So long as she had love. The thing she’d been starving for—the thing she’d wanted most—would always be there. Love for Brunie, who slept soundly curled on her shoulder. Love for Amina, who was rebuilding her castle and kingdom with the help of all those who cared for her: Paulo, Perla, the newly appointed royal witch, even the Regent.
Love for Javi, who still tested her patience and flirted incessantly, though now it was only with her.
For her parents and the town that never wanted her, and the rain and the sun and everything that made her life worth living.
And most of all, for herself. Because even when love changed and evolved, she knew she could find it within.
An armored guard decked in the royal purple and gold of the Kheadon family appeared at the double doors that led to the throne room.
“The king will see you now.”
Javi shuffled to her side and offered his hand. Brunie opened one lazy eye, saw that nothing important was happening, and closed it.
Risa slipped her hand in Javi’s. Together they entered the vast chamber and stopped at the foot of the platform where a wizened old man, who looked like Javi seventy years into the future, sat on a large wooden throne with a lion carved on its back. His gold crown sat askew as he regarded them.
She curtsied like she’d practiced with Amina and Perla, while Javi greeted him with a haughty “Hey, Pa.”
“Insolent child,” his father chided him, though there was little bark in the words. “I send you to get married, and you come back with news that someone else is on your throne.”
“I come back with a treaty and the proper monarch installed on the throne, if that alleviates the sting.”
It was good to know that Javi was an absolute horror to everyone. How anyone managed to find him charming was beyond Risa’s ability to comprehend.
The king seemed to notice her for the first time. “Who is she?”
“My intended wife. I’ve decided I’m going to marry her instead.”
Risa quickly straightened. “But I haven’t decided anything. We’re taking it slow, seeing where it goes.”
Javi glared at her with mock offense. The king regarded her with apprehension in his narrowed gold gaze. He even steepled his fingers, the move so familiar Risa almost laughed.
“Your name?”
“Risa Porto. Of Barrow.” She cleared her throat and added, “Your Majesty.”
“Good save,” Javi whispered.
The king scratched his chin, the cleft less pronounced with age. “Mayor Porto’s daughter.”
“That’s me.”
“Brunhilda told me about you.” But he did not elaborate on what the witch might have said, nor did he look particularly thrilled by whatever information he’d been told. The king turned to his son with a sigh. “Would you reconsider if I say no?”
Javi glanced at Risa, and her heart stuttered over his smile. “Not a chance.”
“Fine.” The king waved his hand. “Do what you want. Have Brunhilda marry the two of you.”
Javi nodded. “Should I send for her?”
“I’m not marrying you now,” Risa reminded him. She had made her requirements very clear: He had to wait at least a year before he could ply her with rings and gifts and force her into an ostentatious dress that would pale in comparison to his own suit.
He shrugged her concern away. “Yes, but Brunhilda should still be here for the news. She’ll be thrilled to know I’ve found happiness with a soon-to-be Most Royal Pain. Which used to be my title.”
The king furrowed his brow. Pointed a long, crooked finger at Risa—or something behind her. “What are you talking about? Brunhilda is right there.”
Risa spun around, prepared to give that damn witch a piece of her mind for everything she’d put her through. But there was no one in the throne room with them besides the guards.
She eyed the guard closest to the door. WasheBrunhilda?
