Just a silent collapse of fear he had carried alone.
Esther held him, fingers weaving through his hair, breath steady against his cheek. Her magic quieted around him, golden warmth softening the tremors in his chest.
“I’ve got you,” she murmured. “I’ve got you.”
His breath steadied slowly, the shaking easing.
Esther held him without thinking.
Not like someone afraid of losing him — but like someone who would not let go.
His weight sagged against her, grief and terror finally finding release, and Esther realized with a quiet, startled certainty that she was not being protected anymore.
She was the one holding the world together.
The thought did not frighten her.
It steadied her.
When he finally drew back, his eyes were clearer. Exhausted. Raw. But alive.
“Tell me,” he whispered, “you’re truly all right.”
“I am,” she promised. “Because you came.”
His jaw trembled again, but he breathed out and nodded.
They leaned into each other, forehead to forehead, two survivors holding the pieces of the moment together because they refused to shatter separately.
They hadn’t even reached the hall outside the throne room before her father intercepted her.
“Esther,” King Arcturus said sharply.
His voice had never sounded like that—like a man standing between awe and terror, not sure which one to bow to.
He waved the others back. Even Lupin, who hesitated but obeyed when Esther gave him a soft, reassuring nod.
The king stared at her in silence.
Not at her face.
At her hands.
Still faintly glowing.
Still warm.
Esther curled her fingers. “Father, I—”
He flinched.
Not from fear of her.
From fear of what her actions meant.
He stepped closer with slow, measured movements, as if approaching something fragile and holy all at once.
“You killed him,” he said quietly.
