The courtyard of Ashenveil had never looked the way it looked that midsummer afternoon.
White and silver banners hung from every wall. The entire kingdom had gathered, three thousand strong now, packed shoulder to shoulder from the great hall steps to the eastern gate, every face turned toward the top of the stairs where Aria appeared in white silk that caught the sun like water.
Kael stood at the base of the steps, and Aria watched his face change the moment he saw her, the careful composure of a five-hundred-year-old king dissolving into something raw and unguarded and entirely hers.
She walked down to him slowly, savoring every step, every face in the crowd that had once been strangers and were now her family. Vael, beaming with pride. Helsa, openly weeping. Tarn, standing tall despi
