“I do,” Ella said before Jakobav could answer, her voice carrying clear and even. “And considering he was brought here by the future queen, I didn’t think I would need to ask for an invitation. Or your permission.”
Her father studied her for a long moment, pale eyes fixed unblinking on hers as though searching for the child he’d raised and finding instead the woman who had returned. When he finally spoke, his tone was measured, the challenge unmistakable. “Then you take full responsibility for his presence. And for his actions?”
Ella held his gaze without flinching. “I do.”
Her father inclined his head once, a gesture so slight it could barely be called a nod. “Very well. He may remain as your guest.”
Relief drifted through her like a sudden breeze, and she could feel it ripple through the gathered crowd as well, courtiers and servants murmuring to one another, as if the king’s words had unlocked them and they’d been given permission to move again.
“Thank you, Father,” she said softly.
He shook his head, the stern lines of his face easing into something warmer, almost tender. At last, a half-smile touched his mouth. “I’ve missed you, Ellandria. Come. Let’s go inside and celebrate your return.”
She rose on her toes and pressed a kiss to his cheek, her smile sweet and practiced, the very image of a dutiful daughter guiding her father toward the castle while signaling the others to follow.
The cheers swelled again, bright and eager, yet beneath the noise, Jakobav’s gaze burned against her skin. He said nothing, but she was positive that he knew exactly what she was doing. Appearances were another kind of blade, and tonight she would wield them for her kingdom and the foreign heir walking at her back, shadowed by Orchid guards.
The banquet that followed was lavish, the long tables stacked with tropical fruits, roasted meats, and sweet delicacies Ella had nearly forgotten. The walls were lit with torchlight that reflected off the tiled mosaics. Courtiers spoke in hushed tones that weren’t hushed at all.
Her father raised his goblet, eyes never leaving her. “Imagine our surprise,” he said evenly, “when we received a letter from Dravaryn—the last kingdom we ever expected to hear from. And to announce that our missing daughter would be returning home, accompanied by the prince of our oldest enemy. Imagine the pure shock I felt at the plea for asylum, for the safe passage for this man.”
Ella blinked, questions rising as quickly as her irritation. “If you knew he was coming, then why did you try to torch him on arrival? And what letter? Who sent it?”
He leaned forward, studying her face with an intensity that made the whole hall seem to lean in. “Good to know your demand for truth still lives. I was beginning to wonder.” His mouth softened into the barest smile before he went on. “Yes, we received the letter yesterday, from a young man on horseback, terribly nervous. Nearly fell off the beast at the gates.”
“Kerris?” she murmured, glancing at Jakobav for confirmation. He gave a subtle shake of his head. Right—not the time. The collision of her two worlds knocked her off balance.
Eryndor continued as though she hadn’t spoken. “The letter was long, elegant, and carefully worded. And then, at the end, there was a note in a different hand.”
He set the goblet down with more force than likely intended, wine sloshing across the mosaic tiles. His voice cracked with more than anger. “It said: ‘Tell Ella that Bryn wants his feather back. Don’t lose it.’”
Shit. Where is his purple feather?
The entire hall went still, every gaze snapping toward her.
“What in the hell is that supposed to mean, Ellandria?” His words rang through the banquet, making courtiers flinch. Yet beneath the fury, his voice was nearly broken and raw, his fingers braced on the table as if steadying himself. “Whydid I have to hear of my daughter’s return from a courier of Dravaryn?”
His jaw worked once, his lashes rimmed with tears, and his voice dropped lower, hushed and trembling. “We prayed to the gods for your safe return. When years passed, I began to lose hope. But your mother never lost faith that you’d come home.”
Around them, the banquet carried on—dishes clattering, servants weaving between tables—too loud for anyone to catch more than the shape of their expressions.
His hand shook as it reached across the table, rough as it closed around hers. “And now you’re here. You’re truly here.”
A soft, disbelieving smile lifted the corners of his mouth. He didn’t hide the sheen in his eyes. As a few nobles glanced their way, he straightened and cleared his throat, the mask of the king settling over him once more. But it didn’t hide everything.
Her throat burned, the words tearing free in little more than a whisper. “I’m here now. And I wish she was too.” A single tear fell down her face, and she wiped it away quickly.
Her father had always held himself rigid in public, every emotion tucked behind duty and crown. Yet here he was, letting grief and joy sit openly on his face, however briefly. It struck her that she wasn’t the only one who’d changed over these past years. He’d changed, too.
For this moment, family shone brighter than the kingdom.
Guilt slammed through her, brutal and immediate. She wanted to tell him everything, explain the prophecy and the stakes, but she couldn’t do it here. Instead, she hugged him briefly and said, “I’m so sorry, Father. I should’ve been here.”
He hugged her back fiercely, and for the first time since she’d ridden through the gates, it actually hit her that she was really back in Orchid. She was home.
Eryndor drew a steadying breath, then frowned, his brows knitting as he looked at her. “And how in the world did you come to have his feather? Sounds like Bryn hasn’t changed at all.”
Ella’s throat closed. “You know Bryn?”
