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The throne of Gildenheim was more comfortable than I’d expected. I tipped my head against the high back, grateful for its support, as I watched the last of the courtiers file out of the throne room.

Aric and I sat on the dais of the marble-floored chamber where we’d first met. Neither of us was dancing today—we were both exhausted, and my stomach still pulsed with faint waves of pain. I’d had worse flares, but even mild nausea quelled my desire to move. I didn’t try to force past it. Taking care of my body’s needs was also a form of strength.

After Aric’s unorthodox coronation, we’d permitted the advisors back into the council chamber—except for Evito, who had been caught attempting to flee the castle and escorted to the dungeons along with Varin and the guards who’d fought for him. The courtiers were surprised by the circumstances greeting them, to say the least, and their questions threatened to take up the entire morning. In the end, though, they couldn’t ignore the facts: Aric was alive, he wore the crown, and I was here beside him. The reign of a new king had begun.

To the rest of the court, we said nothing and let them draw their own conclusions. A wave of gossip had flashed through the entire throne room like a riptide when Aric and I appeared in the doorway, but the courtiers were appeased soon enough by music to dance to and freely flowing wine.

And if rumors whispered through the court like wind in the pines—stories of the king turning into a horse and back again, of a legend come to life and reinvented—well, Aric might hate it, but I suspected that the element of mystery would only enhance his rule.

And now, finally, the day was over, and with it the celebrations. Aric, seated at my left on the second throne, removed the crown and rubbed his temples.

“Thank the Lady that’s done,” he muttered.

“Not quite done.” Marya fiddled with the hilt of her saber, as if she thought it hadn’t gotten enough use today. “You still have Varin to deal with.”

“I know.” Aric sighed. “But I’ll think about that tomorrow. At the moment, my most pressing duties lie elsewhere.” He looked at me and smiled.

Tatiana sashayed up to me, her steps a touch too breezy. She leaned on the arm of the throne so she could whisper into my ear.

“The captain of the guard. Marya.” She suppressed a giggle. “Do you think she likes women?”

I looked at my sister skeptically. “You are drunk. I thought so earlier.”

“I’m not!” She shook her head so hard she almost lost her balance. “The guards drugged me. They thought it would make me cooperate.”

They clearly didn’t know my sister. “And did it?”

Tatiana gave me a conspiratorial smile. I suddenly wondered what exactly had happened to my sister’s captors. I knew by now that Marya had intercepted Tatiana as planned after all, and Aric’s guards had taken the place of Varin’s to sneak her into the castle in plain sight—pretending they were delivering her to the dungeons. But it occurred to me that Marya might have had a bit more help than she’d bargained for. My sister was undeniably talented at enchantments, and she’d evidently had at least one magical device literally stashed up her sleeve.

Tatiana nudged my elbow. “Well?”

I looked at Marya, remembering how ardently she’d defended my sister during the fight. Even now, while arguing with Aric over whether she could run Varin through, the captain of the guard was eyeing Tatiana with an interest impossible to miss.

“Yes,” I said dryly. “I assure you she most definitely does.”

This conversation was giving me another idea. The role of monarch had been filled, but we were unexpectedly in need of someone to negotiate a new treaty and stabilize relations with Damaria. Someone who wouldn’t think assassination attempts were an acceptable form of diplomacy.

“Tatiana,” I said, drawing her attention away from Marya, “how would you feel about becoming the new ambassador to Gildenheim?”

Tatiana beamed and hiccuped. “I would love to ambass the door. Especially if it has biceps like Marya’s.”

I patted her gently on the arm. “We can discuss details once you’re no longer drunk. Or drugged. Whichever it is.”

The appointment would need to be officially approved by the Council, but there was no reason Tatiana shouldn’t have the role—not once she was sober. She spoke Gilden more fluently than I did. She adored social events. She had no attachments at home. And, apparently, she was already getting along just fine with the locals.

It would make me happy, too, to have my sister close at hand—and away from our parents’ influence. We would both be the better for it. If our parents objected, they could find themselves another heir as they’d threatened to do for years, and we’d both finally be free of contorting ourselves to suit their machinations. I was certain Tatiana wouldn’t mind.

Another brief wave of nausea rolled through me, and I pressed my arm to my stomach. Tatiana’s eyes narrowed in concern, and she lowered her voice.

“Your condition?”

I nodded. The greenwitch’s peppermints had gotten me through the worst of it, but they couldn’t negate the basic need to rest.

I rose, smoothing my skirts. “If the decision about Varin can wait, I would like to go to bed. I don’t think I’ve slept in the past twenty-four hours.”

Aric rose immediately. “Of course.”

He held out his hand to me. I gave him mine—the left, with its new golden scar. The wound from the coronation had closed quickly, but not without a signature. Wounds—like words, like magic—always left a mark.

When we reached our adjoining chambers, Aric hesitated. I didn’t need a magical bond to guess why. Surely by now the glass had been repaired, the traces of blood removed, but I had no more desire than he did to sleep in the place he’d almost died.

I tugged him by the hand. “My bed has plenty of room for us both.”

I sat on the edge of the bed, watching Aric as he undressed. The soft lamplight gilded the planes of his body, and I traced every inch of him with my eyes. I had never had the chance to savor him like this. Our previous times had always possessed a sense of urgency.

Now the room was warm, the night was soft. And my husband was here, beside me. Human. For good. I wasn’t certain I fully believed it yet, but daybreak would help my conviction.

Aric dropped his shirt to the floor and turned to face me. His brows drew together in concern. “You’re still dressed. Are you well? Is your condition…”

I started to shake my head, then stopped myself. I had nothing to hide from him. “It’s bothering me a little,” I admitted. “But it’s tolerable.”

Aric still looked troubled. “I don’t know what’s causing it yet,” he said, his voice soft. “But I’ll find it. I promise.”

“I know.” I trusted him. It might take time, but whatever the source of my illness, we would root it out together.

But that could wait for another day. Right now, I had my husband alone, in a bed with ample space for exploration, and I intended to waste no more time on misunderstandings. I lightened my tone. “My condition isn’t why I haven’t undressed.”

He arched his brow, and desire curled low in my stomach, overriding the nausea. “Oh?”

I ran my eyes over him, all of him, allowing him to see my open want. “I thought perhaps you could help me with the fastenings.”

Aric walked over to me. Slowly. Deliberately. I turned to give him access, and his fingers brushed the back of my neck, sending a shiver down my spine.

Cool air caressed my skin as he worked the laces open. His lips followed, dropping a kiss to every place he exposed. I closed my eyes, need stirring between my legs. Every part of me yearned to melt into his touch, lose myself in the feel of his hands on my body and his mouth on mine.

But there was something I had to tell him first. I’d made a wound, and I couldn’t let it fester.

“Aric.” With my back to him, I felt braver, better able to say the words. “In the council chamber, when I… when I said those things about you…”

I faltered. Aric’s hands stilled on my back, his palms warm against my bare shoulder blades.

“I remember.” His voice was like music. “Your exact words. I know what kind of man makes a good king. ”

Despite myself, I flinched, hearing my own words turned back on me. I’d wielded them as weapons against Varin, but they’d cut me, too.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I couldn’t think of any other way to save you. I meant—”

“I know. I remember your words because I knew exactly what they meant.”

His hands on my shoulders, Aric gently turned me to face him. The expression in his eyes made my breath catch.

“You don’t need to apologize for doing what it takes to survive,” he told me gently. “I understand you, Bianca. And I love you—including the parts of you that you don’t love yourself. I will love them for you, if you’ll let me.”

My heart was too large for my chest. Aric’s thumb brushed my cheek. His eyes drank me in as if I were something wondrous.

“I love you, Bianca Liliana, flower of Damaria.” A laugh lurked in his words, making them bright as sunrise. “I choose you as my wife, queen, and love. For as long as you will have me.”

I lifted my face to him. “Always,” I whispered.

Our mouths met—a choice, a promise—and he laid me back onto the bed.

That night we renewed our marriage vows with every inch of our bodies. Whispered them against each other’s bare skin. Elicited them with gasps when we came together. And when we were spent, lying tangled together with our scarred fingers entwined, no wound remained between us. We were husband and wife, a duty of our own making, and we would choose each other to the end of our days.