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“I meant you.” Agnar pats him on the shoulder and crouches down to help collect the scrolls.

Bastian doesn’t seem to register the words. His focus is entirely on his pregnant love and soon-to-be wife. It’s been like this for days, his usual sharp intellect softened by concern and adoration.

“Her morning sickness is…” He pauses, distress flashing across his features. Then he manages a wan smile. “Well, Rose’s flame familiar helps. Something about the song it hums. It’s the only way she can sleep for more than a couple hours at a stretch.”

I move to join the scroll-gathering effort, noting the dark circles under Bastian’s eyes. Thankfully, the healers assured us that the fighting didn’t affect Leesa’s pregnancy and that her morning sickness isn’t unusual.

“How’s the wedding planning going?” I change the subject to something that might wake him from his distraction.

The effect is immediate. Bastian’s expression brightens, a smile transforming his tired face. “We’ve decided on a small ceremony, just family and close friends. Like what you and Lark did. After everything,” he makes a sweeping gesture to encompass the battle, the upheaval, and the uncertain future, “we don’t want to wait.”

“Good.” I clap him on the shoulder. “Life’s too short.” The irony of these words coming from my newly guardian lips twists something in my chest.

A knock at the door interrupts us before Bastian can respond, and Lark appears in the doorway. Her hair is partially styled for the ceremony, dark waves pinned up on one side while the rest cascades over her shoulder. She’s wearing a simple robe rather than her formal attire—clearly in mid-preparation—but her eyes gleam with excitement.

My heartrate quickens at the sight of her, white-hot need rushing through my blood. Judging from Agnar’s raised eyebrow and the slight curl of his lip, he didn’t miss my reaction.

Observant bastard.

“Come look at this.” Lark motions for us to follow, bouncing on her toes in a way that makes me want to cancel the damn coronation and spend the entire day alone with her in bed.

Bastian’s already gravitating toward the door. “At what?”

Lark’s excitement is infectious. So much so, Agnar doesn’t even mock her half-finished appearance.

“Just come!” She turns and disappears out the door, expecting us to obey.

We exchange curious glances before abandoning the scrolls and trailing after her. She leads us through the palace’s winding hallways, past flustered servants preparing for the day’s events, up a staircase I haven’t used in ages, and finally to a heavy door set with silver filigree.

I realize where she’s leading us before we even get there. The gift room. Where foreign dignitaries’ presents were sorted and catalogued. It feels like a lifetime ago that we were here.

And found Rivlan’s present.

She pushes the door open, and we all freeze in the threshold, unable to process what’s happening.

Diamonds.

Thousands upon thousands of diamonds, piled knee-high across the entire floor of the spacious chamber. They catch the morning light streaming through high windows, fracturing it into countless rainbow shards that waltz across the walls. And still more pour in tiny waterfalls flowing from nowhere, depositing additional gems onto the glittering mounds.

“What in the three hells?” Agnar’s gaping mouth and wide eyes pretty much sum up my own reaction.

“The maids came to tell me when the diamonds spilled out from under the door.” Lark steps carefully into the room. “They had to sweep them up and store them in buckets.”

I follow her, shuffling my way through the diamonds and their eerie crystalline sounds. Atop the largest pile sits a note, beribboned with tiny streams of red and green water that twine around the parchment like living veins. Lark plucks it up, the water-ribbons parting to allow her fingers access.

“‘There is more where this came from. I will show you.’” She turns the note over, though we all know who sent it. “Rivlan.”

“The gift of magic,” Bastian breathes, understanding dawning in his eyes. “Enough for…everyone?”

“Enough for everyone in the world to have one.” The implications slowly unfurl in my mind.

Not just nobles or those born with natural talent. Not just the Tirenese. Everyone. This will settle the political rumblings that are still transpiring. The worry that Tirene has grown stronger while the rest of the kingdoms remain weak.

“We’ll need to establish a distribution system.” Bastian nods toward the diamonds, already thinking like the administrator he’s becoming. “Criteria for who receives them first, training programs for proper use.”

“And security.” Agnar pops a diamond into the air, catching it in his hand. “These would be worth killing for.”

A cough from the doorway draws our attention. Rafe stands there, his formal council attire impeccable, dark brown wings partially extended behind him. His pointed chin lifts in his usual aristocratic manner, but there’s genuine respect in his caramel-colored eyes as he surveys us.