“The seekers in the Daylands are dead.” I step back, and Solano scoops me up. I wince at the pain but will take it if it means I’m in his arms.
“How do you know?” He wipes the blood from my face and peers at me, looking for injuries.
“Their daylight ward died with Eraldon.” I wrap my good arm around his neck.
“My clever queen.”
Warmth trickles through me, making my skin tingle. My wing and arm are healing. “Thank you.” I cling to him.
“Our queen has saved the realms.” Solano’s smile is a mix of chagrin and exhaustion. “Three cheers for our queen!”
The soldiers all send up a cry of ‘hail the queen’! I have the oddest sense of embarrassment but also pride.
“You slew the Nightlands king.” Charen scratches his chin. “That means you’re the queen of—”
“No. Nope. No.” I try to kick at him, but Solano swings me away before I make contact. “I’m not accepting any more quests, curses, or thrones. Thank you very much.”
“We’ll discuss protocol later.” Brock wipes the seeker blood from his face with the back of his arm.
“Or never.” Solano holds me close.
“You risked your life coming to the Nightlands.” I try to scold him, but all I manage is to sound grateful.
“I risked my life for you.” He kisses me. “Are you all right?”
“He’s gone.” I search inside me for any trace of Eraldon. Footprints or a monster hiding in the shadows. But he’s not there. “He’s really gone.” For the first time since Eraldon took me, I can take a breath without fear. “I’m all yours.” I kiss Solano hard, and he answers, his feral purring loud in his chest. When I finally come up for air, our soldiers cheer us again, their voices ringing so deafeningly I wonder if Moonhollow can hear them.
“Let’s go home.” Solano strides toward the barrier, the bright glow of day beckoning us forward.
I bury my face in his neck as he carries me from the glade and across the border to the Daylands.
To our home.
44
Solano
“This is ridiculous.” I try to compress the sleeve of my tunic, but it puffs right back up.
“It’s the style for royal weddings.” Brock looks bemused as he tries to straighten the puff on my other arm, to no avail.
“I think it looks great. Sort of like a bird?” Tristano plops on my bed and stares at me in the full-length mirror. “Like a really fluffy bird.”
“Okay, that’s it. No.” I start unbuttoning the front. “I’m not getting married to Emma while looking like a fluffy bird.”
“What if she’s also dressed like a fluffy bird?” Charen shrugs.
“My lord, this is the traditional wedding attire worn by kings for generations.” Brock starts re-buttoning my gold and white tunic.
“Why do they get to wear normal clothes?” I point at Everett.
“This isn’t normal.” He picks at the white fabric. “I don’t wear stuff with silver thread. And have you seen the shoes?” He lifts a foot, and indeed, the tip of his white shoe is oddly pointed.
“Are mine pointed?” I lean over and look into the closet where Dilrubin is searching for the correct pair.
“Stop primping. I’m ready to get wifed.” Emma’s voice trails along my mind.
“Is your dress like a puffy bird?”
