THE SKY ABOVE AELIN
Summer 1985
The banner was heavier than it looked.
Jace stood on a ladder in one of the castle's long corridors, reaching up to unhook an old ceremonial banner that had been hanging since before he'd been crowned. The fabric was deep blue, stitched with silver thread depicting some long-ago celebration he'd never bothered to learn about.
Galena had decided it was time to update the castle, to reflect the new Brotherhood rather than the old one. There were dozens of banners and tapestries throughout the halls, relics of Seamus Greene's era and the Brotherhoods before him, and she wanted them replaced with something that honored Jace, Nathan, Connor, Erik, and Ricky. The castle staff was stretched thin with the project, so Jace had volunteered to help. Because of course he had. He wasn't the kind of king who made other people do work he could do himself.
Samantha had volunteered approximately thirty seconds after he did.
"Almost got it," Jace called down.
Samantha stood below him, steadying the ladder with both hands.
"You sure you don't want me to get someone else to help?"
"It's a banner, Sam. I think I can handle a banner."
"It's a twenty-foot banner attached to a stone wall that hasn't been touched in probably fifty years," she countered. "I'm just saying..."
The bracket gave way.
Not slowly. Not with warning.
All at once, the ancient iron pulled free from the wall with a grinding crack, and twenty feet of heavy ceremonial fabric dropped like a felled tree.
Jace yelped and tried to catch it. Samantha lunged forward instinctively. The ladder tipped. Gravity made its opinions known.
They went down together.
Samantha hit the floor first, the thick banner cushioning her fall. Jace landed half on top of her, his hands braced on either side of her shoulders to keep from crushing her, the banner tangled around both of them in a cocoon of dusty blue fabric and silver thread.
For a heartbeat, neither of them moved.
Then Samantha started laughing.
It was the breathless kind of laughter that came from surprise and relief and the sheer absurdity of the moment. Jace joined her, his shoulders shaking as he tried to untangle himself from the banner and failed spectacularly.
"Are you okay?" he managed between laughs.
"I'm fine," she gasped. "Are you okay?"
"I'm great. This is exactly how I planned to spend my morning."
"Falling on your drum tech?"
"It's a new training exercise."
She laughed harder, and he grinned down at her, and then the laughter faded.
Because she was right there. Inches away. Her auburn hair had come loose from its ponytail, fanned out across the banner beneath her. Her eyes were bright with laughter, her cheeks flushed, her lips parted as she caught her breath. And she was touching him: her hands had come up instinctively to steady him when they fell, and now they rested against his chest, fingers splayed over his heart.
He could feel it. The warmth of her palms through his shirt. The way her touch made something in him settle and ignite at the same time.
His empathy slipped.
Just a little. Just enough.
A whisper of what he felt bleeding through the careful control he'd maintained around her for months. Warmth. Longing. The way his whole body came alive when she was near. The way he lived for moments like this: her hand on his arm when she handed him his sticks, her laugh when he made a stupid joke, the way she'd started gravitating toward him without realizing it, the way he found excuses to be near her.
Samantha's breath caught.
Her lips parted slightly, and he saw the moment she felt it. The warmth that wasn't just physical. The pull that had been there between them for so long, unspoken, unacted upon, held at bay by professionalism and ethics and the fear of ruining something that mattered.
But right now, tangled in a banner on the floor of an empty corridor, none of that seemed to matter.
She leaned up.
He leaned down.
Their lips met softly. Carefully. A question asked and answered in the space of a heartbeat.
The kiss was brief. Gentle. Real.
When they pulled apart, Jace's eyes went wide with panic.
"I'm sorry," he said quickly, starting to push himself up. "That was... that was my empathy. I didn't mean to make you..."
"Jace..."
"I wasn't trying to influence you, I swear, it just slipped and I..."
"Jace." Samantha's hands tightened on his chest, holding him in place. Her voice was steady despite the flush in her cheeks.
"I wanted to."
He froze.
"What?"
"I wanted to kiss you," she said, her eyes locked on his. "Your empathy didn't make me do anything I didn't already want to do."
"But..."
"Stop," she said gently. "Just... stop."
They stared at each other, the weight of the admission settling between them like the dust motes drifting in the sunlight from the high windows.
Then footsteps echoed down the corridor.
They scrambled apart like guilty teenagers, Jace rolling off her and onto his back in the tangle of banner fabric, Samantha sitting up and frantically trying to smooth her hair back into place. By the time one of the castle staff rounded the corner, they were both on their feet, standing a respectable distance apart, faces flushed and slightly dusty.
The staff member took in the scene, the fallen banner, the toppled ladder, the two of them looking anywhere but at each other, and raised an eyebrow.
"Everything all right?"
"Fine," Jace said quickly. "Just... the bracket gave way."
"We'll get someone to fix it," Samantha added.
"And maybe use better anchors this time," Jace muttered.
The staff member nodded slowly, clearly not buying their casual act for a second, and disappeared back down the corridor.
The moment he was gone, Jace and Samantha looked at each other.
"That was..." Jace started.
"Yeah," Samantha agreed.
"We should probably..."
"Definitely."
They both nodded. Neither of them moved.
Finally, Samantha cleared her throat.
"We should get this banner cleaned up."
"Right. Yes. Banner."
They bent to gather the fabric, working in silence, their hands brushing occasionally in ways that made them both freeze for half a second before continuing.
Neither of them mentioned the kiss.
But neither of them forgot it.
And when Samantha walked away twenty minutes later, banner folded and ladder righted, Jace stood alone in the corridor and touched his fingers to his lips, a small, wondering smile on his face.
Everything was different now.
And there was no going back.
The idea came to Anya after a show in San Diego.
She'd made the trip specifically to see them, not for the Debauchery Experiments, which were long dead and buried, but because she genuinely missed watching Battle Cry tear a stage apart. The venue was quiet afterward, that hush that came when the crowd had gone home and the building was still humming with residual energy.
Samantha sat on a folding chair near the side of the stage, one leg crossed over the other, boots kicked off and pushed aside. She held a bottle of water she hadn't yet opened, her fingers worrying at the label like it had personally offended her.
She looked up when Anya approached.
"Well, I'll be damned," Samantha said, smiling. "You really do just appear."
Anya's mouth curved.
"I came to say hello. And to remind myself that you're all still alive."
Samantha laughed and finally twisted the cap off her water.
"Barely. You should've seen them before the encore. Connor was vibrating. Erik looked like he'd wrestled a demon. Ricky complained about his boots for forty-five minutes."
"And Jace?" Anya asked, already knowing.
Samantha took a sip, eyes gleaming.
"Jace was having the time of his life. Which means he was probably being unbearable."
Anya chuckled and took a seat on a road case opposite her. They simply watched the emptying venue, the ghost of the crowd still hanging in the rafters.
"I wasn't sure I should come," Anya said finally.
Samantha tipped her head.
"Why not?"
"Because I didn't want it to feel like... history," Anya said carefully. "Or territory. Or anything complicated."
Samantha considered that.
"Instead it's just complicated because they're idiots?"
"Precisely."
They shared a look. A quiet one. The kind women exchanged when they'd survived the same men by different routes.
Then Samantha said, "You know, it's funny."
"Dangerous words," Anya replied.
Samantha smiled.
"I know things about them now. Things I didn't used to."
"Domestic intelligence," Anya said. "Highly underrated."
"Oh, you have no idea," Samantha said. "Jace talks in his sleep. Connor rearranges furniture when he's thinking. Nathan pretends he doesn't care what people think and then cares deeply. Ricky lies about how tired he is. Erik..."
"...pretends he's not sentimental," Anya finished. "But keeps old ticket stubs."
Samantha blinked. Then laughed.
"Okay, that's unsettling."
Anya shrugged lightly.
"Years of observation. Games have a way of revealing people."
"Games," Samantha echoed.
They fell quiet again, the word hanging between them.
Anya's gaze softened, distant.
"There was something I never suggested. Back then."
Samantha turned fully toward her now.
"What?"
Anya hesitated, which was rare enough to be notable.
"Aelin."
Samantha didn't interrupt.
"I always thought it was a line," Anya continued. "A boundary I wasn't meant to cross. Not for play. Not for sport. Not for anything that wasn't... necessary."
Samantha nodded slowly.
"I get that."
"I respected it," Anya said. "Still do."
Samantha studied her.
"I don't think it's a boundary you'd be crossing."
Anya met her eyes.
"I think it's one you'd be invited across," Samantha continued. "If you wanted."
Anya let that settle. You could almost see the idea forming: cautious at first, then curious, then bright.
"Have you ever thought about it?" Samantha asked, deliberately casual.
"Hide and seek?" Anya asked. "On an entire island?"
Samantha smiled.
"A whole country, technically."
Anya laughed, the sound low and delighted.
"That's insane."
"Yes," Samantha agreed. "Which is why it would work."
Anya leaned back, thoughtful now, eyes alight.
"They'd say no."
"Oh, they'd complain," Samantha corrected. "There's a difference."
"And Jace?"
Samantha's smile widened, and there was something soft in her expression that hadn't been there before. Something that looked like a secret she was still learning to keep.
"He'd say it's ridiculous. And then he'd say it sounds fun. And then he'd convince himself he's perfectly safe."
Anya laughed again.
"You know him very well."
"I really do," Samantha said, fond and dangerous all at once.
They talked a little longer after that. Not planning. Just circling the idea. Letting it exist. Letting it breathe.
Eventually, Anya stood.
"I should go before they come looking."
Samantha nodded.
"Probably wise."
Anya paused, then smiled at her.
"Thank you."
"For what?"
"For permission," Anya said.
She slipped away as quietly as she'd arrived.
Samantha remained where she was, the noise of the venue finally fading into true silence.
She took another sip of water.
And then she smiled to herself.
Not big.
Not wicked.
Just enough.
Because she knew exactly what she'd just unleashed.
* * *
They were spread out in the dressing room like survivors of a small, loud war.
Connor sat on a couch with his elbows on his knees, forearms still humming faintly with post-show energy. Nathan stood near the mirror, methodically unlacing his boots as if order could be restored one knot at a time. Erik leaned against the wall with his arms crossed, expression neutral in the way that meant he was judging everything. Ricky sprawled in a chair he had claimed as his own, fanning himself with a folded towel.
Jace was pacing.
Not anxious pacing. Thinking pacing. The kind that involved three steps forward, one back, and the occasional glance at the ceiling like the answer might be etched there.
Anya stood just inside the door, hands loosely clasped behind her back, watching them with open amusement.
"Well," Connor said finally, looking up at her. "You survived the show."
"I always do," Anya replied. "You did fine."
Ricky scoffed.
"Fine? That crowd lost its collective mind."
"Yes," Anya said. "That tends to happen."
Jace stopped pacing.
"You didn't come all this way just to compliment us."
Anya smiled.
"No."
Erik straightened a fraction.
"Of course not."
Connor sighed.
"What is it?"
Anya glanced past them to where Samantha had just wandered in and taken up a position near the door, arms folded, face composed into a calm that should have alarmed them more than it did.
"I have a question," Anya said.
Nathan looked up.
"That's never just a question."
"True," Anya said cheerfully. "But hear me out."
Jace folded his arms.
"We're listening."
Anya tilted her head.
"Have you ever considered playing hide and seek in Aelin?"
The room went silent.
Not stunned silence. Not explosive silence.
The kind of silence where five men were clearly running internal calculations and none of them liked what they found.
Connor blinked first.
"You mean... the island."
"Yes."
"The whole island," Connor clarified.
"Yes."
Ricky barked a laugh.
"That's not a game. That's a census."
Erik pushed off the wall.
"You're joking."
Anya didn't blink.
Connor scrubbed his hand over his face.
"A country is not a mall. It's not a venue. It's not a forest preserve. It's a country."
"I'm aware," Anya said. "I've been there."
Nathan, who had gone very still, frowned thoughtfully.
"From a tactical standpoint..."
Connor shot him a look.
"Don't."
Nathan ignored him.
"It would require actual terrain analysis. Logistics. Deception. Counterintelligence."
Erik stared at him.
"You are not helping."
Nathan looked pleased.
"I disagree."
Jace exhaled slowly.
"This is... ridiculous."
"Yes," Anya agreed.
Jace hesitated.
"...but I can see why you'd think it might be fun."
Samantha's lips twitched.
Connor looked at Jace.
"You cannot be serious."
"It's my island," Jace said. "I know the safeguards. No one's going to do anything stupid."
Ricky straightened.
"I don't like the part where everyone knows we're playing and we don't know who to trust."
"That," Anya said, "is part of the appeal."
Erik shook his head.
"You want us to hide in our own country while the entire population looks for us."
"Yes."
"And we get... what?"
"Found," Anya said simply.
Nathan leaned back against the counter, eyes sharp now.
"It would be good practice."
Connor groaned.
"Of course you'd say that."
"It's real land," Nathan continued. "Real people. Real unpredictability."
Erik stared at Anya.
"You're serious about this."
"I am."
Ricky crossed his arms.
"No disguises."
"Agreed."
"No... naughty nonsense."
"Always the rule."
"We get time to hide," Jace added.
"One hour," Anya said.
Connor muttered, "This is insane."
"Yes," Samantha said mildly. "But you've done worse for less reason."
Everyone looked at her.
She smiled innocently.
Jace glanced between them, then sighed.
"If we do this, it's planned. Controlled. After tour."
"A month after the leg ends," Anya said smoothly.
Erik narrowed his eyes.
"You've thought about this."
"Some."
Connor looked at Nathan. Nathan nodded.
Connor looked at Erik. Erik grimaced.
Connor looked at Ricky.
Ricky hesitated, then sighed dramatically.
"Fine. But when this goes horribly wrong, I want it on record that I objected."
Anya smiled.
Jace closed his eyes briefly, then opened them, a grin tugging at his mouth.
"All right. We'll do it."
And that was it.
Somewhere deep in Aelin, the island had no idea what was coming.
But Samantha did.
And she was already enjoying it.
* * *
Late Summer 1985 — Aelin
They gathered in the lower hall just after sunrise.
The light came in clean through the high windows, pale gold on stone that had seen coronations, councils, and war. This was none of those things. Which, somehow, made it more dangerous.
Galena stood at the front with a sheaf of papers in her hand. No ceremony. No flourish. Just calm authority.
"All right," she said. "Rules."
Ricky groaned softly.
"I hate that word already."
"You'll hate it more if you interrupt," Galena replied without looking at him.
Connor folded his arms. Jace stood relaxed but attentive, though his gaze kept drifting toward where Samantha stood with the other women: Anya, Amara, Zara, Lena, Katya, Nila, Lyra. The Ladies of the Chase, plus Samantha, who'd been invited to join them for this hunt.
Jace had not yet made peace with that.
Nathan was already cataloging exits. Erik leaned against a pillar, unreadable.
Galena continued.
"You will have one hour. That hour begins when you leave this hall."
She lifted a finger.
"Before the game horns sound, you are not considered 'in play.' Citizens may greet you. Speak with you. Ignore you. They may not deliberately give you away, nor may they deliberately conceal you."
Ricky blinked.
"So it's like... neutral ground?"
"Yes," Galena said. "After the horns, all bets are off."
Nathan nodded once.
"Cadence?"
Galena's mouth twitched.
"Different from the military call."
Everyone in that room knew the battle cadence. Long blasts. Short ones. A sound that raised the island to its feet.
"This will be three short notes," she said. "Repeated. Three times."
She paused, then added dryly, "If anyone mistakes it for a call to arms, that's on them."
Jace smiled faintly.
"That won't happen."
"No," Galena agreed. "It won't."
She looked at them all then. Really looked.
"No disguises in plain sight. No leaving the island. No hiding in places that would require locking doors or impeding normal life."
"And no naughty stuff," Ricky added quickly.
"That should go without saying," Galena said. "But since it's you, we'll say it."
A few smiles. Some nerves.
Galena stepped aside and gestured toward the doors.
"You may go."
They didn't bolt. Not immediately.
They exchanged looks. Grins. The kind that said this is ridiculous and this is going to be fun in the same breath.
Then they scattered.
Out into courtyards, down stairs, into corridors, through side gates and into the waking island. Familiar streets. Familiar faces. People waved. People laughed. People said good morning.
No one betrayed them.
Yet.
High above the castle, the horns waited.
* * *
Ainmhithe
Ricky chose Ainmhithe because Ricky always chose comfort.
Of course, this was not his brightest move, but it was all he could think of in the moment. Ainmhithe had been his long before it was official. The county's horses knew his voice. The stable knew his footsteps. The air smelled like leather, hay, and the illusion of safety. For a few precious minutes, Ricky convinced himself this was clever.
Then he heard boots.
Not hurried.
Not searching.
Purposeful.
Jessica stopped just inside the main aisle, arms folded, one hip resting against a post like she owned the place. Which, for all practical purposes, she did.
"Ricky," she said.
He closed his eyes.
"Ah, shit..."
He stepped out from behind stacked tack, sighing.
"Jess. Come on. Ainmhithe is huge."
"And you hid in my stable."
"I'm hiding," he protested weakly. "In general."
She tilted her head, and there was something in her expression: amusement, yes, but also anticipation. Like she was waiting for something.
"You know, I could report this."
"Yes," Ricky said quickly. "Which is why I'm asking you not to..."
"I'm not hunting you," she said pleasantly. "You could leave. Re-hide. I'm not stopping you."
He stared at her.
"You are absolutely going to tell someone."
She smiled then. Warm. Apologetic. Unmoved.
"Of course I am."
Ricky bolted.
He did not bolt well.
By the time he ducked into another stall, convinced he'd bought himself time, he heard soft footsteps approaching.
Not Jessica's boots.
Lighter. Quieter.
He turned.
And froze.
Leilani Oksana stood in the stable doorway, backlit by the morning sun streaming through the open barn door. Her long dark hair fell past her shoulders in waves, and she wore a simple dress the color of sunset: orange and coral with white hibiscus flowers. The obsidian pendant at her throat caught the light.
She was smiling.
Not the triumphant smile of a seeker who'd found her target.
The smile of a woman who'd crossed an ocean to surprise the man she loved.
Ricky's voice dropped into that register he saved only for her. Low. Warm. Reverent.
"Leilani."
He closed the space between them, swept her into his arms, and kissed her like he was a drowning man and she was air.
She laughed against his mouth, her arms coming up around his neck, kissing him back with equal enthusiasm. When they finally broke apart, he didn't let her go, just held her close, his forehead pressed to hers.
"What are you doing here?" he murmured, his hands framing her face.
"I heard there was a game," she said, her dark eyes dancing. "I couldn't miss it."
"You came all the way from Hawaii for hide and seek?"
"I came all the way from Hawaii for you," she corrected. "The hide and seek was just a bonus."
He kissed her again. Slower this time. Deeper. The kind of kiss that made the rest of the world fade into irrelevance. He had been missing her: craving her touch, longing to hear her voice. It had been months, and he had almost considered sneaking through a portal to Oksana Plantation.
From the stable entrance, Jessica watched with a satisfied smile, then quietly slipped away. Some moments weren't meant to be interrupted.
When they finally came up for air, Leilani grinned at him.
"So... you're caught, sexy man."
"Best capture of my life," Ricky said, and meant it.
She took his hand, lacing their fingers together.
"Come on, chaos goblin. Let's get you to the holding area."
"Can we take the long way?"
"Absolutely not."
"Worth a shot."
As she led him through the stable and out into the sunlight, Ricky couldn't stop smiling. Being first out didn't sting nearly as much when Leilani was the one who'd found him.
And when they walked through the portal back to the castle, his arm around her waist and her head on his shoulder, everyone who saw them understood immediately.
This wasn't just hide and seek.
This was something else.
* * *
Neart
Erik chose Neart because Neart understood concealment.
It was a farming county. Wide land. Working land. Places meant to hold life, not attention. Barns that swallowed sound. Lofts that hid warmth. Stalls that smelled so strongly of animals and hay that they swallowed the human trace whole.
He waited until after the horns.
Only then did he move.
The barn he chose sat back from the main road, old timber darkened by years of use. He slipped inside quietly, climbed the ladder to the loft, and settled into the hay with practiced care, keeping his breathing slow, his boots tucked in, his coat folded beneath him.
Perfect.
From above, he could hear the soft sounds of the farm waking into its routine.
Then voices.
Three of them.
Familiar ones.
Erik went very still.
The women entered under the most innocent pretense imaginable.
"Oh, we'll just take a bit of grain," one said.
"And some hay for the rabbits," another added.
"They get cross if we forget," the third chimed in.
Erik closed his eyes.
They knew.
He heard footsteps on the ladder.
Slow. Careful.
A hand reached into the hay just beside his shoulder, lifted a small bundle, then froze.
"Oh!" the woman exclaimed softly. "Governor Hahn!"
Erik exhaled through his teeth.
"Please. Don't tell anyone. Please."
She pressed a hand to her chest.
"I would never dream of it."
Below them, one of the others called up, "Gladys? Who are you speaking with?"
"Oh!" Gladys replied brightly. "The governor is up here. He's just trying to hide."
"Well," another said warmly, "he should know we would never let anyone know where he is."
"Never," the third agreed.
Erik hesitated.
Then he trusted them.
Gladys climbed back down the ladder. The women gathered their grain and hay, chatting pleasantly as they left the barn.
Erik allowed himself a small, relieved smile.
Outside, Anya stood near the fence line, arms folded, watching the women approach with baskets in hand.
They were trying very hard not to laugh.
"Good morning, ladies," Anya said.
"Oh! Good morning," one replied, far too cheerfully.
"What were you doing in the barn?" Anya asked mildly.
"Nothing at all," Gladys said. "Just getting grain and hay."
"And did you see anything in there?"
"Well..." Gladys hesitated, then smiled sweetly. "Nothing but the governor."
Anya blinked.
"The governor."
"Yes," another confirmed. "Up in the loft."
"Oh," Anya said.
The women crossed themselves in quick succession as they passed her, murmuring prayers that sounded suspiciously like giggles.
Anya watched them go, laughter threatening to break free, then turned back toward the barn.
She climbed the ladder without haste.
Erik looked up as she crested the loft, resignation already written across his face.
"...How did you know?" he asked.
She smiled.
"Three little old ladies collecting rabbit food."
Erik groaned and pressed his palms into his eyes.
"I trusted them."
"And they trusted the game," Anya said, offering him her hand.
She led him down the ladder, out into the daylight, through the familiar fields of Neart, and into the portal home.
Inside, Ricky looked up as Erik entered and snorted. Leilani sat beside him, their hands still intertwined.
"They got you, too, huh?" Ricky asked.
Erik sighed.
"Farm women. Sweet little old ladies."
Ricky nodded solemnly.
"Never trust sweet little old ladies. Or stable managers."
Leilani smiled.
"Or women with baskets."
Erik gave Leilani a warm hug and dropped into a chair.
"This game is rigged."
"Welcome to Aelin," Ricky said cheerfully.
And somewhere back in Neart, three little old ladies finished feeding the rabbits, crossed themselves one last time, and laughed all the way home.
* * *
The North Spire
Connor Braydee chose height because height had always been reliable.
The spire had been built centuries earlier for sentinels. Watchers who counted sails and storms, who stood between the island and surprise. Narrow stairs. Thick stone. One open window meant for eyes, not comfort.
It wasn't used anymore.
Which made it ideal.
Connor climbed up after the horns, book tucked under one arm, movements economical and quiet. He settled into the small chamber, chair angled just right, back to the window, the book open across his knees.
The wind threaded through the stone like breath.
He barely noticed it.
Hours passed.
Below him, Aelin shifted. The low hum of movement. The distant laughter when someone was caught. He turned pages slowly, calmly, convinced he had made the correct choice.
He leaned back a fraction.
The wind changed.
It lifted the loose fall of his hair, longer than he remembered, dark as midnight, and carried it out through the narrow window behind him.
A ribbon of black unfurled into open air, waving like a flag in the open air.
High above the courtyard, two citizens of Léirstinach had stopped walking. They'd been touring the public terraces, admiring the view, when one of them shaded his eyes and looked up.
"That," one of them said quietly, "is not fabric."
"No," the other replied. "That's hair."
They watched as it lifted again, unmistakable, human, absurdly visible.
Then, softly, "Someone's standing too close to a window."
"Or sitting."
"It looks familiar." One admitted.
"Reminds me of The Visionary." The other mused.
They exchanged a look, both grinning.
The message reached Galena through intermediaries only.
No names.
No sources.
Just facts.
North spire. Open window. Dark hair visible in wind.
Galena read it once.
Then she closed her eyes briefly.
"So," she murmured. "The wind chose to betray our sweet Visionary."
She passed the note to Zara, who grinned with anticipatory hunger at the thought of hearing Connor sputter in shock at being caught once again by his Persian nemesis.
"Go," she said. "And don't tell him how."
Zara took the stairs at a steady pace.
Connor looked up when she entered the chamber, surprise sharp and immediate.
"...How," he asked carefully, "did you find me?"
Zara smiled, calm and unreadable.
"You forgot something."
"What?"
She gestured toward the window.
"Your hair."
Connor exhaled, running a hand back through his hair in disbelief.
"What?"
"Your hair, Connor." Zara's Persian accent colored the words with quiet amusement. "It's waving out the window like a beautiful black curly windsock."
Connor closed his eyes and groaned.
"Damn... I so thought I had this!"
"Should have explained the game to your gorgeous flowing locks, luv," Zara teased.
Connor narrowed his eyes at her, somewhat playfully, and said to her in her own language, "تو زیباترین کابوس منی!" (You are my most beautiful nightmare!)
Zara smiled widely and took his hand gently, locking her fingers in his and replying, "و تو خوشتیپترین و سکسیترین گروگان منی!" (And you are my most handsome and sexiest hostage!)
She led him down without ceremony, through the quiet corridors and into the portal back to the castle.
When Connor joined Ricky, Leilani, and Erik in the holding rooms, he shook his head once.
"It was perfect," he said flatly. "Or so I thought!"
Ricky snorted.
"That's what we all said."
Erik sighed.
"Never trust weather. Or little old ladies."
"Or stable managers," Ricky added.
Connor frowned.
"Someone had to have literally seen my hair flowing in the wind. I wish I knew who!"
But there was no answer to that.
And there would not be one.
The people of Léirstinach kept their secrets.
* * *
Draíocht — Daerden University
Nathan chose Daerden University as his hiding place because intellect had always protected him.
Stone corridors absorbed sound. Lecture halls disguised presence. Libraries swallowed men whole. A professor with a book was not remarkable. A headmaster passing through his own institution was expected.
He did not hide in his lab. He was not that careless.
Instead, he moved.
He shifted floors. Changed rooms. Paused where lingering was normal. Read when reading was required. For most of the morning, it worked.
Then the students started smiling.
Not at him.
Around him.
Whispers followed him down stairwells. Laughter broke half a second too late. When he turned a corner and found three students suddenly fascinated by a notice board that had been empty moments before, Nathan understood exactly what was happening.
They knew.
And worse, they were enjoying it.
He caught his reflection in a glass cabinet and saw a student behind him grinning openly, finger lifted in his direction.
That was when he saw her.
Amara had just entered the far end of the main hall, sunlight behind her like a closing door. Her beautiful dark skin made the light bend around her like an aura, and she moved with the regal bearing of someone who knew exactly what she was doing.
Nathan did not hesitate.
He ran.
The reaction was immediate.
Students spilled after them, not chasing so much as witnessing. Laughter echoed through the hall as Nathan burst through the doors and across the university grounds, coat flaring, boots striking stone and then grass.
Fire is fast, he told himself. Fire outruns everything.
Behind him, Amara moved like physics had decided to show off.
Her stride was long and smooth, her breathing steady, her focus unwavering. She didn't rush. She didn't need to.
Nathan risked a glance over his shoulder.
She was closer.
He veered toward the embankment that sloped down toward the lower path, hoping the change in terrain might buy him seconds.
It didn't.
Amara closed the distance, hooked his leg just enough, and gravity finished the argument.
They went down together, tumbling, laughing despite themselves, coats and limbs tangling, and rolled to a stop at the bottom of the slope in flattened grass.
Nathan lay on his back, staring up at the sky, breath knocked clean out of him.
Amara swung over him before he could recover, pinning his shoulders lightly, her grin already bright.
She leaned closer and tapped the end of his nose with one finger.
"Boop."
Nathan laughed before he could stop himself. The sound escaped sharp and surprised.
Then he groaned.
"Damn it."
Amara's grin softened.
"Hey. Are you okay?"
He nodded, still catching his breath.
"Yeah. I'm fine."
"Good."
Up on the ridge, the students had arrived.
They clustered along the crest of the hill, silhouettes against the sky, and promptly lost all restraint.
Laughter erupted.
"Nice run, Headmaster!"
"Fire's fast, sir!"
"Ten out of ten on the tumbling!"
"Should've stuck to the library!"
Nathan closed his eyes.
"I forbade them from making love potions," he muttered.
Amara looked down at him.
"You what?"
"One of them dropped an entire bottle of a very strong love elixir into the Harmonytis watershed a few weeks ago. The whole island was affected. If I'd allowed them to continue, we'd have had students making terrible decisions all over campus."
She snorted.
"A rookie mistake."
He opened one eye.
"Rookie?"
"Rookie. Have you ever headed a university before, Nathan?"
"Well, this would be the first one..."
"See?" Amara confirmed. "A rookie mistake."
She stood and offered him a hand, hauling him upright with effortless strength as the students applauded like they'd just witnessed the best lecture of the term.
As they walked back toward the university, Nathan shook his head.
"This is going to be discussed for years."
Amara laughed.
"You should see the papers they'll write."
She guided him through the portal and back to the castle, where Ricky, Leilani, Erik, and Connor were already waiting.
Ricky looked up first.
"Oh. You too."
Erik nodded sympathetically.
"Students?"
Nathan sighed.
"Students."
Connor snorted.
"You deserved it."
Nathan didn't argue.
Four down.
One still free.
And somewhere in Léirstinach, the island was tightening its focus, ready at last to go looking for its king.
* * *
Léirstinach
Léirstinach was a land of beauty and craft.
Silk hung in windows. Looms hummed softly even after dusk. Music drifted through open doors, half-finished melodies practiced for no one. Lanterns glowed warm against stone, and theatre lights dimmed as rehearsals gave way to evening.
It was the last place anyone expected to lose a king.
Jace did not hide in plain sight.
He did not hide in a forgotten corner.
He did not hide where clever people would look.
He hid where love lived.
Connor's house stood quiet at the edge of a narrow street, familiar and unassuming. Jace slipped inside hours earlier, moved through it like memory, climbed the attic stairs without a sound.
The wardrobe was old. Solid. Hand-built. Heavy doors.
He checked it for spiders first.
Because of course he did. He was not about to be found because of a spider this time.
Then he stepped inside, eased himself behind a thick row of coats, pulled the door almost closed, and became still.
For hours, he breathed dust and wool and silence.
The house creaked. The island shifted. Voices passed below, never stopping long enough to linger. He smiled once, quietly, in the dark.
This, he thought, was where he would win.
Night fell.
Lanterns bloomed across Léirstinach. Somewhere, trumpets were being prepared. Three short notes, three times, to signal the end.
Jace closed his eyes.
Almost.
He shifted just enough to ease the ache in his legs.
That was all it took.
Dust stirred.
It tickled.
He tried to hold it.
He failed.
He sneezed softly.
Not softly enough, though.
Silence.
Then, softer, very sincere: "Ah shit."
In the attic, footsteps stopped.
Samantha had been searching with Anya, splitting up to cover more ground. Anya had gone through the lower floors methodically and come up empty. Samantha had taken the attic on a hunch: Connor's house, Connor's space, and Jace trusted Connor's spaces.
She'd been about to give up when she heard it.
A sneeze.
Quiet. Muffled. Definitely human.
She froze, listening.
Silence.
Then, barely audible: "Ah shit."
Samantha bit her lip to keep from laughing and turned slowly toward the old wardrobe in the corner.
She approached it quietly, her footsteps soft on the worn floorboards.
Inside the wardrobe, Jace held his breath like a child caught in a game he had almost won.
Samantha opened the doors.
Dust puffed into the air as she parted the heavy coats, and there he was: the High King of Aelin, Guardian of the Brotherhood, crammed behind winter jackets with dust in his hair and guilt written all over his face.
Jace blinked at her, stunned.
Then, traitorously, he sneezed again.
Samantha clapped a hand over her mouth, her shoulders shaking with silent laughter.
"Oh no," she said, her voice full of mock sympathy. "Did the mighty Guardian get defeated by dust?"
"Don't," Jace warned, already seeing the gleam in her eyes.
"Don't what?" she asked innocently.
"Whatever you're thinking."
"I'm just thinking," Samantha said sweetly, "that you've been hiding in here for hours. You must be so stiff."
"I'm fine... Sam, wait..."
She grabbed his wrist and tugged him forward. He stumbled out of the wardrobe, still sneezing, and she used his momentum against him, a move she'd learned from watching Erik train, and took him straight down to the attic floor.
He landed on his back with an oof, and before he could recover, she swung a leg over and sat on him, pinning him down with her weight and a triumphant grin.
"Gotcha," she said.
Jace stared up at her, torn between laughter and disbelief.
"This is abuse of power."
"This is payback," she corrected. "For every single time you've made me reorganize your drum kit. For every time you've 'tested my reflexes' by throwing sticks at me. For..."
"Okay, okay, I get it..."
"And for making me fall off a ladder this morning."
"That was an accident!"
"Uh-huh." Her eyes narrowed playfully. "You know what? I don't think you're sorry enough."
"Sam..."
She found his ribs.
The effect was immediate and devastating.
Jace's eyes went wide, and then he was laughing, really laughing, the kind that came from somewhere deep and uncontrollable. He tried to grab her wrists, but she was faster, and she'd apparently decided that this was the hill she was willing to die on.
"Stop... Sam... I can't..." he gasped between laughs, squirming beneath her.
"Oh my God," Samantha said, delighted. "You're ticklish. How did I not know this?"
"Because... it's not... common knowledge..." He tried to roll away. She dug her fingers into his sides. He made a sound that was half-laugh, half-wheeze.
"Samantha!"
"Say you're sorry for the ladder!"
"I'm sorry for the ladder!"
"And for testing my reflexes!"
"And for testing your reflexes!"
"And for being impossible to work for!"
"I'm not... that's not... Sam, please..."
She relented, her hands stilling against his ribs, but she didn't move. She stayed there, straddling him, both of them breathing hard from laughter, her hair falling forward around her face.
The laughter faded.
The air shifted.
She was looking down at him, and he was looking up at her, and they were both acutely aware of how close they were. How her hands were still pressed against his chest. How his hands had come up to rest on her hips, steadying her without him even thinking about it.
Samantha's breath caught.
Jace's fingers tightened slightly on her hips.
"Sam," he said quietly.
"Yeah?"
"We should probably..."
"Yeah," she agreed.
Neither of them moved.
The moment stretched. Taut. Electric.
She could lean down. He could pull her down. It would be so easy. Just like the banner. Just one kiss. Just...
Footsteps echoed up the stairs.
They broke apart like they'd been burned.
Samantha scrambled off him, and Jace sat up quickly, both of them flushed and slightly disheveled. By the time Anya appeared at the top of the attic stairs, they were standing a respectable distance apart, Jace brushing dust off his clothes and Samantha suddenly absorbed by the view from the attic window.
Anya took one look at them and raised an eyebrow.
"Found him," Samantha said, her voice only slightly unsteady.
Anya's gaze moved between them slowly.
"I can see that."
Jace sneezed.
"Dust," Samantha added quickly.
"Mm-hmm," Anya said, clearly not buying it for a second.
Jace cleared his throat.
"We should head back. The horns are about to sound."
"Of course," Anya said, that knowing smile still playing at her lips.
Samantha didn't look at Jace as they walked down the stairs. Jace didn't look at Samantha.
But when their hands accidentally brushed in the narrow stairwell, neither of them pulled away as quickly as they should have.
Anya, walking behind them, smiled to herself.
The people of Léirstinach were right.
These two were already gone for each other.
They just didn't know it yet.
They stepped into the night together as the trumpets lifted.
Bop. Bop. Bop.
A breath.
Bop. Bop. Bop.
The hush felt like history holding still.
Bop. Bop. Bop.
Across Aelin, the game ended.
In Léirstinach, the king was finally caught.
And the island, quietly, prepared for the celebration.
* * *
Samantha led Jace through familiar corridors to the smaller chamber where the others had been waiting, trading bruises, insults, and personal humiliations. Anya walked with them, still wearing that knowing smile.
The door opened.
Four heads turned at once. Well, five, counting Leilani.
Ricky stared first.
"No."
Erik broke into a grin.
"They got you?"
Connor laughed outright.
"No way."
Nathan leaned back in his chair.
"Dust?"
Jace sneezed.
Ricky pointed.
"Dust."
Jace wiped his nose, still smiling.
"Wardrobe."
Connor's eyes went wide.
"Wait. Which wardrobe?"
"The one in your attic?"
"The big old one? The creepy one?"
"...Yes?"
Connor stared at him.
"You hid in that wardrobe?"
"It seemed like a good spot..."
"Jace, I don't even know what's in that wardrobe!" Connor said, half-laughing, half-horrified. "I've been too scared to look! That thing's been up there since before I moved in. It's got to be four hundred years old at least!"
Erik raised an eyebrow.
"And you hid in it."
"I checked for spiders first," Jace said defensively.
"But not for four-hundred-year-old Visionary artifacts?" Nathan asked, amused.
Ricky snorted.
"Or ghosts."
"There were no ghosts," Jace said. "Just dust. And old coats. Actually..." He paused, remembering the hours he'd spent in the dark, carefully examining what surrounded him. "There's a lot in there, Connor. Really old clothing. Books that look like journals. Antique shoes. And..."
He met Connor's eyes.
"...there's a staff. A tall one, about six feet. Beautifully carved from some kind of dark wood. It has an emerald set into the top, and there are carvings all down the length of it. Lettering, I think. Aelinian, maybe. I couldn't make it out in the dark."
Connor went very still.
The room quieted.
"An emerald," Connor repeated slowly.
"Big one," Jace said. "And the whole thing feels... I don't know. Alive, almost. Like it's been waiting. Like it knows it belongs to someone."
Connor's hand drifted unconsciously to the emerald amulet at his throat. His expression shifted from amusement to something more serious.
"I've felt something," he admitted quietly. "In the house. Like something's been calling me. I thought I was imagining it."
"You weren't," Jace said gently. "That wardrobe belonged to the fifth Visionary. I think whatever's in there is yours now."
Nathan leaned forward slightly, interested.
"A staff with an emerald and Aelinian script? That could be a conduit. A weapon, even."
Erik nodded slowly.
"If it's connected to the Visionary Amulet, you should claim it. Your predecessor clearly left it for whoever came after."
Connor looked torn between curiosity and his instinct to avoid the creepy attic furniture.
"I'll go with you," Jace offered. "After we eat. We'll open it properly."
"And I want to see the books," Nathan added. "And translate those carvings."
Ricky grinned.
"I just want to watch Connor freak out."
"I'm not going to freak out," Connor muttered.
"You're absolutely going to freak out," Samantha said, speaking up for the first time. Her voice was warm, teasing.
Connor shot her a look, then sighed.
"Fine. We'll look. But if there's anything weird in there..."
"There's definitely something weird in there," Jace said. "That's the point."
Leilani smiled from where she sat beside Ricky, her hand in his.
"At least you lasted longer than this one."
"Hey," Ricky protested. "I was ambushed by perfection."
She kissed his cheek.
Connor looked at Samantha, then at Jace, then back at Samantha. His Visionary senses were clearly picking up something.
"So... Sam found you?"
"In Connor's attic," Samantha confirmed, her voice carefully neutral. "In the wardrobe."
"And the dust gave him away," Anya added helpfully.
Jace shot her a look.
Anya's smile widened.
Ricky squinted at them both.
"Why do I feel like there's a story here?"
"There's not," Jace and Samantha said in unison.
Everyone looked at them.
"Definitely a story," Connor said.
Erik nodded slowly.
"Absolutely a story."
Nathan just smiled into his hand.
Samantha cleared her throat.
"The game is concluded. Shouldn't we be celebrating or something?"
"Yes," Jace said quickly. "Celebrating. Let's do that."
Anya folded her arms, clearly enjoying herself.
"Gentlemen, Lady Leilani... shall we adjourn to the Great Hall?"
Ricky stood, pulling Leilani up with him.
"I could eat."
Erik stretched.
"Same."
Connor was still grinning at Jace and Samantha.
"This is going to be fun."
Jace sneezed one more time, then gave up.
"Let's go."
As they filed out of the room, Connor fell into step beside Samantha.
"You know," he said quietly, "for someone who just caught the king, you look awfully flustered."
"I'm not flustered."
"Your face is red."
"It's warm in here."
"Uh-huh." Connor's green eyes sparkled with mischief. "What happened in that attic, Sam?"
"He sneezed. I found him. End of story."
"Is it though?"
Samantha didn't answer.
Connor laughed and jogged ahead to catch up with the others.
Behind them all, Anya watched Jace and Samantha carefully maintain distance between themselves as they walked, and smiled.
Oh yes.
The people of Léirstinach were going to have a field day with this.
* * *
They ate well.
Fresh fish from Harmonytis waters, still tasting of the sea. Bread from Neart, warm and fragrant. Fruits and vegetables piled high. Wine. Stories. The kind of meal that erased the long day and replaced it with memory.
The Great Hall was warm with laughter and candlelight. The Ladies of the Chase sat among them, recounting their captures with theatrical flair. Amara demonstrated her tackle on Nathan, complete with sound effects. Zara mimed Connor's hair flowing in the wind. The three little old ladies from Neart were toasted repeatedly.
Leilani told the story of finding Ricky in the stables, and Ricky didn't even try to defend himself, just pulled her close and kissed her temple while everyone laughed.
Samantha sat beside Jace, close enough that their shoulders brushed occasionally. Neither of them mentioned the banner. Neither of them mentioned the wardrobe. Neither of them mentioned what had almost happened, twice now, in a single day.
But every time their eyes met, something sparked.
And the people of Léirstinach, watching from their tables, smiled knowingly.
The musicians. The actors. The seamstresses and craftspeople. The intuitive county saw what others might have missed.
The way Jace's whole posture changed when Samantha laughed. The way she leaned toward him when he spoke, unconsciously closing the distance between them. The way their hands kept finding excuses to brush: passing a plate, reaching for wine, the smallest touches that lingered half a second too long.
The way they were both trying so hard not to notice.
An older woman, a weaver named Ciara who'd lived in Léirstinach her whole life, leaned toward her husband and whispered, "Those two are dancing around each other like they're afraid the music will stop."
Her husband smiled.
"Give them time. The music always finds them eventually."
Later, as plates were cleared and laughter lingered, Galena stood.
The hall quieted.
"To the Brotherhood," she said, raising her glass. "Who remind us that even kings can be humbled by dust."
Jace sneezed on cue.
The hall erupted in laughter.
"And to Aelin," Galena continued, her voice warm. "Who played the game with honor and joy."
Glasses clinked. Voices rose in agreement.
Samantha raised her glass, and when Jace turned to meet her toast, their eyes held for just a moment longer than necessary.
Connor, sitting across from them, caught it and grinned into his wine.
And somewhere in the lavender evening sky above Harmonytis, the island settled into contentment.
The game was done.
The Brotherhood was safe.
And something new was beginning, whether the two people at the center of it were ready to admit it or not.
* * *
Late Autumn 1985
The argument had been going for twenty minutes, and neither of them was willing to concede.
"The lavender is part of Aelin's identity," Galena said, her arms crossed as she stood beside the window in the Prime Minister's office. Beyond the glass, the capital city of Harmonytis spread beneath a sky the color of pale amethyst.
"Our people know this sky. They've grown up under it. Changing the Veil's color disrupts something fundamental."
Nathan leaned against her desk, his arms folded to mirror hers.
"The lavender is beautiful, but it's not natural. If we adjust the Veil to filter light correctly, to show blue during the day, we could increase crop yields by fifteen percent. Maybe twenty. The grain production alone would..."
"Would what?" Galena turned to face him, one eyebrow arched. "Make us more efficient? Nathan, we are not a factory. We are a culture."
"I'm not suggesting we become a factory," Nathan said, his voice patient. "I'm suggesting we stop limiting our agricultural potential for aesthetic reasons."
"Aesthetic?" Galena's voice sharpened. "The sky is not wallpaper, Nathaneal."
"And food security isn't decoration, Galena."
They stared at each other across the office. The air between them crackled, not with anger but with the tension that came from two brilliant people who respected each other deeply and refused to back down.
Nathan sighed and rubbed the back of his neck.
"Neither of us is going to win this, are we?"
"No," Galena admitted. "The Aelinian Congress will have to vote on it."
"Democracy," Nathan said dryly. "How inconvenient."
Galena's mouth twitched. She moved away from the window, her heels clicking softly on the polished floor as she approached him.
"You are impossible when you believe you are right."
"So are you."
"Yes, but I am the Prime Minister. I am supposed to be impossible."
Nathan laughed, a real laugh, the kind that made his shoulders shake. And then Galena was close enough to touch, standing directly in front of him with her hands on her hips and her eyes still flashing with the remnants of their debate.
"One more argument," she said. "The lavender sky has been a constant for our people since the Veil was raised. In times of war, in times of peace, in times of..."
Nathan pulled her into his arms and kissed her.
Galena went rigid with surprise. Then she melted against him, her hands sliding up to frame his face as she kissed him back with the same intensity she'd brought to their argument. When they finally broke apart, both of them were breathing hard.
"That," Galena said, her voice unsteady, "was cheating."
"It was strategic repositioning," Nathan murmured against her temple. "We've been dancing around this for weeks."
"Months," Galena corrected. Her hands were still on his face, her thumbs brushing along his cheekbones.
"Since the summer. Since you came back from that tour and walked into the Council chamber looking exhausted and I wanted to..."
"I know." Nathan's arms tightened around her waist. "I know. Me too."
They stood like that, foreheads touching, neither of them willing to let go. Outside the window, the lavender sky deepened toward evening. Somewhere in the building, footsteps echoed in a distant hallway. But in the Prime Minister's office, there was only the two of them and the truth they'd both been carrying.
Nathan pulled back just enough to meet her eyes. His heart was hammering so hard he was sure she could feel it.
"Is there someone whose permission I'll need to ask for your hand in marriage?"
Surprise flickered across Galena's face before it settled into something softer, almost like joy. She touched his face again, her fingers gentle against his jaw.
"Da," she said, her Russian accent coloring the word. Her smile was sweet and teasing and entirely hers.
"You ask me."
Nathan felt his own smile break across his face. He took both her hands in his, holding them carefully as if they were something precious.
"Galena Irena Slotskya, Prime Minister of Aelin, will you marry me?"
"Yes," Galena said simply. And then she kissed him again, once, twice, three times in quick succession, before Nathan laughed and spun her around in his arms, lifting her off her feet as she held onto his shoulders and let herself be joyful in a way the Prime Minister never permitted.
When he set her down, they were both grinning like idiots.
"The Congress needs to know," Galena said, still slightly breathless. "And the Brotherhood."
"How formal do we need to be?" Nathan asked, tucking a strand of her golden-blonde hair behind her ear.
"Very." Galena's smile turned wry. "This is news of major significance concerning both the Prime Minister and a member of the Brotherhood. I'll need to call an official session."
Nathan groaned.
"Speeches?"
"Many speeches." Galena patted his chest sympathetically. "You are marrying into Aelinian bureaucracy, любимый (darling). There will always be speeches."
* * *
November 14, 1985
The Congressional chamber was packed.
Word had spread quickly, as it always did in Harmonytis, that the Prime Minister had called an emergency session with the Brotherhood in attendance. The last time such a session had been convened was when Erik had been named High General of the Aelinian forces. Before that, it had been Jace's coronation as High King.
So the senators and representatives filled the chamber, murmuring among themselves as they speculated about what news could possibly require such formality. In the gallery above, citizens of Aelin pressed close to the railings to watch.
The Brotherhood stood together near the side entrance, waiting for their cue. Jace adjusted the collar of his formal jacket, black with the opal Guardian symbol stitched over his heart, and glanced at Nathan beside him.
"You're smiling," Jace observed quietly.
"Am I?" Nathan's smile widened.
"Like you just won the lottery," Connor added from Nathan's other side. The Visionary's green eyes were dancing with barely suppressed amusement.
"Or solved an impossible equation. Or..."
"Shut up, Connor," Nathan said, but there was no heat in it.
Erik leaned down slightly, his massive frame blocking the view of half the chamber.
"Does Galena know you're this pleased with yourself?"
"She does," Nathan said. "She's equally pleased."
Ricky bounced on his toes, his auburn curls slightly wild despite his formal attire.
"This is so romantic. I love it. When's the wedding? Can I shapeshift during the ceremony? I have ideas..."
"No," all four of his brothers said in unison.
The chamber doors opened, and an aide gestured for them to enter. The Brotherhood filed in together, moving to their designated places near the raised platform where Galena stood at the podium. She was dressed in formal Prime Minister attire, a tailored suit in deep blue with the Aelinian seal pinned at her collar. Her golden-blonde hair was pulled back in an elegant style, and her expression was the careful neutrality of a politician addressing her people.
But when Nathan approached the platform and stood beside her, a ripple of surprise moved through the chamber. The Prime Minister and the Conjurer, standing together. The murmuring grew louder.
Jace caught Erik's eye and raised an eyebrow. Erik shrugged, his own expression carefully blank, but there was a glint of humor in his blue eyes. Beside them, Ricky was grinning so hard he looked like he might explode.
Galena waited for the chamber to quiet. When silence finally fell, she lifted her chin and addressed the assembly in the clear, carrying voice she used for official proclamations.
"Citizens of Aelin. Members of the Congress. I have called this session to announce news of major significance concerning both the Office of the Prime Minister and the Brotherhood of Aelin."
She paused, letting the weight of her words settle. Then she turned slightly toward Nathan, and something in her expression softened, just a fraction, enough for those who knew her well to see it.
"It is with great joy that I, Galena Irena Slotskya, Prime Minister of Aelin, officially announce my acceptance of a proposal of marriage from Nathaneal Alan Dallenger, Governor of Draíocht, Conjurer of the Brotherhood of Aelin."
The chamber erupted.
Cheers and applause echoed off the vaulted ceiling as the representatives rose to their feet. In the gallery above, the citizens of Aelin shouted their approval and congratulations. Nathan felt his face heat, but he kept his expression steady as Galena continued.
"It is so proclaimed this day of November the fourteenth, nineteen eighty-five."
The applause swelled again, then gradually subsided as the representatives settled back into their seats. Galena stepped back from the podium, and Nathan took her place. His hands gripped the sides of the lectern as he addressed the chamber, not as the Conjurer but as a man who'd just been given something he hadn't known he could have.
"Members of the Congress," Nathan began, his voice steady. "I stand before you not to make policy or discuss the Veil, but to speak from the heart."
A few chuckles rippled through the crowd. Nathan's debates with Galena over Veil adjustments were legendary.
"I turn now to my brothers," Nathan continued, shifting his attention to where the Brotherhood stood. "To announce that I, Nathaneal Alan Dallenger, have asked for the hand of Prime Minister Galena Irena Slotskya to be taken in marriage, and she has accepted, as confirmed before you today."
He met Jace's amber-gold eyes across the space between them.
"Guardian... will you stand beside us as we walk this path in love and honor, Your Majesty?"
Jace stepped forward, moving with the unconscious grace that came from being Guardian. When he spoke, it was in the formal cadence of the High King addressing one of his Brotherhood.
"I, Jason Beannú Elias, High King of Aelin and Guardian of the Brotherhood, will stand with you, Conjurer."
One by one, the others stepped forward.
"I, Erik Ivar Hahn, High General of Aelin and Warrior of the Brotherhood, will stand with you, Conjurer."
"I, Richard Darren Strathan, Sentinel of the Brotherhood, will stand with you, Conjurer."
Connor was the last, and when he spoke, his voice carried the strange resonance it sometimes took when he saw something true and certain in the threads of possibility.
"I, Connor Thomas Braydee, Visionary of the Brotherhood, will stand with you, Conjurer. Now and always."
The chamber erupted again, louder this time, the applause thunderous. Nathan felt something in his chest loosen and expand at the same time, something that was relief and joy and the beginning of a future he'd been too careful to imagine.
Galena joined him at the podium, and together they faced the Congress. A senator from Harmonytis, Dalen Corrigen, gray-haired and dignified, rose from his seat and addressed them both.
"Prime Minister Slotskya, Conjurer Dallenger, on behalf of the Aelinian Congress, we congratulate you both. May we inquire as to the proposed date of the wedding ceremony?"
Nathan glanced at Galena. They'd discussed this the night before, sitting in her apartment with tea growing cold between them as they talked about families and history and the people they'd lost.
Galena's voice was steady, but Nathan heard the emotion beneath it.
"Nathan and I have chosen to marry on the day of my beloved late father's birth. April twenty-second, nineteen eighty-six."
Senator Corrigen nodded solemnly.
"A date of honor and remembrance. The Congress accepts and celebrates this choice."
The chamber rose as one, applauding again. Galena and Nathan stood together at the podium, her hand finding his beneath the cover of the lectern, their fingers lacing together as they thanked the assembly for bearing witness to something that mattered more than policy or politics or the color of the sky.
* * *
Later, after the session had adjourned and the congratulations had been received and the Brotherhood had retired to a private room to celebrate, Jace pulled Nathan into a brief, fierce hug.
"Congratulations," Jace said quietly, his hand gripping the back of Nathan's neck in the way he did when emotions ran too deep for more words. "She's perfect for you."
"I know," Nathan said. His voice was rough.
"I know she is."
Erik clapped him on the shoulder hard enough to make him stagger.
Ricky threw his arms around Nathan from behind, nearly lifting him off his feet.
"Can I be the ring bearer? Please? I'll behave. I won't shapeshift. Much."
"You're twenty-three years old, Ricky."
"Ring bearers are timeless."
Nathan laughed, really laughed, the kind of laugh that shook loose the last of the fear he'd been carrying that somehow this wasn't real, wasn't his to keep. His brothers gathered close, and somewhere across the city, Galena was probably fielding the same joy from her own staff and advisors.
April felt both impossibly far away and too soon.
But for now, standing in a room with his brothers as the lavender evening light filtered through the windows, Nathan let himself be simply, completely happy.
The sky could wait.