The week that followed the day of liberation passed by in a blink of an eye. Plans were already moving into place, preparations unfolding just as they had foreseen.

  Soon, Lukas' people would finally return to Linemall and the beastkin to Khaitish. Even the humans who had suffered in chains alongside the rest of them would find new homes in Easthaven.

  Hope lingered like the warm breath of spring but beneath it ran an undercurrent of tension, thin and sharp as a drawn wire. Freedom had been won, yes, but the cost of what came next, the path ahead, was something no one could yet be certain of.

  Along with the entire village, Ilagron Estate had changed. Velena's old residence had now been turned into a grand administrative hall fit for the Merchant Guild.

  The once-quiet manor, restored from its ruin, breathed with new purpose. High ceilings held the murmured echoes of voices and footfalls; polished stone reflected the light in soft, golden sheens and every surface carried some sign of care, of renewal, of a community gathering itself after too many years on the verge of collapse after Velena's son had died.

  For the first time in a long while, Lukas was surrounded by the people he loved most in this world, by allies who had chosen him as much as he had chosen them.

  At his side stood Ellion, Head Physician of the Merchant Guild and once the prized apprentice of Archmage Varian himself.

  The mage had arrived only yesterday after completing his harrowing work in Khaitish, aiding both Anriette and Rowan of the Morningeyes Clan in liberating the enslaved beastkin in the far regions that Lukas had not been able to reach from the Inner Cities. Travel still clung to Ellion in the faint exhaustion beneath his eyes, but rest could wait.

  Because today was not for recounting old battles or celebrating victories.

  Today was for what was to be their future.

  Upon the long mahogany table lay a single sheet of paper, unfurled like a fragile banner. Inked upon it were the words that the Oracle of Time herself had spoken to Lukas and they were words that had stuck to him and clung to every thought since he first head them. Because it was these words that whispered of the reality they might all one day have to accept.

  These were the Words of Prophecy. And this time, Lukas would not carry them alone.

  Nearly losing his life after his battle with the Hero had taught him many things. But above all, he had learnt that hiding the truth, no matter how noble the intention behind them, would do nothing but bring him harm. Especially to the ones he loved.

  Lukas had hidden too much, for too long, believing that burdening others would only place them at risk. But those he loved were already bound to this path, bound to this fate, and they deserved to face the truth.

  They deserved to face this together.

  So Lukas let them read these words, giving them to take it all in.

  He watched their eyes move across each line, watched the frowns deepen, watched breaths catch in throats that moments before had been steady.

  A long time passed before anyone spoke.

  Soon, every eye in the room had fixed on him.

  “This Prophecy is not set in stone,” he finally said, echoing the very last message that Pythia had left him with. “Our choices and our every action will dictate what happens next. But whether we like it or not, we must be ready for war.”

  They nodded but their expressions had turned grim.

  “I think it is clear to everyone here,” he continued, “that this line of a miracle dying and a warrior of dawn setting for the final time is referring to Rosalia and Rowan.”

  Before Lukas had departed from Khaitish to prepare for liberation, he had told Ellion the words of Prophecy. And though Lukas had not wanted to believe it, the Head Physician had ultimately agreed what he had hoped was not true.

  If there was to be a Second Great War, then it was likely those two would die.

  Rowan of the Morningeyes Clan, his friend and ally.

  And Rosalia…

  His Miracle Girl, the child he had all but raised, bright and fierce and precious in ways Lukas could scarcely voice.

  War was one thing. But the Prophecy demanding the loss of either?

  That was a fate Lukas would break the world itself apart to prevent.

  Concern thickened the air like mist settling over still water.

  What was worse than fear was the clarity that came with these words. Because understanding the brutal logic of the fate that the Prophecy foretold meant that it was impossible to deny who the words were referring too.

  Rosalia and Rowan were not merely important figures; they were the crowned rulers of their nations, the symbols upon which Easthaven and Khaitish looked for hope, stability, and strength.

  If Nozar chose war, then they would stop at nothing to take down both King and Queen of their respective nations.

  Lukas let the silence settle again, waiting for anyone to speak up.

  But none did.

  So Lukas spoke again, voicing out the only plan that made sense to him, even if it pained him to say it.

  “We do not know when or even if Nozar will retaliate. Until then, we need to protect them,” he began, his eyes sweeping across the gathered faces before finding Rosalia and Rowan. “I say we bring you both to Linemall. It’s the last place they would think to attack, and it is there where both of you will be kept safe.”

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  Jesse stepped forward almost immediately, nodding in agreement.

  The Dragon Lord of the Skies did not hesitate, not when the safety of the very woman he loved was at stake.

  “When they reach Linemall, my brothers would be more than glad to ensure they are safe every hour of every day,” Jesse said firmly, nodding toward both Rowan and Rosalia. The dragonborn of House Sterling were stronger than most and Lukas felt a little more assured at the thought of Jesse's suggestion.

  Then Lukas’ mother moved to stand beside Jesse. As Head of the Royal Guard and sworn protector of Lady Kaitlyn Drakos, Selene spoke with authority akin to a Lord. “I can appoint some of my own to accompany them as well, we can alternate between Jesse's brothers and my own guards when the sun rises and falls,” she added, offering not merely agreement but an entire strategy of layered protection.

  Her words lit a spark in the room. One voice after another joined in—suggestions, pledges, tactical considerations spilling forth like an eager tide. Some offered escorts, others reinforced guard rotations, others proposed magical fortifications or the deployment of scouts.

  The collective instinct of everyone present was the same.

  They would protect both of them with every option they had at hand.

  In the midst of that swell of agreement, Lukas found his mind racing ahead, weighing every possibility, every contingency.

  He barely noticed the soft attempts at interruption coming from Rosalia’s direction. His focus sharpened on defense plans, on hidden routes and protected sanctuaries like the Underground Cities of which Erandyl ruled over where it would be nigh impossible for Daerion to reach, on even using the Runic Language to their advantage—countless of ways to keep them safe, ways to defy the future Pythia had painted in those words of Prophecy.

  It was only when Rosalia’s voice rose above it all that the room fell still.

  “NO!” The single word silenced the entire room until a nearly deathly silence fell upon them. Even Lukas froze, turning to her with a raised brow, startled by the force of her outburst.

  Rosalia exhaled, the tension easing from her shoulders as she continued in a quieter, steadier tone. “I’m sorry. But I can’t go back to Linemall. My people need me as much as they need you, Lukas. As much as they need Rowan.”

  Duty radiated from her.

  With the Puppet King defeated, she had become the rightful Queen of Easthaven.

  Beside her, Rowan straightened, equally shocked by her defiance as everyone else was but he could deny the truth in those words.

  The King of Khaitish exchanged a glance with Rosalia before nodding.

  “She is right, Lukas. There are so many things that I need to do in Khaitish. I cannot wait in Linemall for an attack that might never come. My people need me. They need their King.”

  Lukas opened his mouth—intent on arguing, on pleading, on insisting—but Rosalia pressed on before he could speak, her resolve once again taking hold.

  “Listen to me, Lukas.” Rosalia’s voice held the authority that had come with the title she now bore. Her eyes were fixed solely on him—not on the gathered rulers, warriors, mages, and family that filled the chamber, but on the dragon who had raised her, protected her, and loved her as though she were his own flesh and blood. “These words of Prophecy. They may very well be true. But you said it yourself…this Prophecy is not set in stone. And until then, I will not be a slave to fate."

  She smiled at him then, her eyes softening.

  “I love you,” she continued gently, “and I love that you care so much for me and everyone else here. But I cannot go back to Linemall. Not when my people need me now more than ever before.”

  In that moment, Lukas could not argue with that truth.

  Her refusal was not out of rebellion. It was of duty and courage. And perhaps, Lukas thought with a sinking in his chest, he had been too consumed by fear of losing her to see what she had already seen.

  Freedom was not the end of this story.

  It was only the beginning for not only the draconic kind of Easthaven, it was the beginning for all of them.

  Removing Maelis from the throne he had sat upon had not healed the wounds Nozar had caused. Becoming the rightful Queen of Easthaven had not soothed a nation shaken to its core.

  They needed Rosalia.

  They needed someone to guide them, just like Magnus promised his granddaughter would do when she returned.

  What kind of Queen would Rosalia be if she left them just when they were beginning to get back on their feet?

  Lukas’ eyes softened in return as she offered him a small smile, warm yet edged with responsibility she had wanted since the Duel and now she would not let those people down.

  She spoke now directly to him, as if the two of them were alone in this room.

  “And if the Prophecy is true,” she murmured, “if my life will come to an end in this war that is to come…then so be it. If I am to die, then I will live the rest of my days doing what I know I am meant to do, who I am meant to be. To serve my people like you have done yours.”

  Lukas felt something inside him loosen and begin to unwind as a genuine smile tugged at his lips.

  Despite the heaviness of her words, he could see the hesitation behind her confidence. It was a flicker of vulnerability only Lukas, who had known her since she was but a child, would ever catch. But within her, at her very core, was a fire, the same flame that had guided her through all the pain she had been forced to endure.

  Most in the room had only ever known Rosalia as the young princess, granddaughter of Magnus Elarion—sweet, sheltered, a symbol rather than a sovereign.

  But those illusions had long been shattered.

  Now Rosalia stood among kings and warriors and ancient beings not because of her bloodline, but because of her will. Without even knowing it, the battle for her Kingdom that Lukas had not been present to witness had truly shaped her into the Queen she was always meant to be. Lukas could hardly recognize the young woman she had been mere weeks ago when he left for Khaitish. And yet again, he felt more proud of her than he had ever before.

  As though riding the coat tails of this sudden surge of confidence, she drew in a sharp breath.

  “And if tomorrow is not promised,” Rosalia continued, voice steadying into something bright and fearless, “then I’m going to live every single day like it’s my last.”

  The Queen of Easthaven turned then toward Jesse. His expression was radiant, grinning with stunned delight, his eyes filled with such adoration that it softened even the sternest faces in the room.

  He looked at her as though he was falling in love with her all over again.

  “Do you love me, Jesse Sterling?” she asked, directing every ounce of her focus onto him, ignoring all others.

  “Of course,” the Dragon Lord of the Skies answered at once, without the faintest pause.

  Rosalia nodded, reached up, and kissed him, quick and sure. She pulled back just as swiftly, breath steady.

  “Good,” she declared. “Because tomorrow, we will be married. And it will be here in Ilagron Village."

  Jesse paused only for a second before laughing and giving her a nod.

  What was there to think about when Rosalia was the only one he ever wanted to be with?

  Rosalia looked more than satisfied with that response. She turned to the rest of them, not for permission, but to make it clear to them all. "Okay then. By tomorrow...we will be husband and wife.”

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