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“And for a very long time,” Aimee said a bit sadly, caught up in the love story, “they could never be together. Never get too close for fear that she might melt her beloved’s heart.

They had to satisfy themselves with glimpses, those few fleeting moments every day at dawn and dusk when they could gaze upon the other from opposite sides of the horizon.

“The years passed, and the Sun’s radiance dimmed with her sadness, which weighed so heavily on the Mother of Creation’s heart. She couldn’t bear it, to see her daughter’s light extinguished. So, she defied the Magnus’ orders and took pity on the lovers.”

The room went dark, the shadows of the Sun and Moon still spinning, spinning, caught in an ancient, endless dance.

“First, she cloaked her son the Land in shadow to hide them from the Magnus’ eye. Then she chilled the air so the Sun’s heat would no longer burn.”

Kato’s breath began to cloud in front of him as the temperature dropped.

“She convinced the Stars to shine brighter, flattering their vanity, and painted the Sky with the aurora lights.”

Up and down the central column, streaks of green and red and amethyst flickered to life, joining the dazzling chaos erupting throughout the entire room.

“She created fireflies,” Aimee said as Aiden’s aether gave another pulse and the delicate, closed flower buds dotting the chairs, the railings, and the pillars all began to twinkle. “And told the luminara to migrate.”

Streamers of light joined the fray.

“From the Land, she created the Twins, Gluswyr and Mal, to shine in the Moon’s stead.”

Two crescents—one red, the other violet—appeared overhead.

“She filled the world with light,” Aimee said as tendrils of real fire trailed the Sun through her orbit. Her light shone brighter and brighter as she and the Moon circled closer and closer… “All so that when the Sun and the Moon went walking, she would be able to see her daughter’s smile.”

Then the two collided in a burst of light and joy.

There was a gasp from the crowd. Then silence as every eye turned to the tunnel of ivy where people were still trickling in and the two figures that appeared.

Skylen in black and silver, the lights shifting over his dark hair and the diamond starburst crowning his brow. And Taly…

Kato leaned forward, as did everyone else. Even the nobility idling on the main floor stepped aside to make way, murmuring.

She looked like liquid sunlight—like she’d been bathed in it.

Her dress shimmered, and even her hair had been woven with golden wire that glinted. Her skirts fluttered around her as delicate and wispy as a cloud.

“The Sun and Moon,” Kato murmured as someone in the audience crowned Taly with a halo of fire and snow dusted Skye’s hair and coat, flakes of it mixing with the sparks that trailed them.

Skye looked completely at ease. He was used to the fanfare and attention and kept a hand on Taly’s back, guiding her forward to their seats.

And when the discomfort started to show halfway across the main floor—when her eyes started moving up, up, up the circling terraces, taking in the sea of glowing faces illuminated as the heavens continued to turn and roll—he reached into the spectacle, coaxing a bit of magic into his hand and placing the glowing ember of light into her waiting palms like he’d captured a star.

Taly beamed up at him, as brilliant as the first golden rays of dawn, and cheers erupted.

A reminder—and a message. One that Kato saw clearly now.

Taly was a hero to these people. A symbol of hope—of bravery and survival. So many of them owed her their lives. Some had even worn snowdrop garlands that they now tossed onto the floor.

And Skye—well, he was a hero in his own right and the local darling. He’d kept them alive in Ebondrift, fought the abomination and won with the help of the woman at his side.

Skye caught another star and placed it in her waiting hands, the spectacle above them burning brighter. Magic crackled in the air, enough that Kato felt the hairs on his arm raise.

Each of these people had little more than a few drops of aether compared to the Fey sitting down below. But enough drops could form an ocean.

Enough drops could hold a city.

The nobility could squabble amongst themselves, but they would never command the people’s loyalty. Not like this.

Two more figures appeared, and a moment later, Ivain and Sarina Castaro stepped into the room—the last and most important people to arrive, stately and demure in black and white.

As Ivain continued forward, Sarina stood back, her shoulders straight, her chin held high. Feral delight shone in her eyes—rimmed with kohl, the dark strokes flaring into a wild, dramatic mask—as she took in the nobility watching dispassionately from their seats.

Ivain stopped center stage. He held up a fist.

Like a candle that had suddenly been snuffed out, the room dipped into pitch black.

All that magic—gone in an instant.

Captured in the glowing hand of Ivain Castaro, the prodigal son of House Fairmont. A man the nobility called eccentric. A man this island had deified for one sole reason: when everyone else fled after the Schism, he stayed.

He helped them rebuild their lives. Time and time again, he had been their champion.

Sarina stepped forward now. In her black gown, with crow feathers woven in her hair, she was invisible save for the steady click, click, click of her shoes in the waiting silence.

Channeling a bit more aether, Kato could just make out her shadow as she closed a fist around her brother’s, still held aloft.

Then a light exploded, spreading out into the crowd on a wave of embers.

“The First Sunrise,” Aimee said as cheers—wild, riotous applause—erupted throughout. “I’ve never seen it, but Taly says it’s more glorious and brilliant than all the rest.”

Kato fell back in his chair, arms crossed and grinning. It was indeed a clever way to send a message. And dramatic. Both things he respected.

And the starting glamour, just the way that it moved, the Sun and the Moon caught in their celestial dance—he looked to Aimee and began to clap. Slowly.

He also respected talent.

Aimee smirked, sitting up straighter.

Taly was shaking—and doing her best to hide it—when they finally reached their box. They took their seat in the row below. Kato’s eyes immediately went to the crown in her hair.

A human wearing the Ghislain sigil, walking on the heir’s arm and sitting beside him. And with his scent upon her, and hers on him, with the way he was touching her—courtly yet attentive, the hand at her waist low enough to signal possession…

Another message, and as Kato surveyed certain members of the gathered nobility, it had been received. Skylen’s heart—and, more importantly, his crown—were no longer available. Claimed by a human, no less. Certain courtiers did not look happy.

Kato arched a brow at his brother. I hope you’re ready for what you just started.

Skye only shrugged as he took his seat beside her, the portrait of arrogant, male pride. A mask, a persona, but no one could say he didn’t wear it well. A few well-placed glances, each laden with casual venom, had those certain people quickly looking away.

People were still cheering, still clapping and stamping their feet. Ivain waited until Sarina took her seat in the front row of their section to hold up a hand.

The room immediately quieted. And in the silence, he said simply, “Well, let’s get on with it then.”

All you have to do is walk , Sarina had said. Walk, and don’t trip, and oh, don’t forget to smile.

Taly took a shaky breath. Her heart was still racing, pounding against her ribs, as Ivain launched into his opening remarks. The worst was over, but she was still considering walking Sarina off the edge of a cliff for having ever talked her into this—while smiling, of course.

The nobility listened with practiced boredom as Ivain first listed their victories, both inside and outside the city walls.

The battles they’d won, the people that were still trickling in day after day, their ever-widening perimeter, safe enough now that the hunters would soon be allowed to resume.

He told them about the upcoming Aion Gate connection, the help that would be available on the other side, knowing they would need that small bit of hope.

Because the bad news was coming.

Taly scanned the faces that lined the terraces, aware of the murmurs and furtive glances clearly aimed at her.

She wondered if they would still call her a hero if they knew what lay beneath the glamour—if they saw the truth of her: a time mage and a coward who never meant to save anyone.

How quickly would their faith shatter once they realized it had been given to the wrong person?

I’m changing my vote on the dress.

Taly’s eyes shot to Skye. One corner of his mouth lifted. She hadn’t actually heard him speak. It was more a shape, an idea, that appeared in her head.

The bond. It was a new development, being able to speak this way. Yesterday morning, she’d awoken to Skye gathering her to him from behind, and then, still fuzzy with sleep, the words …smells good… had suddenly slid into her thoughts, as lazy as the man nuzzling her neck.

She probably should’ve been worried about how strong the bond was getting and how fast . But something had shifted between them, something that had maybe always been a little out of balance. In the wake of it, she was having a hard time mustering the same level of concern she’d had before.

Plus, the whispers had quieted since she let him back in—like there was only room for one voice in her head that wasn’t hers. She far preferred this one.

From the corner of her eye, Taly glanced at him. You said you liked the dress, she spoke into his mind.

Oh, I do… but so does every other man in this room.

Taly didn’t allow herself to frown, not with so many people watching. She only raised a single, incredulous eyebrow. What the hell are you on about now?