Chapter 62
Chapter Sixty-Two
Dawn breaks over Tirene in ribbons of gold and amber, catching on the palace spires like fire. The day is far from ordinary.
We never considered how badly our race to sneak everyone out of the palace, so they’d be ready to flee to the far reaches of the world if necessary, would affect our ability to hold today’s scheduled coronation.
Rhiann is helping Lark ready the throne room and work on her speech. I stand before the full-length mirror in our bedchamber, dragging a finger over the faint pink scar on my forehead from the battle. Getting used to healing overnight will take some time.
I try not to fidget as three attendants fuss over the final adjustments to my formal attire.
The fabric is heavier than anything I’ve worn before. The deep blue silk embroidered with silver thread matches my wings and trousers and is lined with enough official symbols to make a military uniform look understated.
My hands may be steady, but my stomach knots with a strange mix of anticipation and disbelief.
In three hours, I’ll be crowned King of Tirene, tasked with reigning over my kingdom beside Lark.
Me.
The younger son. The soldier who once slept in tents and barracks and ate whatever was slopped onto a tin plate. The prince who posed as an instructor to gain a young woman’s trust, kidnapped her, and later married her.
I think I started falling for Lark that first day she smacked into me at Flighthaven. And I’ve fallen harder, more deeply in love with her, every second of every day after that.
That incredible woman.
She’s mine.
For several mortal lifetimes and then some.
Hard to believe it’s been three days since we faced the gods in the arena.
Three days since Rose somehow summoned phoenixes back into our world.
Three days since we learned that Lark and I are both guardians, neither fully mortal nor divine, but something in between, with centuries stretching before us instead of decades.
Two days since we started working on drawing up a new covenant with the gods. Something we only finished last night and still haven’t signed. That will happen later today.
Meaning the gods will be attending my coronation in person.
Not the most thrilling thought after all the shit they put us through.
The door swings open with unnecessary force, banging against the wall and sending the attendants scurrying away like startled birds.
Agnar strides in, his uniform pristine for once, his battle-scarred face split by a grin that’s equal parts up-to-no-good and proud.
“Look at you!” He circles me with an exaggerated appraising eye.
“All dressed up like a proper royal instead of the dirt-covered recruit I had to teach which end of a sword to hold.”
“You never taught me which end of a sword to hold.” I’m grateful for the familiar rhythm of our banter. “If I’d relied on your instruction, I’d have been stabbing people with the pommel.”
“Effective in certain situations.” Agnar reaches up to adjust my collar, somehow managing to make it more crooked in the process. “Your hair looks like someone’s been threading their fingers through it. The queen, perhaps?”
Oh, she’d done more than that. She’d pulled it, raked her nails over my scalp, over my back. Wrapped her perfect legs around my waist and screamed my name as I fucked her against the wall.
My blood heats, and I run my tongue over my teeth before deflecting the question. “She’s been preoccupied with her own preparations.”
“Preparations, hmm? Whatever you say.” He pats my cheek, smirking while continuing to orbit me, pretending to help while actually creating more work for the hovering attendants. “At least you’ll only have to change once. Lark has to do this twice today.”
“Three times.” I smooth down a fold in my sleeve that Agnar has just crumpled. “She’s insisting on armor for the covenant signing.”
Agnar’s eyebrows lift, and then he nods approvingly. “Smart woman. Never negotiate without armor, literal or figurative.” His expression softens. “You got lucky there, my friend.”
“I know.” I know this with a certainty that runs bone-deep. Finding Lark in the middle of war and chaos, falling in love despite every obstacle placed in our path…it feels like the one miracle I never thought to pray for.
Agnar moves to the window, leaning against the ornate frame as he surveys the gathering crowds below. “Speaking of which…” He nods toward a cluster of cloaked figures drifting through the throng.
My coronation has drawn people from every corner of Tirene and beyond. Nobles in finery that could feed a village for a year, merchants hoping to capitalize on the festivities, ordinary citizens wanting to glimpse their new monarchs.
But woven among them, meandering with a strange awkwardness that catches the eye, are many of the gods.
“Gods trying to be subtle.” I join him at the window, watching the divine beings attempt to blend with their mortal counterparts. “Failing magnificently. Rivlan’s idea of blending in needs work. You’d think the God of Water would blend like it was second nature.”
I point to the god’s familiar form. His cloak ripples even when there’s no breeze, the fabric occasionally becoming transparent at the edges.
The gods’ movements are too fluid in some ways, too stiff in others, as if they’re unused to navigating dense crowds.
Or walking. I can’t believe Ziva is so bad at it. She keeps forgetting to shuffle her “feet” and just moves her body forward instead. Even Nyc is better than that.
“Still, he’s better than Zeru.” Agnar points to a tall figure leaving a literal trail of stardust in his wake. The glittering motes hang in the air for several seconds before fading. “He’s literally trailing stardust. Subtle as a siege weapon.”
Behind the God of the Heavens, men and women step into the motes, trying to catch them on their hair, wings, and clothing.
How easily humans adapt to the impossible. Just days ago, we were fighting for our lives against divine wrath. Now we’re critiquing gods’ disguises as if commenting on a poorly chosen hat at a social gathering.
The door opens again, more gently this time. Bastian enters, his arms laden with scrolls. His formal attire looks rumpled, as though he’s been wearing it while hunched over a desk all night. “Final draft of the covenant. Thought you’d want to see it before—”
As he attempts to deposit the scrolls on a side table, his foot catches on the rug’s edge and pitches him forward. The scrolls tumble from his grasp in a cascade of parchment.
“Careful there.” Agnar’s hand shoots out, steadying Bastian before he can complete his fall. The scrolls aren’t so lucky. They scatter across the floor in every direction. “How’s my favorite scholar holding up?”
Bastian blinks, his gaze still distant as he bends to retrieve the fallen documents. “Leesa’s fine. Still a little nauseous at times, but good otherwise.”
“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.
“It’s almost time. The guests are being seated. The gods are arriving.” He pauses. Then, with uncharacteristic gentleness, he smiles. “You have about twenty minutes, Your Majesties.”
The weight of those words settles over me like my coronation robes, heavy with responsibility and expectation. But unlike the robes, this weight doesn’t feel like a burden.
It feels like purpose. Like a future worth fighting for. “We’ll be there soon.” I give Lark’s hand one final squeeze before releasing it.
Together, we step out of the diamond-filled room, leaving footprints in the glittering wealth that will soon change the world. Today, I’ll be crowned. Today, we’ll sign a new covenant with the gods. Today, everything changes.
Again.