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Tipp had missed her.

Tears touched the back of her eyes as she took in his fiery distress, but she didn’t want to embarrass him, so she blinked them away and said, “I’m sorry, I lost track of time. Would you like to show me now?”

His anger was immediately replaced by eagerness as he tugged her into the sitting room. On an easel near the window was a canvas covered by a sheet, and Tipp quickly whipped it off, revealing what lay beneath.

“It’s u-us!” he declared proudly, pointing to the portrait.

The tears Kiva had swallowed back returned with a vengeance at the sight of what the young boy had created.

The brush strokes were imperfect and the colors were eccentric, but Kiva could easily recognize herself in the painting, her dark hair floating in the breeze, her emerald eyes comically wide. One of her hands held a redheaded, freckle-faced boy who was beaming widely, and her other hand —

“That’s me, you, and Jaren,” Tipp said. He then shared a long-winded story about how the art tutor had asked him to paint how he saw his future, and Kiva had to tune him out, her heartachingas she took in the rest of the portrait’s details.

Kiva’s other hand was entwined with Jaren’s, the two of them smiling at each other, the River Palace in the background, and —

Crowns on their heads.

Bothof their heads.

In the distance were the blurred figures of Oriel, Mirryn, Caldon, Naari, Queen Ariana, and a man Kiva assumed was King Stellan. Even Flox was in the painting, curled up on Jaren’s feet.

It was a family portrait.

Created by an eleven-year-old.

Who had been asked to paint his future.

“... and then she said the g-grass shouldn’t be purple, but I reminded h-her that she said t-to use my imagination, and w-what’s more imaginative than p-purple grass?”

Tipp finally paused to take a breath, before looking at Kiva and waiting for her verdict.

She felt as if pins were stabbing into her tongue, but she somehow managed to force out the words, “It’s perfect.”

The gap-toothed grin he sent her lit up the room. She couldn’t resist wrapping her arms around him, partly to keep him from seeing the devastation on her face, and partly just so she could feel him in her arms, safe and alive.

He would never have the future he envisioned, but she was damned well going to make sure he hadafuture, and that no matter what happened in the coming days, he wouldn’t be left on his own. Tipp would always have a home at the palace, regardless of who it was with — she would make sure of it.

“Sorry, am I interrupting? I can come back.”

Kiva glanced up to find Jaren standing in their doorway, his hair messy enough to indicate he’d been running his hands through it all day, his clothes rumpled. He looked like he hadn’t slept in weeks, but instead of making him less attractive, those flaws only made him more real, more human, more —

Giving herself a firm mental slap, Kiva released Tipp and, when the young boy ran over to greet Jaren, quickly covered the painting.

“J-Jaren!” Tipp yelled, crash-tackling him on approach. “Do you want to c-come and see —”

“How were your meetings?” Kiva quickly interrupted.

“Long,” Jaren said, sighing when Flox ran into the room and collapsed on top of his feet. “How was Silverthorn?”

“She was g-goneall day,” Tipp shared, repeating his earlier accusation. There was no anger in his voice this time, his attention wholly focused on unlatching Flox’s claws from Jaren’s leather boots so he could pull the fluffy creature into his arms.

Jaren’s golden brows rose. “All day? You must be tired.”

“Pot, kettle,” Kiva said, gesturing to his disheveled appearance.

“Today was ... challenging,” Jaren said. He looked as if he were about to say more, but then changed his mind and shared, “If you two don’t have any other plans, everyone is free tonight for the first time since we returned home. Are you up for a family dinner?”

Kiva’s stomach tightened, but Tipp offered an excited, “Y-Yeah!”