Page 243 of Fallen Nocturne

But what if he regrets it? What if he’s had time to think and realized he made a mistake?

“Breathe,” Svenn says.

I breathe and try to remember I’m safe. The war is over. Finnbheara chose peace. Everything is fine.

Everything is fine.

We chose to receive him in a private room overlooking the palace courtyard rather than the throne room. No councilors or commanders are present. Only Svenn and I will meet with Finnbheara, without two courts watching our every move. It feels less like a confrontation between two kingdoms this way. At least, that was the intention.

I try to distract myself by watching Coral stalk a butterfly among the flowering plants near the open doors. She lowers her pale body close to the ground, creeping forward while her tail sways behind her. The butterfly lands on a flowering shrub. Coral pounces and misses it completely.

She has grown so much in the past three months. Earlier, Coral wandered over to Svenn, lazily dropped onto her hindquarters like a cat, and settled her chin on top of his head as though he were a convenient stand. She stayed there until she noticed the butterfly.

A deep cry rolls across the city.

Coral abandons the butterfly and lifts her head. Svenn moves closer to me as a vast red shape passes over the palace walls.

Sanguisyl descends into the courtyard. His wings drive dust and fallen leaves through the air before his massive claws strike the stone. Two smaller wyverns land behind him, each carrying one member of Finnbheara’s retinue.

The ancient red wyvern lowers himself, allowing Finnbheara to dismount. His companions climb down from their own mounts and remain beside them while Finnbheara crosses the courtyard toward the palace alone.

There he is.

Finnbheara is still every inch the warrior prince. I should call him the Fae King of Avalon now. He enters the room and nods respectfully. “Queen Rhianelle. Thank you for receiving me.”

“King Finnbheara,” I say, and I’m proud of how steady my voice sounds. “Welcome to Aelfheim. We’re honored by your visit.”

“The honor is mine,” he says. His gaze shifts toward the newly constructed Watergates visible beyond the windows. “The statues are remarkable. That is Ksatka at the center, is it not?”

“Yes,” I say. “Ksatka, Nuutka, Katyna, Tekoan, Kothar, Gudryn, and Hayda.”

Seven seadragons carved from pale stone stand along the Watergates of Völundr. Ksatka stands at their center with her head lifted proudly toward the sea.

“My uncle commissioned them,” I explain. “He wanted to make certain the seven who sacrificed their lives defending Völundr would always be remembered.”

Finnbheara studies the statues for a long moment before bowing his head. “He honored them well.”

We go through the formalities, the pleasantries. All the diplomatic dance that politics requires.

Once the formalities are over, we settle around the long table near the windows and turn to the real reason for his visit. We work through the terms of peace, deciding how trade will reopen between our kingdoms and where each border will be recognized. Every agreement feels painfully ordinary after a war, yet that is exactly what makes it precious. We are discussing roads, merchants, and boundaries instead of armies and graves.

It takes hours. My hand cramps from signing documents and my head aches from parsing the fae language. But it’s worth it. Every signature and every promise of peace. We’re building something here. Something that will last. I hope.

Finally, we’re done.

Finnbheara relaxes slightly.

“There is... one more thing,” he says hesitantly. “A personal request, not official. It’s about the wyverns.”

My heart drops. “The wyverns?”

“Sanguisyl,” Finnbheara says. “My bonded companion has been difficult since the battle, when he realized…”

He searches for words. “Your wyvern is his mate.”

Sanguisyl and Coral. Mates.

I knew it. I think I felt it during the battle, and so did Svenn. I saw the way the ancient red wyvern looked at Coral.