Chapter 35
Esther
How to Choose Between Love and Duty: cry a little, pretend you’re fine, repeat.
Esther woke to the sound of gentle breathing beside her.
For a moment, she didn’t move. She didn’t breathe any deeper than necessary. She lay still and let the world exist without her, balanced delicately on the rise and fall of the chest beside her.
The fear, the memories, the weight of her mother’s legacy were all washed away for the barest of moments as she drank in the morning sight of Nythir.
Nythir slept on his back, one arm flung above his head, the other resting where she had tucked herself closer sometime in the night.
His hair had come loose from its braid and spilled across the pillow in dark waves.
A faint scar crossed his collarbone. It was old and half-hidden.
Something she had noticed once and never asked about.
Esther shifted slightly, testing the space between them. Nythir stirred but didn’t wake, only turning his head toward her as if he could sense her pulling away. His fingers tightened unconsciously in the blanket.
For a few precious seconds, the world felt small. Manageable. Like all that mattered existed within the quiet space between their breaths.
She even found herself smiling faintly at the familiar background noises—Vorrik’s horrendous snoring rattling the walls, Lyssara muttering something about squirrels in contempt during her sleep.
Then the rest of the world crept back in.
The orphanage.
The hungry families.
The whispers of war were tightening around Greyhollow like a closing fist.
Her mother’s letter pressed heavily in her pocket, the folded parchment a constant reminder that she had been left something more than grief. She had been left with responsibility.
For one reckless heartbeat, she imagined letting the world sort itself out and letting councils argue, and kingdoms fall into whatever shape they chose. Letting Lucy scold her, Basil sighs dramatically, and everyone survives without her intervention.
She imagined choosing him.
The image was fragile. Beautiful. Impossible.
Esther slipped carefully from the bed, gathering her cloak with practiced quiet. She paused at the door, looking back once more.
“I don’t know how to do both,” she whispered, though he couldn’t hear her. “But I’m trying.”
She swallowed hard.
Love felt so small next to all of that.
Not unimportant… just fragile.
She slipped from the bed before anyone else woke, careful not to disturb Nythir. She paused only long enough to press a quiet kiss to his forehead and whisper a promise she wasn’t sure she could keep.
“I’ll be back soon.”
Greyhollow was already awake.
Carts rattled, merchants shouted, and the scent of baked bread and smoke mixed in the air.
Esther wrapped her cloak tighter around herself and bought fresh rolls, small wheels of cheese, and whatever vegetables she could afford from the orphanage’s meager fund—supported mainly through Lyssara and other kind souls—not those wealthy enough to make change.
A farmer gave her a discount simply because she smiled—an action she had taken for granted just days before.
Esther pulled her hood low and walked.
She carefully spent the orphanage's coins, making sure to stretch it as far as possible to feed the children. Bread still warm from the oven. The cheese was cut unevenly because the seller’s hands shook.
Vegetables bruised but usable, sold cheaply by a woman who smiled like she hadn’t done so in days.
“You’ve got kind eyes,” the woman said, pressing an extra carrot into Esther’s basket. “Your mother had eyes like that.”
Esther’s breath caught.
“Thank you,” she managed.
She moved on quickly after that, heart pounding too hard in her chest. Everywhere she looked, the strain showed itself in small, unignorable ways.
A man with a bandaged shoulder trying—and failing—to lift a sack of grain on his own.
A mother carefully breaking a loaf into pieces so small that Esther wondered how they could possibly be enough.
An elderly craftsman staring at a half-rebuilt stall, fingers hovering uselessly over tools he could no longer afford to replace.
some recognized her.
That was worse than she expected.
This was Valedara. Her kingdom. Her responsibility. And yet she walked among them unnoticed—another cloaked woman with a basket and too much concern in her eyes.
This is what Mother saw, she thought—every day.
The realization settled heavy and cold in her stomach.
Esther slowed near the edge of the square, resting her basket against a low stone wall. She pressed her palm flat against the cool surface and breathed.
You can stay, a treacherous voice whispered. Just a little longer. You’re helping. You’re here.
Another, quieter yet sharper voice answered back.
You’re hiding.
She closed her eyes.
Love pulled at her relentlessly, warm and persuasive. Duty pulled differently—not louder, not kinder, but with the weight of inevitability. The knowledge that if she turned away now, she would never stop turning.
She straightened.
I need to be better, she thought.
I need to fight for them.
I need to—
“Esther!”
A blur of blond curls slammed into her, knocking the breath from her lungs.
“Lucy?” Esther squeaked, arms full of an aggressively hugging maid. Her ribs were one attack-hug away from collapsing.
Lucy pulled back just long enough to grab Esther’s face between her hands. “Oh my stars, I’ve finally found you! Do you have any idea how hard it is to track a missing princess who is actively avoiding being found?”
Esther blinked. “What—? How—? Why are you here?”
“No time!” Lucy hissed, yanking her into a narrow alley between two buildings. “Listen carefully. I can’t stay long. And you especially can’t be seen with me. Basil has the eyes of a hawk and the patience of a graveyard.”
“What are you talking about?” Esther whispered frantically.
“We have a search party,” Lucy said, glancing around like a spy in a children’s book. “Basil. Baroness Levon. Sylva—Basil’s secret fox child.”
Esther’s heart flipped. “A search party? For me? And Basil has what?”
“Focus!” Lucy snapped. “You vanished from a castle. I performed a masterful act of concern. Basil nearly combusted from stress. The Baroness is absolutely in love with him and keeps pretending she isn’t. It’s unbearable.”
“Lucy, you are saying too many things too fast.”
“No time for pacing!” Lucy grabbed her shoulders. “Meet me tonight. Late. By the north gate. Alone.”
“Lucy, wait—why—”
“No questions!” Lucy hissed. “I have to distract Basil and the Baroness before they wander this way. We’ll discuss whether you’re coming back to the palace or continuing your grand rebellion later. My sanity depends on this.”
Esther stared at her. “…Lucy, why is there a search party? What are you even doing here?”
Lucy backed away, finger pressed to her lips. “Tonight. North gate. Be sneaky.”
“Lucy, wait—why tonight? Why alone?”
Lucy hesitated, just for a heartbeat.
“Because,” she said lightly, already stepping back, “I don’t trust your timing—and I definitely don’t trust mine.”
“Lucy!”
But she was already gone, sprinting off with her cloak flapping wildly, muttering about cover stories and lying creatively.
Esther stood frozen in the alley, arms full of food, heart racing.
Her life had unraveled in ways she never could have predicted. And apparently Lucy—her constant, her anchor—had become a covert operative.
Esther pressed her fingers to her forehead and exhaled slowly.
Tonight.
North gate.
She looked toward the orphanage, then back the way Lucy had gone.
She could tell someone.
She could warn Nythir.
She could explain.
Esther closed her eyes.
And chose not to.
Tonight, then.
She turned back toward the orphanage, her steps steady even as her thoughts raced. Duty pulled her forward. Love tugged behind her.
And somewhere between the two, Esther realized, was the moment everything would change.