of another consciousness linked to mine.
Ghost has been the one constant in my life since that moment.
Unlike everything else in my world of political maneuvering and court intrigue, my snow leopard’s loyalty has never wavered.
“He led me back to the court,” I continue. “Saved my life. I’ve never doubted him since. No matter what, Ghost has always been there. Always.”
I say it as much to reassure myself as to tell Sapphire. Ghost has survived countless dangers over the years. A storm, even one as fierce as this, won’t stop him from finding his way back to me. It can’t.
“He found you once,” Sapphire says, and I hear the effort she’s making to be encouraging without offering false hope. “Which means he can most likely find you again.”
“He’d better.” I force a chuckle, trying to lighten the moment. “He’s my only friend. The only one who doesn’t care about titles or politics. Who sees me, and not my crown.”
The words slip out before I can stop them—more honest than I intended to be. I don’t look at Sapphire, not wanting to see pity in her eyes. I’ve revealed too much already, shown too much of the loneliness that has shaped me.
When I finally risk a glance at her, there’s no pity in her expression. Just understanding. Maybe even something like recognition.
“I always wanted a pet,” she admits, the wistfulness in her voice tugging at something deep inside me. “Something to care for. But Aunt Martha refused. She couldn’t stand the thought of an animal ‘dirtying’ our home.”
“Ghost isn’t a pet.” The correction comes automatically, but there’s no anger behind it. Just the need to make her understand what Ghost truly is to me. “He’s my constant. The only one who’s always been there—who hasn’t become lost to me.”
The words hang in the air between us, heavy with everything they don’t say. My mother, gone. My father, slipping further into madness with each passing day. I’ve watched everyone I’ve ever cared about disappear in one way or another.
If I lose Ghost, too...
The thought sends a surge of panic through me that cracks the icy barrier I’ve maintained over my emotions.
“We’ll search as hard as we can,” Sapphire says, and then she does something completely unexpected.
She reaches for my hand.
Her fingers are warm against mine, and the simple contact sends a shock through my entire system.
Touch has never been freely offered in my world.
It’s always been calculated, political—a means to an end.
But there’s nothing calculated about the way Sapphire’s fingers intertwine with mine.
Nothing political about the comfort she’s offering.
I look up and find myself caught in her gaze. Those impossible blue eyes hold a depth of understanding I’ve never encountered before. She knows fear. She knows what it means to worry about those you care for.
“Sapphire,” I whisper her name, barely trusting my voice not to break. Her name feels like a confession torn from somewhere buried deep—a place I’ve kept locked away for so long I’d forgotten it existed.
My gaze trails from her eyes to her mouth, then to the curve of her neck, memorizing every detail as if I might never get this chance again.
I want to move, to close the space between us, but years of restraint hold me back.
I’ve spent my entire life being taught that wanting makes you weak.
That needing someone else is the surest path to destruction.
My father’s voice echoes in my mind: Never reveal your desires. They become weapons in the hands of others.
But she steps closer, erasing that final trembling inch between us, and the moment our bodies touch, the breath I’ve been holding rushes out in a stutter.
I close my eyes briefly, overwhelmed by the sensation of her against me, by the collapse of every wall I’ve ever built.
My carefully constructed defenses—years of practiced detachment, of holding everyone at arm’s length—crumble in an instant.
I lean in before I can stop myself, capturing her lips in a kiss so careful I’m barely breathing. Every movement is measured and restrained, asking permission with each subtle shift. The Winter Prince reduced to silent pleading with each press of my lips.
When she responds—when she winds her arms around my neck and presses herself against me—something primal surges through my veins.
“I’ve dreamed of this,” I murmur against her lips, words I never meant to reveal slipping out.
“Of you. Every night since the moment I saw you.” My hands slide down her sides, leaving trails of frost that melt against her heated skin, my magic responding to the war between desire and fear.
“Even when I told myself I shouldn’t want you—couldn’t have you—my body betrayed me every time I closed my eyes. ”
I meet her gaze, knowing she must see the fever in mine—the desperation, the edge I’m balancing on.
“You don’t have to fight it anymore.” Her palm finds my cheek, and I lean into it, starved for the touch, for the warmth that no one has offered me since my mother died. “You don’t have to pretend you don’t feel it. Because I’ve wanted you, too.”
“You shouldn’t want someone like me,” I say hoarsely, the truth scraping my throat raw.
Years of my father’s lessons, years of watching what love did to him when my mother died, years of believing love was weakness flashing through my mind.
“But gods help me—I need you like I need air. And I’m not strong enough to keep pretending I don’t. ”
I kiss her again, harder this time, hungrier—memorizing the taste of her, the feel of her lips, the warmth of her body. Because some part of me is certain this can’t last. That the universe will snatch her away like it’s taken everything else I’ve ever cared about.
“If you want to stop—” I force myself to say, even as every cell in my body screams in protest at the thought. I search her eyes, needing her to understand that despite what I want—what I crave—I won’t take what isn’t freely given.
“Don’t you dare,” she breathes, pulling me closer. Her water magic surges around us, droplets dancing frantically in the air, mirroring the chaos inside me. “I want you, Riven. All of you.”