Chapter 41 Esther
Esther
How to Bear a Destiny: Let the past carve you open. Let the future stitch you shut.
“Esther!” Lucy cried, cradling Esther’s head. “Are you okay?”
“You’re out of shackles,” Esther whispered, soaking in Lucy’s warmth, the familiar scent of lavender clinging to her.
The room felt unreal, like the aftermath of a nightmare that refused to let go. Esther focused on Lucy’s arms around her, on the solid truth of her breathing, grounding herself in sensation instead of panic.
The familiar scent cut through the chemical sting still clinging to her senses. Lucy. Alive.
Esther pressed her forehead briefly to Lucy’s collarbone, letting herself exist there for a heartbeat longer than was reasonable. She had been alone in that darkness for too long. Whatever came next, she would not face it without anchoring herself first.
“Your friend is feral,” Zaria said dryly from the opposite end of the room. Her face was decorated with fresh scratch marks.
Lucy hissed at her, curling protectively around Esther like a wounded wolf. Her wrists were raw, bloody, and one clearly dislocated.
Esther’s stomach twisted. Instinctively, her magic reached out—gentle, warm, alive.
“I don’t want anyone to sacrifice for my sake,” Esther murmured. “Never again.”
She sat up slowly, then pushed herself to her feet. Her legs wobbled; nausea rolled through her. But she felt something else too. Something deeper.
Her magic clicked into place. As her mother’s spark had finally fit into the last missing groove, she finally felt complete.
The sensation was not overwhelming.
That was what surprised her.
Her magic did not roar or blaze or demand release. It settled, aligning itself with quiet certainty, as if it had been waiting patiently for this exact moment to become whole.
Esther swallowed hard.
This wasn’t power borrowed from desperation. This was an inheritance accepted.
Somewhere deep in her chest, something old and aching loosened its grip.
“Why aren’t the runes blocking my magic?” Esther asked, placing a trembling hand over one of Zaria’s scratches. Golden warmth flowed from her palm.
Zaria didn’t flinch. She leaned into the touch, allowing the healing to settle. “Same reason I could use my power,” she said simply. “I sabotaged the runes the moment my brother left.”
She pointed at the entrance, where the central rune was gouged straight through—split like a broken spine. Esther was impressed by how swiftly she had done it, without being noticed.
“Runes are fickle things,” Zaria said, shrugging. “One symbol out of alignment, and the whole array is useless.”
“Or explodes,” Lucy clicked her tongue, putting herself between Esther and Zaria like a shield.
Zaria smirked. “Exactly.”
Esther studied the gouged rune with new eyes. It wasn’t sloppy. It was precise. The damage had been done quickly and confidently. By someone who understood exactly how much destruction was necessary and no more. Zaria hadn’t panicked. She had planned.
“So,” Esther said softly, hugging Lucy from behind. “What’s the plan now?”
Zaria didn’t hesitate. “You kill my brother. The king of Draewyn.”
The room froze.
Esther’s breath hitched.
Lucy’s snarl vibrated through her ribs.
The torches seemed to flicker, as if recoiling from the weight of it.
Esther took a deep, shaky breath. Her fingers curled into Lucy’s shirt.
The words did not echo. They sank. Esther felt them settle into her bones, heavy and immovable. This wasn’t a call to arms or a rallying cry. It was an ending—brutal, final, irreversible.
Somewhere in the distance, metal rang against metal.
The war was already moving without her.
For the first time, Esther understood that refusing to choose was itself a choice—one that would cost lives she could never name, faces she would never see.
Her breath shook. This was what destiny actually felt like.
Not glory. Responsibility.
“What do I do?” she asked.
Zaria exhaled like she’d been waiting for that question.
“You let him take you,” she said. “He’s already on his way. The attack has begun—thanks to the alliances your mother planted. Every faction she ever touched is rising tonight. All of them will storm the castle. All of them will believe they’re saving you.”
“But they aren’t,” Esther whispered.
The image unfolded vividly in Esther’s mind: a war room thick with smoke and shouting, her presence weaponized against her own people—Valedaran banners hanging limp in enemy hands.
She had always feared being used as leverage. Now she understood the cruel symmetry of it.
If she was to be used, she would decide how.
“No,” Zaria agreed. “They’re clearing the way for me. For peace. For what your mother wanted.”
Her eyes softened. “And when my brother finds you, he’ll use you as a hostage. He’ll drag you into the war room. He’ll gloat. He’ll threaten Valedara and extort your kingdom. He’ll believe you’re helpless.”
She stepped closer, holding up a metal band etched in runes.
“This looks like a magic suppressor,” Zaria said. “It isn’t.”
She clicked it around Esther’s wrist. Esther’s magic hummed, unbothered.
“He needs to believe you’re powerless,” Zaria explained. “And then, when he takes you to the throne room—when he thinks he’s already won—you kill him. Clean. Fast. Decisive. It will frame everything perfectly.”
Lucy’s voice cracked. “You’re asking her to assassinate a king!”
“I’m asking her to stop a tyrant,” Zaria said.
Esther’s pulse roared in her ears.
My mother died to save her.
She left all these seeds so she could survive. So Valedara could survive.
Her grip on Lucy tightened.
“I’ll do it,” she whispered.
Lucy’s breath caught. “Esther…”
The decision settled with surprising calm. Not relief. Not certainty. Just clarity.
Esther had spent her life bracing for a destiny she never wanted. Now that it stood in front of her—sharp-edged and merciless—she found that she could meet it without flinching.
This wasn’t surrender. This was a choice.
Esther turned in her arms. “I’m not doing it because Zaria said so. I’m doing it because my mother saw this war. Because she gave me the chance to end it before it begins.”
Lucy cupped her face, trembling. “You always jump straight into danger. It terrifies me every time.”
“I’m not just jumping into danger,” Esther said. “I’m choosing to protect the future she fought for.”
Zaria cleared her throat. “Touching. Unfortunately, you two need to look like you’ve been tortured.”
Lucy’s eyes snapped to hers. “Come again?”
“They’ll never believe I broke a princess without marks.” Zaria gestured to Esther. “And I haven’t bruised you at all.”
Lucy and Esther looked at each other.
“Oh no,” Lucy whispered.
“Oh yes,” Zaria said cheerfully.
Lucy groaned. “Esther, I love you, but we’re about to hit each other, aren’t we?”
Esther winced. “Just a little?”
Lucy’s eyes narrowed. “You smirk even once and I’m hitting harder.”
“I’m not smir—ow!”
Lucy punched her shoulder.
“You said not to smirk!”
“You did smirk!”
“I smiled!”
“It was smug!”
They shoved each other, slapped weakly, pulled hair, made dramatic yelps—two idiots trying to choreograph believable torture.
Zaria watched, unimpressed. “This is… sad. But effective.”
Finally bruised enough to be convincing, Esther and Lucy slumped back against the wall, panting.
The laughter faded slowly, leaving something tender and exposed in its wake. Humor had always been their shield—something they raised instinctively when the world grew too sharp. Even now, even here.
Esther leaned back against the wall, breath unsteady, and wondered if this was how her mother had survived, too.
By laughing just long enough to keep going.
Zaria clasped their shackles shut around their wrists. She paused by the door. “When the screaming starts, be ready.”
Then she left.
The room dimmed. Smoke and distant clangs echoed from somewhere above.
Lucy let out a long sigh.
Esther leaned her head against hers. “Lucy? I… I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“For making you my personal maid. For trapping you in the palace with me. For… forcing you into solitude with me.”
Lucy blinked, then burst out in disbelieving laughter.
“Trapped? Essie, please. I didn’t want to mingle with those cold, cruel nobles. You were the only person in that palace who made me feel safe.” She nudged her shoulder. “We weren’t alone because of you. We were safe because of you.”
Esther’s chest tightened. “I love you.”
Lucy rolled her eyes, cheeks pink. “Gross. Stop saying sweet things before I cry.”
They sat in silence for a moment.
Silence stretched between them—heavy, but not uncomfortable.
Above them, the castle groaned—distant shouts, the faint thunder of movement echoing through stone. The war was no longer an abstract future. It was here.
Esther closed her eyes. If she didn’t say this now, she never would.
Then she whispered, “Lucy… there’s something I need to tell you.”
Lucy tensed. “If you say another stupid thing, I swear I’ll bite you.”
“No,” Esther murmured. “It’s about… sex.”
Lucy blinked. “…Excuse me?”
“It’s not like in the books. It’s awkward. And it hurts.”
Lucy stared at her. Then gasped.
“You got laid before me!?”
“Lucy—”
“No! Unacceptable!” she raged. “I am kissing someone before I die! I don’t care if he smells like cheese and works in the stables—I refuse to let you win in death!”
Esther laughed—a soft, choked, terrified little sound. But it was real.
And above them, the first explosion rocked the castle.