And then I feel the new pendant at my chest pulse once, gentle.
Anchored.
Shared.
Oona’s palm finds my thigh under the table—steadying, grounding.
Alaric’s gaze drifts to Marcel, to Jules’ protective hold, and his expression goes iron.
“We have families now,” he says softly. “Not just realms. Not just duty. Families.”
Jules lifts her chin. “Which means no more gambling with crowns and power plays and secrets. If we’re doing this, we do it right.”
Delia nods once, fierce. “No more lone wolves pretending they don’t need help.”
Thorne looks like he wants to argue on principle alone—then he glances at Delia and thinks better of it. His mouth twitches.
“Fine,” he grunts. “No more pretending.”
Phoebe’s voice is quiet, but it carries.
“Nightfall didn’t stabilize until the crown was shared. Until the responsibility was shared. That wasn’t coincidence.”
The words land like stone.
Like law.
The earth beneath us hums in agreement, a low vibration that travels up through my bones.
I inhale slowly.
“Then we name it,” I say.
All eyes turn to me. Lords and viyellas alike.
I hate speeches.
I hate ceremony.
But I will speak this truth until the realm itself memorizes it.
“There will be no single Prime,” I say, voice like gravel dragged across granite. “Not again.”
A pulse of assent passes through my brothers—immediate, instinctive.
Kael’s nod is crisp.
Alaric’s jaw tightens like he’s swallowing old pride.
Thorne’s eyes burn bright with approval.
“And,” I continue, “Nightfall will not be ruled by four isolated kingdoms pretending we are separate when the Dream forges bind us all.”
I lift my hand and the table responds, a faint ripple moving around the circle like a ring of water.
“Four co-rulers,” I say. “Each anchored by a viyella. Each responsible for their lands—and responsible to each other.”
Oona’s fingers tighten once, proud and warm.
