Chapter 30
Morning entered slowly through the narrow windows, turning the stone walls pale and catching on the rumpled sheets, discarded clothing, and half-dead fire in the hearth.
The room smelled faintly of smoke, linen, and the floral oil the servants had used in the bath the night before.
Their clothes were scattered in an inelegant trail between the bed and the chair by the window, making the chamber feel less like a royal suite and more like a place two exhausted people had actually slept in.
Imani woke on her side with one arm tucked beneath the pillow and a curtain of silver hair tangled across her face.
Her braid had long since fallen apart, leaving loose silver waves over her shoulders and down her back.
The Crown of Life, immovable, had tangled in her hair, and she brushed a few strands away, wincing as they pulled through the branches.
Her maid would be angry at her later for such a mess.
Bare-faced, sleepy, and wrapped in a sheet that had twisted around one leg during the night, she looked nothing like the queen who had spent the previous day being watched by half the kingdom.
She blinked against the light and scrunched her nose, realizing that most of the blankets were gone.
So was most of the space on the bed.
Ellisar had somehow migrated toward the center during the night.
One broad shoulder occupied territory that had definitely belonged to her when they fell asleep, and the blankets had gathered around his waist and legs in thick folds.
His own silver hair, usually kept neat enough to make severity look effortless, was completely ruined.
The longer strands on top stuck up in several directions while others had fallen over his forehead.
Imani studied his slack face in sleep. He looked… so mortal, which was almost offensive. She reached down and tugged at the blanket trapped beneath his hip. But it didn’t budge.
She pulled harder, and Ellisar made a low, irritated sound and rolled onto his back, taking even more of the blanket with him.
Imani frowned. “Unbelievable,” she muttered.
His eyes slid open halfway. “What?” he rasped, still half asleep.
“You are enormous.”
Ellisar tilted his head at her and blinked a few times.
“And taking up most of the bed,” Imani added.
He looked around with the slow confusion of someone who had not yet accepted consciousness. “I am on my side.”
“No, you have annexed mine.”
A sleepy smile threatened at the corner of his mouth. “I thought queens defended their territory.”
“I was unconscious.”
“Poor planning.”
She gave the blanket another hard pull. This time, Ellisar caught the edge before she could take it back. “You also steal covers,” she said.
“That is a serious accusation.”
“I have evidence.”
He looked down at the blanket wrapped around him, then back at her. “Circumstantial.”
A huff of a laugh escaped her before she could stop it.
Ellisar pushed himself upright and dragged one hand through his disheveled hair. The attempt made it worse. Several strands stood straight up near his brow.
Imani reached to brush some of them down before she could stop herself. He caught her wrist. “What are you doing?” his voice was a low rasp.
“Nothing.” She ripped her hand back.
“That is never true when you say it like that.”
“Your hair is rebellious in the morning.”
He flattened his palm over it, but the silver strands sprang back up when he pulled away.
She couldn’t help the small smile that touched her mouth. “Much better.”
Ellisar gave her a flat look. “You talk in your sleep.”
Her smile fell. “I do not.”
“You do.”
“What did I say?”
He swung his legs over the side of the bed and reached for the robe draped over the chair. “I am not telling you.”
“Ellisar.”
“I value my life.”
“You are lying.”
“I am not.”
“What did I say?”
He glanced over his shoulder, amusement brightening his expression. “You threatened someone.”
She scoffed. “Oh, well, that proves absolutely nothing.”
“You were very specific.”
Imani pushed herself upright, gathering the sheet around her chest as her tangled hair spilled forward over one shoulder. “Who?”
“I couldn’t tell.”
“Convenient.”
“You also informed them they were incompetent.”
“That narrows it down considerably,” Imani said, blowing a strand of hair out of her face.
Ellisar laughed under his breath. The sound loosened the tightness in her chest, and she resisted the urge to rub her sternum.
The awkwardness was still there, of course.
It lived in the pauses between sentences and in the fact that neither of them had yet mentioned the night before.
She was acutely conscious of her bare shoulders, of his half-fastened robe, of how little distance separated the bed from the chair where he now stood.
Everything had changed, yet the room itself looked offensively ordinary in the morning light.
Ellisar crossed to the door and spoke quietly to the servant stationed outside, ordering breakfast for two. When he returned, she was still on the bed, tucked into the swirling sheets, the crown’s petals blowing in the morning breeze from the cracked window.
“You ordered for me,” she said, picking at a loose string on the sheet.
“I ordered enough for two people.” He sighed. “You can reject whatever you don’t want.”
She considered the offer. “Acceptable,” Imani replied with a nod, still feeling uncomfortable.
“High praise.”
He sat in the chair near the window while Imani leaned back against the headboard. The hearth cracked softly, and the birds chirped incessantly outside. Beyond the chamber, servants moved through the hallway as the estate began its morning rhythm.
Imani felt the bonds again. Ellisar’s rested near her heart, pulsing in a steady, familiar beat. Kiran’s remained there too, deeper in her chest, darker and more instinctive, impossible to erase simply because another bond had been formed around it.
Two different pulls, and two different lives pressing against hers.
Ellisar braced his elbows on his knees and leaned forward. “You’re thinking too loudly.”
“That is not possible.”
“It appears to be today.”
“You’re annoyingly observant,” she muttered with an irritated look, but there was no malice.
His lips curved faintly.
At the sight, Imani drew the sheets higher around her bare chest. “Next time, stay on your side,” she mumbled.
Ellisar finally let the smile touch his mouth. “Next time?”
Her face warmed at the admission, so she looked away toward the windows because looking at him made it worse. “Eat your breakfast when it arrives. Your staff worries about you.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
* * *
The streets of Stralas hummed with trade, shouts, and the familiar rhythm of a city unchanged by Imani’s absence.
Market stalls choked the lower roads, their vibrant banners snapping in the briny wind off the Neshuin Sea.
The city rushed past in a fleeting blur of obscurity.
As Imani and her escort drew nearer the center, the sprawling architecture gave way to ordered, defensive tiers that climbed the steep incline toward the palace.
From below, it had always looked like the heart of everything—the highest point, the undisputed seat of power.
But as Imani’s gaze followed the winding ascent toward the cliffside, that old certainty vanished.
The palace still stood where it always had, carved into the rising stone to overlook both the city and the open water, yet it no longer felt like the center of the world.
It felt like merely one vantage point among many, a single point on an ever-expanding board she was still wrapping her mind around.
She ruminated on everything they’d learned these past few weeks. After traveling across the kingdom, they’d found the gaps—areas where her authority remained strong and others where it was fragile. This completely changed how she viewed Stralas.
The upcoming meeting in Niflheim burrowed deeper into her mind, a burdensome, inescapable weight she couldn’t cast aside.
Every step was marked by the stark awareness that the parley would demand her most decisive and riskiest move yet as monarch.
The decisions she made before departing would determine her survival upon arrival.
Time seemed to shrink from an endless horizon into a constricting tunnel, drawing her toward a confrontation that required a clarity she had not yet achieved.
They reached the palace at the crest of the rise, the chill wind from the Neshuin Sea cutting across the stone as the heavy gates parted.
Imani walked into the atrium confidently, shedding her cloak immediately and handing it to a servant as her thoughts turned inward.
The familiar palace halls surrounded her, but her mind remained fixated on the issue she brought with her: Meira.
Her sister was unpredictable, shattering every plan Imani had made.
As she advanced further into the palace, her resolve strengthened.
She decided she wouldn’t attend the parley without the answer she needed most. She refused to face Kiran or whatever lay in Niflheim without knowing precisely who was heartmated to her sister.
Once she allowed herself to name the decision, it came without a shred of hesitation.
She would recreate the spell she’d made for Kiran before he’d whisked her away to Niflheim.
This time, though, it would not be born of desperation or uncertainty.
She recalled her first attempt—the violent rupture of magic through her, the physical pain, and the near loss of her mind to an uncontrollable force.
It almost ended her life. She acknowledged that memory but chose not to dwell on it.
It had served its purpose. She was alive.
And she had changed since then. What was once unpredictable was now possible with the Drasil in hand.