Lucy and Sylva lingered near the steps, whispering furiously.
“They’re afraid of her power,” Sylva murmured.
“They should be,” Lucy said proudly.
“You worry me,” Sylva replied.
“You should be flattered.”
“I—what?”
Lucy patted his cheek. “Don’t think too hard. You’ll sprain something.”
Sylva’s ears flattened, tail snapping indignantly—but beneath it, an amused rumble slid up his throat.
When the council dismissed, when the last formal bow had been made, when the castle finally quieted—
The throne room slowly emptied, leaving only the echo of footsteps and the lingering warmth of victory. Advisors shuffled out in dazed silence, guards bowed awkwardly at the sight of her glowing in her new role, and nobles whispered frantically about “the winds of change” as though she couldn’t hear them.
When the last of them vanished down the corridor, King Arcturus exhaled a breath he must have been holding since the day she disappeared.
He stepped toward her, lowering his voice.
“Esther,” he said. “You were… extraordinary.”
She blinked. “I just spoke the truth.”
“No.” He shook his head, emotion softening the hard lines in his face. “You spoke like a ruler. Calm when challenged. Steady when provoked. Your mother used to do that. She—”
His voice wavered.
Esther reached for his hand.
He flinched—just slightly, caught off guard—before gripping her fingers tightly. “I was a coward,” he murmured. “I didn’t know how to raise you without… losing you. When you were taken, I thought the gods were punishing me.”
She swallowed. “Father, no—”
“I’m proud of you," he said. "Terrified. But proud.”
The words hit harder than she expected.
Esther had faced monsters, kings, and prophecy without flinching—but this almost undid her.
She had wanted this for so long without realizing it.
Not approval.
Understanding.
Nythir stood a respectful distance away, but the moment her shoulders tensed, his stance changed—subtle, protective, ready to intercept any pain.
Arcturus noticed.
His gaze hardened—not threatening, but the unmistakable glare of a father evaluating the man who held his daughter’s heart.
“You,” the king said, addressing Nythir with the gravitas of thunder. “Elf.”
Nythir straightened. “Yes, Your Majesty.”
