“I am not panicking.”
Sylva’s ears twitched. “Lie.”
Nythir groaned and pressed his forehead briefly to Sylva’s shoulder. “I would rather face another army.”
“Can arrange,” Vorrik offered.
Lyssara shot him a look.
By the time they released him, dusk had crept into the room, casting everything in gold and shadow. Nythir sagged into a chair, exhausted in a way that had nothing to do with physical exertion.
He thought of Essie—probably navigating another council conversation with grace and fire, probably handling ten problems at once without breaking stride.
He would stand beside her.
Even if he shook.
Even if he messed up the bow.
Even if he hated every fork at the table.
“I’ll do it,” he said quietly.
Lyssara’s expression softened. “We know.”
“For her,” he added. “And for you. And for this ridiculous kingdom.”
Vorrik grinned. “That’s my future king.”
Sylva tilted his head, considering. “Fear has lessened.”
Nythir huffed a tired laugh. “Give it time.”
As they rose to leave, Nythir glanced back at the abandoned parchment on the table.Treaty Ratification Proceduresstared back, smug and unreadable.
He squared his shoulders.
Three days.
He could survive three days.
After all, he was marrying the woman he loved.
And that, terrifyingly, felt worth everything.
48
Esther
How to Get Married: hope for a peaceful ceremony and prepare for chaos.
Weeks later, the palace gardens bloomed out of season—like they had forgotten how to obey the calendar.
Roses, lilies, and wildflowers spilled over stone borders in a riot of color. Vines curled up trellises in soft green spirals. Tinygolden motes drifted in the air when the breeze shifted, the last echoes of Estella’s magic woven through the soil. If Esther listened closely, she could almost hear her mother humming along with the rustling leaves.
It felt like the garden itself had dressed up for her wedding.
Esther refused extravagance.
