Chapter 35 Thessia
Thessia
Nothing more. Nothing more.
Tabitha’s words followed Thessia.
Nothing more. Nothing more.
She fought them like she’d fought her duplicitous double. She was more. She was a daughter. She was a fighter who’d survived kidnappings, conquerors, and questing of her own. She was a friend.
She rushed up winding corridors toward the stage. In defending herself against the Deathrose Guild, she’d found the strength
to declare her independence from the pretty, perfect monarch she’d become. When she returned to Mythria, she would ensure
more of Thessia occupied the throne.
But before that—she was going to save Vestriya.
She flew up the final stairwell. Reaching the shadowed wings, she gazed out onstage.
Dismay found her instantly. Ario remained under the lights, and . . . the plan was going poorly.
The prince did not look kingly. Vestriyans watched in confusion while Ario fumbled over his words. Sweat shimmered on his forehead, sticking
his silver hair to his face. His speech veered from politics to poetry and vice versa . . . neither of which was engaging
the audience.
It couldn’t end here, panic screamed in her head. Her miserable gaze found the king and queen of Vestriya watching from their private box. The royal couple looked . . . delighted.
Of course they were. This was probably the shittiest coup she’d ever seen, honestly.
Not good. Not good.
She nibbled her fingernail furiously. Ario needed help. He needed support. She couldn’t just go out there and join him, however. Why would Vestriyans ever trust her? In present political circumstances,
they would think she sought to weaken the regime of their realm.
He needed . . .
Commotion in the wings distracted her. Stage pages were wrestling in frustration with someone who had left the line of people
waiting for their turn on the stage. The contestant rushed for Thessia—
Hugh.
The solution came to her immediately. Ario needed backup.
Hugh’s eyes roamed over her bloodstained gown, her bruised face. Pure, deep, soul-shattering fear drove him.
“I’m fine,” she exhaled the moment he reached her.
She wanted to reach out for him. Hold him. Kiss him. Remembering how their last conversation ended, she only just managed
to stop herself.
“You don’t look it,” Hugh exhaled. Frantic, he inspected every inch of her he could see for injuries. “What happened?”
“Tabitha,” Thessia explained. “She’s the leader of the guild. She wanted to take my life, literally. To kill me and step into
my position on the throne, pretending she was me. But I escaped,” Thessia went on, unable to help the pride in her voice despite
the desperation consuming Hugh. “Galwell and Mona and River will handle her. What we need to do is help—”
Hugh’s lips on hers cut her off.
This was not how their last conversation ended. Thessia cared not. She collapsed into the kiss, passion and pride and independence combusting in unforgettable fire.
Hugh’s harp fell to the floor while his hands wound in her hair. He kissed her with frenzied intensity, his mouth finding
her neck, her cheeks, her temples. He kissed her everywhere he could.
“I don’t care about all that,” he uttered roughly. “You could have died.”
Yes, she could have. Nothing would come of hiding from dangerous inevitabilities.
“I almost did,” she whispered.
Hugh gripped her hard, like he hoped the force of his conviction could defend her forever. “I can’t lose you, Thess,” he insisted,
every word wracked. “I can’t.”
Thessia pulled back to look into his eyes. She needed him to know she understood him fully. Whatever he needed, whatever he
could or could not withstand, she had the strength to face.
“I know you pushed me away to try to spare me this fear. I know I let you. But it’s too late,” Hugh went on. “I’m already
in love with you. I think I’ve been in love with you since I watched you sing ‘My Home Is Mythria’ to a bunch of drunk soldiers.”
Thessia laughed, with tears in her eyes. Yes, she was so, so much more than her crown. She was loved. She was in love.
It felt like everything.
“I love you, too, Hugh,” she said. “You’re my best friend, you’re who I think about when I wake up, who I dream about at night.
And . . .”
She straightened. She was the queen of her heart now. The ruler of her fate.
“And I know we lead dangerous lives, but I saved myself tonight,” she went on. “I’ll keep saving myself. For the both of us.”
Hugh grinned. Tears shone in his eyes, too.
“You’d better,” he replied.
Thessia kissed him.
In their embrace, passion conquered panic. Hope overpowered fear. Her heart’s quest, carried out under cover of royal obligation
and clandestine yearning, culminated here, in the arms of the man she loved.
Abruptly remembering her objective, Thessia parted from him. Their reunion was very romantic, yes, very romantic, indeed.
They had a realm to save, however.
“We need to help Ario,” she announced.
If Hugh was thrown by the subject change, he didn’t show it. He glanced past Thessia, grimacing while Ario pivoted to poetry
on the subject of . . . horseball, it sounded like.
“I’d love to, but I’m not sure there’s anything more we can do,” Hugh remarked gravely.
Thessia reached for his hand. “There’s something you can do,” she insisted. “Vestriya needs courage. Ario needs courage. He needs backup.”
Hugh’s eyes widened in understanding.
Thessia picked up his harp and handed it to him. Hugh held her gaze, and in his smoldering stare, she could hear the potent
music of promise.
“I will not fail you in this quest, my queen,” he murmured, bowing deeply. Thessia’s heart beat fast as she leaned forward,
laying the softest of kisses on Hugh’s cheek. Invigorated, Hugh fixed his focus on the illuminated stage.
While the prince spoke, Hugh strutted out under the enchanted lights.
Ghosts, he looks good. Thessia’s mouth went dry.
The spotlights shone on the sweep of Hugh’s dark hair and sharpened the hard lines of his face.
His eyes held roguish confidence, like he knew he commanded the crowd without having to try.
He swaggered not like a soldier, or even a king.
No, he could step right into the Songstar Hall of Fame looking the way he did.
Thessia smiled.
When Ario noticed Hugh, he looked pleasantly surprised to have company. Relief loosened the prince’s shoulders. “Vestriyans!”
he cried out enthusiastically, interrupting his oration. “I have a treat for you! Marvelous music for you to hear! A delight
for soul and for ear!”
Thessia winced. If Ario fucks this up with his rhymes . . .
Then Hugh started playing. Thessia’s doubt disappeared.
She recognized the low sweetness starting in her stomach, spreading to her limbs. The fearless feeling of Hugh’s music captured
her heart.
Yet Hugh’s song was no ode to romance. Not exactly.
Hugh sang the words Ario had presented to him and Thessia in Hugh’s tent. He sang of Vestriya, of home. Of first loves and
second chances. Of family and honesty and a horizon free of storms. Words Ario himself had written.
Everyone in the audience hushed to listen. For too long, Vestriyans had been taken advantage of by those with no integrity.
Hugh’s song summoned in them the courage to yearn for more. The longing to love their realm and themselves.
Thessia shivered from happiness, feeling Hugh’s emotion flowing into his playing. The love they shared, composed of compassion
and dauntless hope. His magic coursed from him stronger than ever before.
In that moment, Thessia understood that love did not require courage.
It didn’t test courage. They were one and the same.
Courage lived in every decision to love someone or somewhere or some fragile idea shimmering with promise—or even to love oneself.
Every act of kindness or passion was an act of bravery.
It made heroes of everyone, inspiring them to build a happier, fairer, wider future.
To love was to dare the realms themselves.
As Hugh sang, Thessia’s gaze moved to Ario. The enchanted music had worked on him, too. Hugh’s magic stoked courage within
the prince, who recognized the words Hugh was singing. Hearing his greatest opus seemed to focus him, reminding him of why
he’d written it. He looked calmer, steadier. Proud and determined.
Hugh completed his chorus, his music subsiding to the soft refrain of the harp melody.
With the chords strengthening him, Prince Ario faced his people.
“Vestriyans, you deserve more than what those in power have given you,” he declared. “You deserve truth. My parents have cared
for nothing but their own wealth and well-being. Prince Ezio knew of their corruption. He knew of the villages my parents
exploited. The unjust laws they’ve written in order to pad their pockets. The poisons they’ve spread in our own realm!”
He swept his hand out, evoking the imaginary Vestriya. The crowd started to respond. Indignant rustling and calls of encouragement
interrupted the prince’s speech.
“If you do not believe me, read the scribesheet at your feet!” Ario urged his people. “Ezio was killed to silence him. But
I will not be silenced.”
He raised his hands skyward. Relief joined with awe in Thessia. He really did look kingly.
The Vestriya Now audience felt the same. The clamor intensified. Looking out over the crowd, Thessia watched more and more
Vestriyans pick up the pamphlet. The one Celine had written.
She had documented firsthand what happened to a village beset by tragedy. How the king and queen had exploited the disaster for their own cunning ends. Discontented murmurs spread through the crowd.
The Vestriyan people rounded on the king and queen. Thessia watched them jeer, hurl garbage, and shout obscenities up at the
velvet royal balcony. Hugh stopped playing, recognizing that the spark had been lit.
The royal couple stood. Though they remained stoic, Thessia saw fear in their eyes.
They were right to fear their subjects, she knew. They’d lost control of the narrative they’d written for their people. They’d
sought to scribe the story of their Vestriya in corruption and carelessness, a realm where nobility meant nothing.
But stories could change. Damsels could become heroes. Heroes could become villains. Rulers could become despots, or fugitives.
People, weary and frustrated, could rise up, becoming a realm unto themselves.
The king and queen fled their compartment. But their people followed, the mob’s clamor growing. Thessia knew what would happen.
She knew there would be no escape for the fallen rulers from their people.
For those who remained in the theater, righteous indignation changed into righteous joy. Over the cheering, Thessia heard
one name, syllables gathering strength, chanted by the whole crowd . . .
“King Ario the Poet!” someone cried out.
Thessia knew her moment. While Hugh whistled in celebration, Thessia rushed onstage, where she placed her tiara upon Ario’s
head.
“King Ario the Poet!” she repeated.
Cheering, clapping, and stomping filled the theater. The very walls shook. Vestriya Now was no longer only a competition—it
was a coronation.
Ario’s cheeks were pink. The new king of Vestriya grinned, flattered. “I shall lead with temperance and noblesse,” King Ario the Poet promised his people, “and guide our righteous realm out of this fine mess!”
The cheering subsided. Thessia noticed an uncomfortable shuffling of feet in the wincing crowd.
Finally, a voice called out: “Just . . . King Ario, then!”