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My Lark, fierce dragoncaller, savior of the realm, the woman who once set an entire battlefield ablaze with her fire magic when she was cornered, is practicing courtly speech on a houseplant.

“The delegation will expect precise accounting of the Southeastern Border Patrols.” She drops into what I recognize as an imitation of Lord Dunfell’s self-important drone.

The smile pulling at my mouth fades as quickly as it forms.

Understanding settles in my chest. Politics, where words become weapons and smiles turn sinister, holds its own danger. It’s a battlefield where you can never truly know what the other party has planned. And Lark, for all her strength, has always hated the diplomatic side of governing.

She lifts a silver-handled hairbrush from the vanity. “Your Excellency, Tirene appreciates your gracious hospitality and looks forward to strengthening the bonds between our nations.”

I can’t watch this anymore.

Stepping fully into the room, I allow the door to close behind me with a soft click. “I’m sure the hairbrush is thrilled over your consideration of its trade concerns.”

Lark whirls, clutching the brush to her chest like a shield. Her face flushes crimson, and her eyes widen with mortification. “Sterling! How long have you⁠—”

“Long enough.” I cross over to her, my footfalls heavy on the thick rugs.

“I was just…” She makes a vague gesture with the hairbrush before dropping her hand with a defeated sigh.

“Practicing being someone else?” I reach out and gently extract the hairbrush from her grip. When my fingers graze hers, a familiar jolt of awareness zips through me. “Someone you think you need to be?” I set the brush aside.

Her shoulders slump, the formal posture dissolving like frost under the afternoon sun. “Is it that obvious?”

“Only to someone who knows exactly who you are.” I draw her into my arms. She melts into me, pressing her forehead against my chest.

“We leave tomorrow.” Her exhale ruffles my shirt. “They’ll expect a queen who knows how to navigate diplomacy. If I’m going to be an effective ruler, I need to be that. I need to be better than what I am.”

The statement hangs between us, and unexpected anger courses through me. Not at her, but at the assholes who convinced her of such nonsense. “I wish you could see what I see when I look at you.”

“And what’s that?” There’s a hint of defensiveness in her tone.

“A queen who leads from the front, who inspires through action rather than empty words.” I slide my hands to her shoulders, admiring the latent strength in them. “A warrior who trusts, a lover who incites, a protector of people and dragons. They’ll expect to meet Tirene’s queen. The woman who burned the eyril field and destroyed the God of Nightmares. Not some stiff imitation of what you think royalty should be.”

Her gaze drops, and I don’t miss the shadows beneath her eyes, evidence of many fret-fueled nights. My heart aches at the sight.

She fists the fabric of my shirt, her warmth seeping through the material and into my skin. “What if they just think I’m some pampered noble turned queen?”

“If they think they’re going to get some stiff-backed, pampered princess, then they haven’t been paying attention to recent events.” I lift her chin with gentle fingers. “You are exactly what the world needs, what this kingdom needs, what I need. There is not a single fucking thing I would change about you even if I could. What is it going to take for you to understand that?”

“Those are pretty words,” she steps back and traces my bottom lip with her thumb, “but I’ve always learned best by doing.”

The desire in her beautiful hazel eyes and the silkiness of her skin against mine nearly short-circuit my brain.

I catch her thumb between my lips, sucking before I release it. “Is that a fact?”

Her breath hitches, color saturating her ivory cheeks. “Yes.”

“Then I guess I’ll have to show you just how perfect you are.” I draw her toward the ornately carved bed, where the cool wood meets warm silk bedding.

When she follows without hesitation, my chest tightens in a familiar way. With the constant wonder that this extraordinary woman chooses me, again and again.

“Sterling.” The way she says my name pulses warmth through me that has nothing to do with her fire magic.

I cradle her face with both hands and rest my forehead against hers. “Gods, yes. You are precisely what I need.”

My lips meet hers in a kiss that starts soft but deepens with each heartbeat. I pour everything I cannot say into this kiss. My faith in her, my love, my unwavering belief in her strength.

“You always say the right thing.” Her hands find their way to my shoulders, her fingers digging in with an urgency that matches my own. “What did I do to deserve you?”