Tears dampened the paper in Esther’s trembling hands.
Her mother had not written instructions. She had written permission. To feel. To fail. To love without containment. Estherpressed the letter to her chest like a promise she didn’t yet know how to keep.
She didn’t know how much her mother had seen in her prophecies—or that such magic existed beyond myth. But she knew one thing: her mother had given her a blessing for the unroyal adventuring she was now undertaking, and it warmed her chest.
“Thank you,” she whispered, wiping her tears. For the first time, she felt she was truly on the path to something extraordinary—a path she would pave, master, and follow with her mother’s unseen guidance.
The bracelet was warm. Steady.
Esther realized, distantly, that this wasn’t just protection. It was an expectation. Her mother hadn’t only prepared the world for Esther—she had prepared Esther for the world.
Expectation did not ask whether she was ready. It simply waited. Esther had spent her life being preparedforthings. This was the first time something had been preparedfor her.
Luna opened the door, smiling knowingly. “Come. Before that brooding shadow you travel with decides to break my door down.”
Sable huffed. “He absolutely would.”
Esther sighed. Yes, he absolutely would. She followed them down the stairs, bracelet warm against her skin, toward her worried companions, toward the path her mother had foreseen long before her first step.
Esther followed into the future, layered with expectation, watched by people who remembered her mother’s choices. Whatever came next would not be simple. Her mother had never prepared her for simplicity.
She had so many questions—about her mother, everyone involved, and even the woman guiding her now. Exactly how old was Luna?
Esther winced at the phantom pain from etiquette lessons. No matter how curious, some questions were forbidden.
19
Nythir
How to protect a secret princess: distract everyone, lie convincingly, and pretend you’re not jealous of idiots with dimples.
Nythir had learned three truths since Essie fell out of the sky and added chaos to his life, which he had previously thought was impossible:
First: she attracted chaos like lanternlight coaxed moths into its glow.
Second: her chaos had a tendency to explode.
Third: he apparently had no self-preservation instincts, because he kept following her anyway—like a professional moth.
Lanterns didn’t choose the moths that found them. They simply burned. The responsibility always fell to whoever stood close enough to keep the flame from becoming a signal fire.
Morning light slanted through the inn’s warped glass windows, washing the room in warm pastels that made Stonehaven look softer than it really was. Almost serene. Down in the street, carts rattled over cobblestones, and someone shouted about fresh bread. A typical, boring morning.
He used to hate mornings, but over the past few days, he'd found them less horrible. He still hated them—but just a little less with Essie nearby.
Nythir leaned against the window frame, watching Essie through the warped reflection. She stood near the bed, frowning at the thin gold bracelet etched with vines. It hummed faintly, and the air around her felt… different. Less agitated. Less chaotic. Her magic, which had always shimmered against his senses like a barely contained storm, now flowed like a tranquil stream in neat little channels.
The bracelet did its job too well.
Tools that worked perfectly were the most dangerous kind. They discouraged vigilance. He didn’t trust anything that removed risk without teaching the cost.
From a tactical standpoint, it was brilliant—no stray flares, no obvious tells, nothing that screamedroyal mage withcatastrophic potential. From a healer’s perspective, it stabilized her better than any grounding spell he’d ever learned.
From a personal one?
It felt like watching someone dim their own light to survive.
Survival demanded adaptation, not erasure. He had seen what happened to people who learned to shrink instead of sharpen. They lasted longer. They lived less.
