Soria begins readying me for the day. My first as queen. Even the day gown is more lavish now. I remind myself it is expected.
Across the room, I regard the gown but stay wrapped in my robe, ravenously picking from the plate of food brought in for me. Someday, I’d like to have a real breakfast with Vale, I think. But this morning, we spent our time far more deliciously.
Biting into a piece of fruit, its juice soothes the sting in my throat. I am overwhelmed with gratitude for this life. I don’t need attendants or palaces. I’d go back to the cottage, so long as Vale was with me. But it’s more than him. It’s this kingdom, its people. My new family of Soriaand Ace. Oh gods—Ace is actually family now. I hadn’t thought much about how marriage would truly bind me to them. A sister by the sea, aunts and uncles across kingdoms.
I lean back, awestruck by how vast my world has become. I was once utterly alone. Now—I have roots. Deep and wide. And I must grow to fit the soil in which I’ve been planted.
I step into the finery truly fit for a queen. I measure myself in the mirror—against the girl I was, against the ruler I am becoming. How many times have I looked at my reflection and seen it change? It’s still me, though. Each and every form.
I sit at the desk in Vale’s chambers. Our chambers, I muse. Wood, leather, linen—all solid. Grounding. Without a fixed task for the morning, I let myself simply be. I don’t think Ace will be in the library, and I don’t care to lose myself in maps. I reach for parchment and begin to write. Any and all words that come. A steady stream of thought pouring across the page. I don’t care if it’s coherent or if the ink smears. There’s freedom in the flow.
A sharp black line cuts across the page.
The door bursts open. Vale.
He’s charged, more so than even yesterday after the attack. I stand, the desk a barrier between us. He paces near the fire, wringing his hands.
I gasp when I see the blood.
Rushing forward, he shifts, raising a hand as if to brush away my concern. I seize it, holding tight, inspecting the damage. His knuckles are raw. A smear of blood mars the white linen of his shirt.
“Gods, Vale. What happened?”
He turns away, rage still burning beneath the surface. “You weren’t supposed to see this. I thought you’d be—” He stops, shakes his head. “I don’t know what I thought.”
I lead him to the basin and begin to clean the wound. He doesn’t flinch—just flexes his hand as the water runs red over his skin. My own ink-stained fingers smudge the cloth. Red and black mixing. I realize —not all the blood is his.
I lift my eyes. “Vale. Tell me.”
He sighs, resigned. “I went to the dungeon. Spoke with the prisoner. It was little use.” His brow furrows. “There’s something he’s not saying.I can tell. I’ve broken men before.” His voice turns dark, chilling. “It’s only a matter of time.”
He meets my gaze, softening. “I should change. The council will meet soon. There’s much to discuss.”
He begins to unbutton his shirt, and I step forward to help, hoping my touch will calm him.
“You should be there,” he says. “This meeting concerns a threat against the crown. Against us. Yes, come with me. Let us stand together.”
He entered with fire, unbridled. Now he moves toward controlled dominion. I will not refuse that. I nod, uncertain of what awaits, but sure of this: whatever threats rise, we are stronger when we stand together.
It takes little time for the voices to crash over one another in a sea of noise—decorum thrown aside, worry and accusation flung wildly.
“Enough!” Vale’s command rips through the room, silencing all.
Men settle in their seats. Vale towers over them, arms planted into the table like a war general plotting his strategy.
“This is the second attempt against the crown,” he seethes. “I may have made too light of the attempt on my life, but I will not stand for an attack against my queen. Against this kingdom. And in my own house!”
His words ricochet off the stone walls.
“We have little outsiders within our walls.” An advisor shoots a glance toward me.
Vale responds with a look of his own, and the man wilts in his chair.
“The attacker—this vile, pathetic excuse of a man—he was a merchant, you say?” Vale tilts his head, eyes pinched shut against the corrosive fury inside him.
“Aye,” Odrin speaks up. “Comes and goes from court often but claims the road his home more than the Hold.”
Stilling himself with a steady, reclaiming breath, Vale looks at histrusted friend. “And do we think this was a strike against Mira?” There’s a tightly restrained composure in his words, “For being an outsider?” His eyes dart across each man, searching for the slightest flinch. “Or against our reign?”
