There was no judgment in his tone. Only disbelief. And something heavier.
“I did,” she answered, meeting his gaze without apology.
He drew in a slow breath. “I have seen executions. I have seen war. But what you did…” He looked past her at the scorch mark staining the throne room. “That wasn’t rage. That wasn’t revenge. That was…” His voice crumbled. “That was a queen deciding the future of nations in one heartbeat.”
Her throat tightened. “I didn’t want to. I had to.”
“I know.” His voice cracked.
He stepped closer, searching her face for something—guilt, fear, regret. He found none. Only the shaking aftermath of sacrifice.
“Your mother once said,” he murmured, “that true rulers are forged in fire. I didn’t want that to be true. Not for you. Not for my little girl.”
Esther’s breath trembled. “Father…”
“She would have been proud.” His eyes shone. “And terrified. And in awe. Just as I am.”
Her composure wavered. “I don’t— I don’t know if I’m proud.”
“You don’t have to be,” he said gently. “But you should know this—what you did saved your people. Saved your brother. Saved me. Saved him.” His eyes flicked to Nythir, now standing quietly down the hall. “And it saved a future we didn’t deserve but desperately needed.”
A tear slipped down her cheek.
King Arcturus reached up, slowly, cautiously, and brushed it away with a thumb. His hand cupped her face with trembling reverence.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “For ever doubting you. For ever underestimating you. For ever being afraid of your power, when it was the only thing that could save us.”
Esther leaned into his palm. “I didn’t want to be this.”
“I know,” he said. “But you are. And gods help me…” His voice softened. “I’ve never been more proud of anything in my life.”
Her chest broke open in quiet grief and relief all at once. She hugged him—something she hadn’t done since childhood—and he held her tightly, fiercely, like a man who had almost lost the last piece of light in his kingdom.
When she finally stepped back, he kissed her forehead.
“Whatever comes next,” he said, “you won’t face it alone.”
She believed him.
44
Esther
How to Rebuild a Kingdom: yell first, plan later, and hold your boyfriend's hand through the entire political fallout.
The Draewyn conference hall still smelled of burnt velvet and old magic—two scents that clung to stone far longer than blood or fear ever could. Thin curls of incense drifted from sconcescarved into the walls, attempting—and failing—to mask the underlying char.
The hall itself was ancient, built into the cliffside with pillars that spiraled upward like twisted trees petrified mid-reach. Runes flowed beneath the stone floor in faint lines of indigo, remnants of Draewyn’s spell traditions: truth-binding, council-warding, and an old charm that made raised voices echo three times louder.
Esther suspected she would trigger that one soon. She felt the magic under her feet respond faintly to her presence.
Not flaring.
Not resisting.
Listening.
It was subtle—the kind of awareness only someone newly attuned to power would notice. The runes did not recognize her as queen, but they did not reject her either.
