“Maybe someday I will,” he says, and I can hear the smile in his voice. “You’ve already shown us that anything is possible.”
Before I can respond, he adds, “You got our brooding king to fall in love, after all.”
I drop my head, grinning at the affectionate tease—just as Vale joins us outside. “Odrin will be ready to speak privately when we return,” he says. He pauses when he sees us, caught mid-laughter, our smiles barely contained. “What were you two talking about?”
“Oh, the usual,” Ace answers breezily. “Just how Mira must truly be magic to thaw your cold heart.”
Vale steps to my side, hand resting at the small of my back. “I wouldn’t call it cold,” he says with a smirk. “I was just waiting.” He presses a kiss to my forehead, and I lean into him.
The heat of the day had faded. Thankfully, the only chill in the air now comes from the evening—not from uncertainty.
“If they finish preparations tomorrow, we can leave the day after,” Soria says as she steps onto the terrace. Her voice is brisk, all business—until she sees the three of us staring off into the distance. She tilts her head. “What are you looking at?”
I answer without thinking.
“Whatever comes next.”
Chapter Fifty
Emerald velvet lies in wait, draped across a nearby chair. Sylara’s.
The ceremonial cloak carries not only weight, but history. The silk lining shimmers. It is fit for a queen.
We may not have a fully-fledged plan, but we are prepared to make an impact.
Soria’s hurried movements—collecting what must be sent ahead before the day draws on, signaling what will follow and what will remain—swirl around me, but my gaze stays fixed on the heirloom before me.
Tomorrow, we return—and I will look the part. The sovereign beside her beloved king. We will not move quietly through a side entrance. We will ride triumphantly through the front gates with the full strength of the crown behind us.
And I, their queen, will be seen.
It will not be a spectacle. When Vale first shared his intent, I feared they might posture me in some ornate, overwrought gown. The thought of wearing such finery for half a day left me frozen—until he lifted the cloak from the trunk and showed it to me.
It was his mother’s. And now, much like the title of queen, it will be mine.
This will be our first truly public appearance since the night of the wedding banquet. The perfect opportunity to present power and unity—just enough to inspire loyalty, and perhaps enough to unsettle anyone harboring thoughts of treason.
I begin to sense the tremor of nervous energy beneath my resolve. Soria’s frenetic activity does little to soothe it.
Realizing that standing still will only worsen the feeling, I retreat to the private library. The journals do not offer direct instruction on the use of magic, but they grant me a sense of its presence—something still new to me at this depth. Skimming past their covers, I set several aside to be sent to the palace. It pains me to leave the manor without knowing when we might return.
At last, I reach for the crooked-spiked tome from the Sanctum. I’ve found an unexpected comfort in reading its prose, each poetic line like a riddle. When I imagine not only its meaning, but the destinies it once spoke to, I can almost forget the fate I myself must soon face.
I read a page that speaks of a lover’s loss and a newfound hope, and I can’t help but wonder about that person’s journey. When they heard those words—if in fact they did—did the promise of a brighter tomorrow soften the sting of the loss at all? Did the warning linger like a dark cloud and tarnish their love story?
I close the book sharply, angry at the cruel ways prophecy might trap or shackle its subject. Setting it next to the journals, I close my eyes and breathe slowly.
I think of Vale. Of the way he carries hope in his heart. How he speaks of having waited for love—not impatiently or with doubt.
To hear them tell the tale, he had all but given up on finding it. At least, that’s what Soria and Ace have shared. And yet… I see the way they hold back. The words left unsaid. I get the impression it was others who gave up—who stopped pushing their king toward a match, too afraid to pressure him when he seemed so resolute. In his heart, I believe he knew it would come when the time was right.
I’m so moved by him. The way he not only waited—but was so sure when we came together.
It’s so vastly different than the path I took to love. He knew in his heart a great love was promised. I had resigned myself to living alone. Where it seems he found what he had been waiting for, I found something I didn’t even know I wanted until it was within my grasp.
Both certain, but for entirely different reasons.
Gods, I wish I could feel as certain about anything else.
