KIRAN

Mortality is not as awful as I imagined it would be.

Though my body is technically only twenty-five years old, Marcus keeps telling me to enjoy the next five years, so I’m assuming it only gets worse from here.

I look down at my coronation robes and smile.

It’s not my coronation we’re celebrating today. No, that was taken care of months ago when Lydia decided after a week that possessing the throne of Naenden was too restrictive for her tastes, and she passed a law that allowed the ruler to appoint their successor.

She then abdicated the throne to me, just before declaring she and Elias would be away on an extended vacation for a long while.

No, the coronation clothes are customary for when one ruler is crowning another.

I let out a soft little laugh. I might have given up my mortality to bring Asha back, but apparently the Old Magic didn’t bother to leech me of my fae curse as well.

He’s fond of his curses, that Old Magic is.

Which means that the fae curse still binds me to my vows, even the ones made in fits of protective rage.

Like how I vowed to Calias over a year ago that if he harmed Asha, I would personally coronate his nephew.

So here we are, Asha looking dazzling in a gown of sparkling peridots, ready for me to place a crown on the crown prince’s head.

He’s only just now reached the age of maturity in Charshon, meaning that for the past year, his uncle has been acting as king’s regent. The male wasn’t exactly thrilled to give up the ability to crown his own nephew king, but apparently Lydia stopped by on her extended holiday and “spoke” with him about it. Even though I don’t want to know what that involved, I’m grateful to my sister for looking out for me nonetheless.

Music sounds, and the princesses and princes of Charshon make an impressive display of moving wheels cut into the facade of the palace balcony walls with a roar of rushing water they control. The wheels whir, turning gears, the motion of which opens the doors.

Out steps the crown prince, garbed in sea-foam robes that match the color of the ocean that sparkles beyond the palace.

The people of Charshon cheer, and though I’ve always found the crown prince a bit of a sniveling child, it seems that in the years since I’ve seen him, he’s learned to hold his head high.

When he glances between me and Asha, he offers Asha a smile, and he looks her in the eye as he does it.

I decide the Naenden-Charshon relations might have a chance at being mended after all.

And then I keep the promise I made to Calias, and crown his nephew the king of Charshon, while behind us, the crowd roars.

Later that night, Asha rolls over in bed, her eye fixed on me.

She’s so funny when she wants to ask me something serious. She’s always worried she’s come about the topic too abruptly. As if the fact that she’s been staring at me strangely, opening her mouth every once in a while before clamping it shut, hasn’t already tipped me off.

“You haven’t told me much about what happened when you went to see your father,” she finally says.

Ah. That.

Well, I suppose I understand why she’s been hesitant to broach the topic. I let out a breath, then prop myself up, my elbow digging into the mattress.

“There’s not exactly much to tell. We met; he betrayed Fin and me to Az’s soldiers. Sold Az the information about our true identity. He must have felt somewhat guilty about it, because he inserted that leeching stone into my stomach. And then he died.”

Asha blinks, waiting.

I groan. “Which, I suppose, I might feel an inkling of regret over. Not that I crave a relationship with a father who was willing to betray me for coin.”

“But it would have been nice to have a father worth forming a relationship with.”

I rest the side of my head against the headboard. “Something like that.”

“You and Evander have that in common, you know,” Asha says.

I grunt, fixing a skeptical eye upon my wife. “Are you suggesting I take Evander out for tea so we can share the tragic stories of how both of our fathers almost made amends just before their deaths?”

Asha flits her hand. “No, that sounds like a terrible idea. Why would I recommend that when you could bury the feelings and carry them all the way to your dea—” She stops, the word caught in her throat.

“Asha.”

My stunning wife blinks back unnecessary tears.

“Hey.” I cup her chin in my hand, lifting her head so that our gazes meet. “You’re not allowed to feel guilty about that.”

She chuckles, though her laugh comes out choked. “Careful. If you talk like that I might start to wonder if you’re going to take the guilt away yourself.”

I jerk my hand away from her chin dramatically, and she actually laughs this time.

“I didn’t want an eternity if you couldn’t be in it,” I say.

Asha lies back on her pillow, staring at the ceiling. “Is that why you spent all that time searching for a way to make me immortal—before your father brought it up?”

My heart stills, my mind whirring. “Who told you?”

Asha snorts. “The perfectly functional part of my brain that houses deductive reasoning skills. Of course I expected you to be searching for a way to make me immortal.”

My words catch in my throat. “I… Why didn’t you say anything?”

She shrugs. “I thought it would be good for you if you learned to bring it up first.”

I narrow my brow. “But you just brought it up.”

“Yes, well, you ran out of time. I was getting impatient.”

I roll my eyes, but before I can tell Asha I wouldn’t have made her immortal without her permission, she coughs.

“Besides, bringing up something you’ve been nervous to tell me provides the perfect segue for a topic I’ve been nervous to tell you.”

I raise a brow. “Which is?”

Asha sighs dramatically, causing her shoulders to hunch.

Then she places both of her hands on her belly.