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“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.
Chapter Sixty-Three
Tirene’s great hall breathes with silent anticipation, sunlight filtering through stained glass to paint the assembled dignitaries in pools of jewel-toned light. I stand tall despite the weight of my ceremonial gown.
My gaze drifts across the space, taking in the faces of those who’ve traveled from every corner of our world to witness this moment. The Tír Ríogan delegation sits in places of honor, their sea-weathered faces beaming with genuine pleasure. Their kingdom has much to gain from our new alliance, and their smiles convey they know it.
Even Kamor’s representatives appear pleased, or at least as pleased as their perpetually stern expressions allow. Just months ago, we were enemies. Now they watch with careful respect as their former adversary is about to crown a king. Their heavy formal clothing looks uncomfortable in our mild winter, but they wear their discomfort with dignity.
The world has changed so quickly that sometimes I wonder if I’m dreaming.
My heart soars as I spot two familiar faces among the attendants.
Theo Everheart and Abel Rummon—my two closest still living friends from Flighthaven—stand together near the back, their simple clothing marking them as out of place among the finery. My guess is I have Helene to thank for sending them invitations.
Theo’s grin lights up his whole face when he catches my eye, dimples popping and blue eyes twinkling. Beside him, Abel is a little more reserved, but his smile is sincere. He’s grown a full beard, the dark hair covering half of the ebony skin of his face. They watched me fall on my ass so many times in training and helped me survive the rigorous classes at Aclarian flight academy.
Today, they’re watching me crown my king.
To my right stand Helene and Elijah, acting as witnesses for the noble houses. Helene’s glossy black hair is loose for once, hanging down her back in waves. She may be caustic and difficult at times, but she represents what remains of Aclarian nobility with unflinching poise.
Beside her, Elijah’s husky build is draped in formal attire that doesn’t quite disguise the warrior beneath. His brown eyes continually scan the crowd, his training first to be a flyer at Flighthaven and then as a guard in Windmyre never quite forgotten even in this ceremonial moment.
The master of ceremonies steps forward, his staff striking the marble floor three times, the sound echoing through the now silent hall.
Sterling approaches from the side entrance, his movements precise and measured. The silver of his wings catch the light filtering through the windows, creating an almost ethereal effect as he strides toward me.
My breath hitches. Not just because of how incredible he looks in his formal attire, but because of what his presence here means.
As Sterling draws near, Agnar leans in from his position at his side, murmuring something that makes Sterling’s lips twitch with suppressed laughter.
I can’t hear the words, but Sterling’s eyes meet mine, dancing with amusement as he mouths, Tell you later.
The music swells, signaling the next phase of the ceremony.
Sterling stops before me, his posture straight and proud. Unlike me, he was born to this, raised as royalty, trained in the subtle language of court and crown. Yet he kneels before me without hesitation, his head bowing in a gesture of respect that tightens my throat with emotion.
My fingers close around the king’s crown, a masterpiece of silver and sapphire that complements the colors of his wings. “Knox Sterling Barda,” I use his full name as tradition demands, “do you swear to uphold the laws of Tirene, to protect its people, and to rule with justice and mercy for as long as you shall live? Do you pledge yourself to the service of this kingdom, placing its needs above your own desires, defending it against all threats, known and unknown?”
His eyes never stray from mine, steady and certain. “I, Knox Sterling Barda, do so swear to govern the people of Tirene justly…”
He continues reciting the same pledge I made before becoming queen, maintaining eye contact the entire time.
Once he finishes, I ask one final question.
“And do you accept the crown of Tirene, with all its burdens and privileges, as equal partner to its queen, bound by duty and honor to the end of your days?”
A smile meant only for me touches his lips. “I so accept.”
I lift the crown high so all can see it gleaming in the light, then slowly lower it onto his head. The metal settles into place, and something shifts in the air as everyone takes an anticipatory breath.
