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“That’s why you were under the table? Shush now, you’re in enough trouble,” her mother hisses, though her eyes stay fixed on Xavian with open fear.

Xavian adjusts the paper crown with complete seriousness while turning his attention to the woman. “No apology is needed tonight. Little Anna has just dubbed me king, so I guess she can be forgiven,” he says, giving the little girl a wink.

The woman swallows, her hand still tight on her daughter’s shoulder. “Thank you, my king.”

His gaze drops to the little girl again. “Next year, choose a better hiding place, and perhaps I will make a greater effort to look.”

The girl’s face brightens instantly, and she swipes her mother’s hand from her mouth. “You have to count properly next time.”

“I am a king,” he says. “I count however I like.”

“But that is cheating.” The mother’s hands clamp over her daughter’s mouth again.

“How about next time I hide, and you count to one thousand.”

“I can’t count to one thousand,”

“Yet you expect a king to?” Xavian asks, and she giggles.

Kylian watches the exchange with open disbelief, his gaze moving from the crooked crown to the laughing children, then to the adults who look caught somewhere between terror and relief.

“Your kingdom traditions are strange,” he says.

Xavian’s mouth curves faintly as he starts walking again, the ridiculous crown still sitting on his head. “Only once a year.”

Kylian glances around at the market, at the humans who cheer when Xavian passes, while some step back when his eyes move over them. “They fear you.”

“They should,” Xavian replies without looking at him. “But fear does not have to be the only thing they know. They fear me, but they are also happy here. You should try it.”

Kylian is quiet for a moment, then says, “I would rather be staked.”

Xavian smiles, utterly unbothered. “Yes, and that is why your festivals are probably dreadful.”

I can’t stop the breath of laughter that slips from me.

Kylian hears it, and his hand settles at my back as if the sound matters more than it should.

“What are they celebrating?” I ask, partly to distract myself from the way his touch warms through the layers of my coat.

“Do you not have calendars on your island, Kylian?” Xavian says, leading us deeper into the market. “They’re celebrating the day we realized the Mage Isles still remained, the rebirth of the Malachor Kingdom. Every year, my people light every fire they can, cook more food than they should, drink to those who did not survive, and remind themselves that surviving is not the same as living.”

I look around again, at the open faces, at the fires, at the children running between the stalls, at the people laughing without fear of who might hear them.

“I think a new chance at life is worth celebrating, don’t you think?” The words settle in me. Kylian says nothing, though I feel his attention shift. “Now let’s go celebrate,” Xavian declares.

The first food stall Kylian takes me to is crowded with people waiting for folded bread filled with spiced meat, onions, and a dark sauce that smells sweet and hot enough to make my mouth water.

He buys one and holds it out, I eye it carefully.

“What is it?”

“Who knows, best not to ask.”

“That makes me want to try it even less. Though it does smell good.”

“You are already holding it.”

I look down and realize he has placed it in my hands while I was glaring at him, and Xavian laughs behind us.