“Almost,” he said quietly. “And I won’t again.”
Zaria and Luna exchanged a knowing look but didn’t push.
Basil had taken over a side table with treaty drafts, maps, and ink pots. Irene hovered over him, pointing with disciplined fury.
“These headings are crooked.”
“They are perfectly aligned.”
“They are spiritually crooked.”
“That is not a measurable unit.”
“It is when I say it is.”
Basil exhaled.
Esther watched it all.
The chaos.
The hope.
The strange, mismatched group that would stand beside her in rebuilding a kingdom.
For once, the disorder didn’t feel like something to manage.
It felt alive.
Esther realized, with a quiet start, that this was what peace actually looked like. Not silence or stillness. Motion without terror.
She had spent so long believing leadership meant control.
Now she wondered if it meanttrust.
Her kingdom.
For the first time, it didn’t feel like an inheritance or a burden.
It felt like a promise.
When the meetings finally ended and the chaos drifted toward other hallways, Nythir guided Esther to an alcove overlooking Draewyn’s cliffs. The wind brushed her hair back, cold and clean, carrying the scent of pine and old frost.
“Breathe,” Nythir said, his voice soft.
Esther did.
Her shoulders released.
Her pulse slowed.
“You were brilliant,” he murmured.
“I was angry,” she said.
“Both can be true.” His thumb brushed her cheek. “You’re allowed to feel all of it.”
She swallowed. “I killed a king.”
