#tcov

She smells like rose oil and fresh bread, which means she’s been sneaking around the kitchens again instead of attending to whatever duties she was actually meant to be doing.

You laugh despite yourself, hugging her just as fiercely. “Lily, you’ve already done more than enough.”

“I absolutely have not.” She pulls back just enough to look at you properly, hands still fixed around your arms. “It’s your birthday. I’m allowed to be unbearable today.”

“You’re usually unbearable every day.” you smile teasingly.

Lily gasps dramatically, pressing a hand to her chest before turning on her heel and hurrying across the room. She returns almost immediately with a large box balanced carefully in her arms, a ribbon tied around it so neatly.

“There,” she says, setting it down in front of you with unmistakable satisfaction. “Open it before we run out of time.”

You lift the lid, peeling back the layers of tissue paper carefully, and the breath leaves you before you can stop it.

A gorgeous gown beneath catches the pale morning light pouring through the windows, lilac silk glowing soft as dusk beneath threads of gold woven through the corseted bodice and trailing down the skirt in delicate patterns that curl like climbing ivy.

“It’s finished…” you murmur, fingertips brushing lightly across the embroidery. The stitching is impossibly intricate up close. “Mary actually trusted you enough to help?”

Lily scoffs instantly, though the sudden colour rising to her cheeks betrays her almost at once. “Trusted is a very generous word. I simply refused to leave.”

You glance up slowly, already smiling. “Ahhh. So this had nothing to do with wanting an excuse to spend hours alone with the royal seamstress.”

Lily freezes for half a second before flushing outright. “Oh, for—will you just put the dress on?”

“So it did.” you smile mischievously.

“It did not,” she snaps, already pushing you gently toward the screen. “Change now before I regret making you anything at all.”

You grin as she begins pushing you toward the folding screen anyway, muttering complaints the entire time. There’s no point arguing once Lily decides something. The kingdom itself would sooner move its borders.

She follows you behind the screen without hesitation, lifting the gown from the box with surprising gentleness. The teasing fades from her expression almost instantly as she helps you into it, careful with every layer of fabric.

“Careful,” she murmurs quietly, mostly to herself now. “Wait, no, hold still for a second.”

You obey automatically, lifting your arms when she nudges at your elbow. The two of you fall into an easy rhythm you’ve known for years.

“You know,” Lily says after a moment as she tightens the laces at your back, fingers moving with confidence that comes from having dressed you a hundred times before, “you are alarmingly calm for someone who’s about to spend the evening trapped in a ballroom full of nobles asking when you intend to marry.”

You let out a long sigh, tipping your head back slightly. “Please don’t ruin my birthday before it’s even started.”

“I’m serious. Lady Ashbourne apparently arrived two days early just so she could parade her son around court.”

You glance at her through the mirror. “The terrifying blond one?”

“The very one.”

You stare ahead for a moment before saying flatly, “You know, he once told me my eyes looked like wet moss.”

Lily stops for half a second, then makes a sound somewhere between a laugh and disbelief. “I’m sorry, he said what?”

“With full confidence,” you add. “Like he thought he’d said something meaningful.”

“That’s actually worse,” she says, still laughing under her breath as she goes back to tightening the corset. Lily shakes her head, pulling the laces a little more carefully now, her movements slowing as the dress starts to sit properly. “People are strange.”

“You’re just noticing this now?”

“I’m reminded of it every time I dress you for an event like this,” she says, softer, adjusting the final section so it sits snug but comfortable. “There. Don’t move too suddenly or you’ll regret it.”

You test your breath, then mutter, “I always regret something at these things anyway.”

“That’s the spirit,” she says, stepping back to look at the whole thing properly.

Lily threads the final lace through the corset. When she reaches the end, her movements slow slightly, careful as she pulls it snug against your waist. “There,” she says quietly once she ties it off.

Her hands linger for a brief second at your waist, smoothing the fabric almost absentmindedly before she steps back to look properly at her work.

The difference is astonishing.

The dress had looked beautiful folded inside the box, but wearing it is something else entirely. The lilac silk catches the morning light with every small movement, shifting between soft violet and muted silver where the sun reaches it.

Gold thread winds through the bodice in delicate patterns subtle enough not to overpower it, only glinting now and then when you turn. Around the waist, tiny embroidered flowers climb across the fabric in pale shades of blue and blush pink, so finely stitched they almost look painted on.

You run your hands lightly over the skirt, feeling the fabric around you.

“Wait,” Lily murmurs suddenly, already stepping closer again.

She adjusts the off-shoulder layer carefully where it’s slipped too low against your arm, fingertips feather-light as she smooths the sheer fabric into place. Then she reaches up to straighten your crown where it sits slightly crooked atop your head.

“Oh, Y/N…” Lily says your name so quietly it almost sounds like she forgot you could hear her.

You glance up at the mirror. “What?”

She’s just standing there staring at you with both hands still resting lightly near the ribbons at your back, like she’d been in the middle of fixing something and completely lost her train of thought halfway through it.

“What?” you repeat, laughing a little at the way Lily’s still staring at you.

Lily blinks once like she’s only just remembered she’s supposed to speak. “Sorry, I just—” She presses a hand briefly to her chest. “God, Y/N.”

You turn slightly toward her, smiling despite yourself. “That bad?”

“Mary did amazing,” Lily says immediately, stepping closer again to fix a piece of fabric near your sleeve even though it’s already perfect. “The dress is gorgeous, obviously, but it’s not even just the dress.”

Her eyes lift to yours through the mirror. “It’s you.”

The teasing fades out of her voice completely then, replaced by adoration and pride.“You look more like yourself than I think I’ve seen in a long time.”

You glance back toward the mirror automatically, fingertips smoothing over the fabric at your waist. The deep colour catches the candlelight every time you move, rich enough to look almost molten in places.

“It might be a little much,” you admit, though there’s barely any conviction behind it now.

Lily lets out a soft scoff. “It’s your birthday. You’re allowed to be a little much.”

You laugh under your breath, and before you can answer, Lily suddenly steps forward and wraps her arms around you. The hug catches you off guard enough that you freeze for half a second before hugging her back.

“I know your parents are probably going to find some way to make today difficult,” she says softly near your ear, her voice losing all its usual sharpness for once. “But I’m really proud of you, Y/N.”

Lily pulls back just enough to look at you properly. “And I need you to be selfish for once. Just once.” She gives you a small look. “You are genuinely one of the most selfless people I know, and it’s okay to think about yourself sometimes when everyone else around you spends all their time thinking about themselves.”

You stare at her for a second before a smile slowly pulls at your mouth. “Is this your way of approving whatever rebellious thing I end up doing today?”

Lily laughs immediately. “I don’t know what you’re planning,” she says, which already sounds unconvincing. “But I do know you’re absolutely planning something.”

“And?”

“And it probably involves James somehow.”

You fail completely at hiding your expression. Lily points at you at once. “See? That face alone just confirmed everything.”

You laugh, shaking your head as she grins at you triumphantly.

“I’m not encouraging it,” Lily says, still smiling as she reaches up to straighten one last piece of your hair. “I’m just saying that if, hypothetically, you decided to do something slightly reckless for your own happiness today…” She shrugs lightly. “I might understand it.”

“Now, come on,” she says eventually, pushing herself upright again. “Everyone’s waiting for you downstairs.”

You nod, reaching for the door handle and pulling it open—

only to jump violently as two figures practically throw themselves forward from the other side.

“Happy birthday!”

Cassian’s voice rings through the corridor loud enough to make you flinch before Elias can even finish laughing beside him, both of them lunging forward at once and nearly knocking you off balance with the force of the hug they pull you into.

You barely manage to brace yourself against Cassian’s shoulder as they crush you between them. “God, are you trying to kill me?” you laugh, shoving uselessly at both of them. “Get off.”

“No,” Elias says immediately into your hair.

“You’re our beloved sister,” Cassian adds solemnly. “This affection is mandatory.”

“You’re both horrible—” You open your mouth to answer before properly looking at them for the first time. “Oh my god.”

Cassian grins instantly. “What?”

Both of them are wearing crooked grey wigs that sit unevenly on their heads, paired with ridiculous curled mustaches that look seconds away from peeling off their faces entirely. Elias’s is hanging halfway loose already.

You stare at them in disbelief. “What exactly am I looking at?”

Cassian spreads his arms proudly. “Age representation.”

“You’re turning old,” Elias says with a deeply serious nod. “We thought we should honour that.”

Cassian hums in agreement. “Three more birthdays and they’ll start introducing suitors with bad knees.” Then his gaze drifts properly over you for the first time, the joke softening slightly at the edges. “Oh.”

You raise a brow. “Oh?”

“You actually don’t look half bad.”

Elias nods immediately beside him. “Like properly royal terrifying. I feel like I should bow or apologise for something.”

“That might be the nicest thing either of you have ever said to me.”

“You look beautiful,” Elias says more honestly this time, the teasing fading just enough for you to hear it properly beneath the grin. “Seriously.”

Something in your chest warms a little at that before Cassian ruins the moment entirely by squinting at you. “You definitely look expensive enough to scare men.”

“There it is,” you sigh.

“Had to balance the sincerity somehow.”

Before you can answer, movement further down the corridor catches your attention.

James.

He’s already halfway toward you, calm and composed. Even from a distance, he looks perfectly put together, dark formal clothes immaculate, posture straight, expression unreadable except for the faintest hint of amusement lingering in his eyes as he takes in the scene before him.

More specifically, your brothers, and their wigs.

Cassian, somehow, still has the confidence to stand there proudly.

James stops in front of the four of you and bows neatly, precise enough to satisfy court etiquette. “Your Highnesses.”

Elias doesn’t even let him straighten fully before grabbing him by the shoulders and pulling him into a quick embrace. “Potter,” he says, “where the hell have you been?”

James lets out a quiet laugh, clearly caught off guard for only a moment before returning it easily. “Prince Elias—”

“I have told you repeatedly not to call me that.”

James pulls back slightly, expression smooth as ever. “Elias, then. I’ve been exactly where I was assigned to be.”

Elias pulls back from James with a scoff, though the grin never fully leaves his face. “Honestly, Sirius has spent more time with me than with you lately. It’s starting to get concerning.”

“That,” James replies smoothly, “would be because Sirius is still stationed with the outer guard. I’m not.”

Cassian folds his arms. “And you actually prefer this assignment?”

James barely pauses before answering. “It’s my duty.”

Elias groans immediately. “There he goes again.”

“What?”

“You always say things like that,” Elias says, waving a hand vaguely. “‘It’s my duty.’ ‘It’s my responsibility.’ One day you’re going to wake up and realise you sound exactly like someone’s exhausted father.”

A laugh slips out of you before you can stop it. James looks entirely unimpressed. “Somebody in this palace has to behave like an adult.”

Elias studies him for a second before grinning again, entirely unconvinced. “You know, when we were younger, I genuinely thought you’d grow out of the whole honourable knight routine.”

James exhales a quiet laugh through his nose, shaking his head slightly, though his eyes drift toward you again for half a second longer than necessary before Cassian suddenly straightens.

“Oh, wait.”

Elias blinks. “What?”

“The presents.” Cassian mutters to his brother.

Elias’s eyes widen dramatically. “Oh, shit. Right.”

You laugh immediately as both of your brothers turn around at the exact same time and disappear back down the corridor in a rush of overlapping voices.

(“How did we forget the entire reason we came here?” “Because you were busy harassing Potter.” “You were also harassing Potter.” “Yes, but I’m not the one responsible for remembering things.”)

A few moments later, the sound of hurried footsteps echoes back down the corridor before Elias and Cassian reappear carrying several boxes between them, both looking far too pleased with themselves.

“There we are,” Elias says brightly, already pushing one of the boxes into your hands before you can properly react. “Now it’s a birthday.”

Cassian points at the larger one immediately. “Open mine first.”

Elias is practically vibrating beside him. “Just open it.”

You laugh under your breath before setting the boxes carefully atop the nearby table. James steps aside to give you room while Lily lingers near the doorway, already smiling like she knows exactly what’s coming.

The first box is heavier than expected. Your brows pull together slightly as you undo the clasps and lift the lid.

“Oh my god.”

Cassian immediately looks smug. “Yeah, alright, I know.”

Nestled inside the velvet lining sits a crossbow so beautiful it barely looks real.

The polished wood gleams dark beneath the corridor light, carved with intricate silver detailing curling along the limbs in elegant patterns you recognise instantly as royal craftsmanship. The bolts resting beside it are sharper than anything you’ve ever owned, their metal tips glinting dangerously even untouched.

But it’s the engraving near the handle that makes your breath catch.

Your initials.

Carefully etched into the wood and painted in deep royal purple.

For a second, you can only stare at it. Then a squeal escapes you before you can stop yourself. “Cassian!”

You practically throw yourself at him, nearly crushing him in another hug as he laughs loudly, stumbling backward from the force of it. “Oh my god, thank you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, grinning despite himself as he pats your back awkwardly. “Just don’t let Mother find out I bought you a weapon or she’ll have me executed by sunrise.”

Elias cuts in. “‘Crossbows are for soldiers, Cassian. Your sister is a lady, Cassian.’” He pitches his voice higher in a terrible imitation that makes James choke on a laugh.

Cassian points at him. “Exactly that.”

You pull back just enough to look at the crossbow again, still slightly stunned. “This must have cost a fortune.”

Cassian shrugs with exaggerated casualness. “Worth it.”

You run your fingers carefully along the engraved detailing again, almost afraid to touch it too roughly. “It’s beautiful.”

His expression softens at that, just briefly. “I knew you’d like it.”

“I love it.” You laugh again, warmth blooming painfully in your chest before Elias suddenly nudges the second box toward you. “Alright,” he says impatiently. “Mine now.”

You glance at him with a smile before carefully lifting the second lid.

Unlike Cassian’s gift, this one isn’t a single item. Inside rests a beautifully crafted wooden paint case lined with rows of rich oil paints in colours so vibrant they almost glow beneath the light. Beside them sit delicate brushes with polished handles and fine sable bristles, far finer than any you’ve ever been allowed to own before.

Your face immediately lights up. “Eli…”

“I remembered you staring at that set in the artisan district last year,” he says quickly, suddenly looking weirdly nervous about it. “You wouldn’t stop talking about the pigments.”

You reach down carefully, fingertips brushing over the paints in disbelief. “These are imported.”

“Yup,” Elias says, leaning one shoulder against the wall as though he hadn’t spent the last month secretly tracking the set down across half the city. “The shopkeeper kept trying to explain why the paints were worth an absurd amount of money. Something about imported pigments and handcrafted brushes and techniques passed down through generations. I nodded at the appropriate moments and stopped listening after the word rare.”

You can’t help laughing as you lift one of the brushes carefully from the case, turning it gently between your fingers. Even the handle is beautifully made, polished dark wood carved with delicate silver detailing near the base, the bristles impossibly soft compared to the stiff palace brushes usually handed to noble children and promptly forgotten abou

“You actually remembered,” you say, looking back at Elias in disbelief.

He immediately rolls his eyes like the sentiment embarrasses him. “Of course I remembered. You spent the entire journey home from the artisan district talking about those paints.”

You shake your head, smiling despite yourself as you place the brush back carefully, but when you begin settling the paint case into the box again, something beneath it catches your attention.

Your brows knit together slightly. “There’s more?”

Elias suddenly looks far too pleased with himself, which immediately tells you this was intentional. “Maybe.”

You lift the bottom layer of velvet lining and freeze when you see the thick leather-bound book hidden beneath it.

The cover is a deep forest green faded softly at the corners with age, intricate gold lettering curling elegantly across the spine. Even before opening it, you know exactly what kind of book it is.

Your fingers brush over the cover almost reverently before you flip carefully through the first few pages. Detailed botanical illustrations fill the parchment. Medicinal herbs. Wildflowers. Rare mountain plants. Notes written in faded ink line the margins beside diagrams so intricate they look almost hand-painted.

Your eyes widen immediately. “Eli.”

This time when you look up at him, he’s grinning openly now, all traces of fake nonchalance gone from his face.

“I found it in one of the old southern markets,” he says. “There was this ancient bookseller who refused to let me touch anything without gloves because apparently I looked destructive.”

“That was a fair assumption,” Cassian mutters.

Elias ignores him entirely. “Anyway, he said the book belonged to a royal physician years ago. I saw the herb sections and thought of you immediately.”

You look back down at the pages, completely absorbed already. There are detailed sketches of moonwort and wintershade, entire sections dedicated to healing plants found only in colder regions, pressed diagrams explaining the differences between herbs that look nearly identical despite one being medicinal and the other poisonous.

“It has annotations,” you murmur, almost to yourself as you notice handwritten notes squeezed carefully between paragraphs. “Whoever owned this actually used it.”

“I know,” Elias says, and for once his voice softens a little around the edges. “I thought you’d love that part.”

Love doesn’t even begin to cover it. You keep turning pages, finding more and more details tucked between them. Drying methods. Seasonal growth patterns. Entire passages dedicated to flowers you’ve only ever heard mentioned in old stories.

“This is incredible,” you say finally, looking back up at him. “Seriously, Elias, I can’t believe you found something like this.”

He shrugs, but there’s obvious satisfaction in the way he’s watching your reaction now. “I figured if anyone would appreciate a seven-hundred-page book about dangerous plants, it’d probably be you.”

Another laugh slips out of you, softer now, but this time it catches strangely in your chest because suddenly the full weight of everything they’ve done settles over you all at once.

None of the gifts were random. Not a single one.

The crossbow Cassian knew you’d never be allowed to ask for openly. The paints you’d spent months admiring without ever expecting to own. The herb book filled with subjects you’d rambled about for years while everyone else politely lost interest halfway through.

They’d noticed all of it.

You look between both of your brothers and feel something warm and painfully fond tighten beneath your ribs.

“You two are amazing,” you say quietly, though there’s no real criticism left in the words anymore.

Cassian grins immediately. “That’s not new information.”

“No, I mean it.” You close the herb book carefully against your chest before looking at them properly again. “This is genuinely one of the nicest things anyone’s ever done for me.”

Elias’s expression softens first, something quieter slipping through the usual teasing. “You deserve nice things.”

“And honestly,” Cassian adds, “you’re terrifyingly easy to shop for. You either want weapons, art supplies, or books about poisonous plants.”

You shake your head, laughing a little under your breath before stepping forward and wrapping your arms around Elias hard enough to make him stumble back a step.

He hugs you immediately, nearly crushing you against his chest just to be annoying. “So,” he says after a second, voice muffled against your shoulder, “safe to assume I’ve moved up the rankings?”

“Temporary promotion,” you mumble.

Cassian lets out a deeply offended noise from across the room. “Are you serious? I get you a handcrafted crossbow with your initials engraved into it and he’s winning because of a plant book?”

“It’s a very good plant book,” Elias says.

“It’s still a book.”

“And your gift was still a weapon.”

“A beautiful weapon.”

Elias finally pulls away, reaching up to fix the fake moustache peeling off one side of his face as he starts toward the corridor again. “Besides, who said I’m her favourite?”

“If anything,” he adds, glancing back at you, “it’s probably Alaric.”

Cassian looks personally betrayed by that suggestion too. “Oh, that’s worse somehow.”

You lean against the doorway, still laughing quietly as the two of them keep arguing their way down the hall. Then the mention of Alaric catches up with you. “Actually,” you call after them, “where is Alaric?”

Both of them slow immediately. Elias sighs before turning back around. “Still with Father.”

“At this hour?” you ask.

“There’s apparently some issue with tonight’s seating arrangements,” he says, sounding exhausted on Alaric’s behalf already. “And after that there was a council meeting, then something involving trade routes, and now Mother’s apparently redesigning half the ballroom because she decided the flowers looked depressing.”

Cassian winces. “Poor guy.”

Your smile fades slightly. “I feel like we barely see him anymore.”

The words come out quieter than you intended. It’s true, though. Alaric used to spend evenings with the rest of you whenever he could, usually sitting through dinner looking exhausted while Cassian irritated him for entertainment. Lately, he’s either in meetings or locked away with tutors and advisors or trailing after your parents through endless royal obligations that never seem to end.

Elias leans against the banister with a small shrug. “Father’s preparing him for the throne. That’s basically his entire life now.”

Cassian, meanwhile, looks completely unbothered by the idea. “It doesn’t seem all that bad, at least he’s gonna be a king,” he says. “I wish I could be in his place.”

“That would be a disaster” Elias says, “ because you’d be a terrible king.”

“I’d be a fun king.”

“You’d bankrupt the kingdom within a month.”

You shake your head, smiling faintly despite yourself. “I still think it sounds miserable.”

“Exactly,” Elias says immediately. “Imagine spending every day in meetings while Mother screams instructions at you for six straight hours.”

Cassian snorts. “Alright, fair point. I forgot about that part.”

Elias straightens after a moment, glancing toward the staircase. “We should go before Mother notices we disappeared.” Cassian adjusts his crooked wig again with absolutely no dignity left in it. “If she sees this moustache, I’m finished.”

You shake your head, still smiling as they start to move off again. Elias pauses mid-step like he’s just remembered something. “Right. And you should get ready for your parade. It’s in an hour.”

Cassian points at you. “Yeah. Try not to look like you’re about to bite someone’s head off during it.”

“Can’t promise anything,” you say.

“Happy birthday,” Elias adds, a little quieter now.

“Yeah,” Cassian follows, lifting a hand in a loose wave. “Happy birthday. Try not to embarrass the family name too badly.”

They start toward the stairs again, Cassian muttering about wigs. Elias slows just before he reaches the end of the hallway.

He turns back, steps in, and pulls you into a tight hug. “Enjoy it, yeah?” he whispers.

You hold onto him a second longer than necessary. “Thank you, Eli.”

He gives your shoulder a small squeeze before letting go. “Go on then.”

Their laughter fades as they disappear down the stairs, still arguing with each other the entire way until eventually the corridor falls quiet again.

You’re still holding the herb book against your chest when James appears in your path, like he’s been waiting just long enough to make it seem accidental.

“Happy birthday, Princess,” he says, easy and warm. He gives you a quick once-over, head tilting slightly as he studies your dress. “You look especially lovely today, purple really suits you, it brings out your eyes.”

You blink at him, a little caught off guard. “Thank you, James.”

His attention shifts, then, to the crossbow still resting against your arm, and his expression breaks into immediate amusement. “And I see you’ve collected some… interesting birthday gifts this year.”

You lift it slightly in response, as if presenting evidence. James laughs at that, head tipping back a little. “No, I knew it, I knew Cassian would do something like that.”

“Though, I do believe it’s technically my responsibility to make sure you stay alive, so on that note—”

“Come with me.” you say, already starting to move.

James lets himself be pulled without much resistance, stumbling half a step before he’s laughing again, breathy and entertained more than anything else.

You finally stop near the alcove between two tall windows, letting go of him at last. Light spills in from outside, pale and gold, catching the edges of his uniform and the slight disarray you’ve caused without meaning to—his sleeve creased where you held on, his posture still half-adjusted to being moved without warning.

James glances once down the empty corridor, then back at you. “You realise,” he says calmly, “someone could have seen that.”

You brush past that entirely, like it’s not worth entertaining. “What happened to the plan?”

That gets his attention properly. He looks at you for a second too long, searching your face for context he’s missing. “The plan,” he repeats.

“Yes, James. The plan.”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about, princess. I have several plans,” he says slowly with a wicked smile. “Most of them involve preventing you from doing things you think are reasonable.”

“James, I’m talking about our plan.”

He exhales, rubbing briefly at the bridge of his nose. “Right. Narrow it down for me.”

“The parade,” you say, voice tightening with patience you are rapidly running out of. “The arrangement where I leave the procession for a few hours and go into the city.”

“Ohh,” James says.

You narrow your eyes immediately. “Oh?”

“Now I remember the plan,” James shifts back against the wall beside the window alcove, one shoulder resting against the stone as he folds his arms loosely across his chest

“Yes. That plan.”

“I’ve been thinking about it,” he says carefully.

Your entire face brightens. “Great, that’s perfect!”

“I thought about it extensively,” he continues, ignoring you completely now. “I considered every possible outcome, weighed the risks, reflected deeply on the consequences—”

“Oh my God, just say it.”

“And,” he says, finally looking at you properly, “I’m not doing it.”

“What?! What do you mean you’re not doing it? I thought you figured something out—”

“I did figure something out,” he says carefully, “which is that helping you disappear during a royal parade is an excellent way to ruin my life. And then I remembered I enjoy having a stable income and a head attached to my body.”

You make a frustrated sound under your breath and start pacing the small stretch of corridor between the windows. “Oh my God, you are unbelievable actually. Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for this parade? This was our entire plan.”

“No,” he says, far too calmly, “you announced a plan at me. There is a difference.”

You step closer without thinking about it, frustration sharpening your voice. “James, this is not complicated. I want a few hours during the parade where I am not surrounded by ten people who panic if I take one step too quickly.”

“And I want to keep my job,” he replies immediately.

You lift your chin. “You won’t lose your job.”

James lets out a short, humourless laugh. “Your optimism is inspiring.”

“I don’t get why you’re so set on disappearing during the parade,” he says. “You’re still going to see the kingdom. You’ll just be in a carriage where nobody is shouting your name from three feet away. It’s not like the view changes because your feet are on the ground.”

“That’s not the point,” you say quickly.

“Then what is the point?”

You throw your hands up, exasperation breaking clean through your restraint. “Because nobody ever lets me do anything properly! I am always surrounded by people deciding what I can and cannot handle before I’ve even tried.”

“That,” James says, quieter now, “is a separate issue.”

“It is not a separate issue, James, it is exactly the issue.” You stop pacing long enough to glare at him properly. “You cannot spend every hour following me around and climbing trees with me and talking to me without a royal court rules and then suddenly decide you care about rules now.”

James rubs a hand briefly over his face, like he’s choosing patience on principle. “Princess,” he says, voice gentler now, “listen to me properly. You are asking me to help the only daughter of the royal family vanish in the middle of a public celebration that half the kingdom is attending. That is not a small request I can just nod at and pretend I didn’t hear.”

You fold your arms. “So that’s it. You’re just going to say no.”

“I’m saying,” he continues, ignoring that, “that if I were to even consider something like that, it would involve planning, timing, and at least a basic understanding of how many guards are going to be stationed along every possible exit route. None of which you have thought about yet.”

“…So you’re saying there’s a chance.”

James exhales through his nose, giving you a long look that lands somewhere between exhausted and mildly impressed that you’re still pushing this. “What I’m saying is that we should probably go and see what your parents want first, because they asked for a word before your parade, and then I’ll consider, very carefully, whether I’m willing to participate in whatever this is turning into.”

“Right,” you say. “That part.”

“Mm,” he hums, like he doesn’t entirely believe you forgot.

James falls into step just behind you as you walk, close enough that it’s clearly deliberate but not close enough to look like he’s hovering. His hand stays near his sword out of habit rather than threat, and his attention keeps shifting ahead down the corridor in quiet, practiced checks as you pass under carved arches and past tall windows spilling pale light across the stone floor.

You can feel him still thinking about your “plan” even when he’s not speaking.

By the time you reach the grand doors, the guards straighten immediately at the sight of you. They bow low, and the doors swing inward without hesitation.

Inside, the throne room is brighter than the halls outside, sunlight spilling through the high windows and catching on gold detail along the walls.

Your mother turns first, your father only a moment after her, and across the room Alaric rises from his seat the instant he catches sight of you.

“Ah,” your father says at once, his expression breaking into something warm and unmistakably fond. “There she is. My little girl.”

Your mother is already moving before he finishes, crossing the room with purpose and pulling you into an immediate embrace, firm and familiar, her hands briefly smoothing over your shoulders.

“Happy birthday,” she says into you, and for a moment her voice is softer than it usually is in court.

When she finally pulls away, her hands remain lightly around your arms as she looks you over properly, her gaze lingering on the gown with quiet inspection before something softer settles across her face. “Lady Lily and Lady Mary did well,” she says, smoothing an invisible crease near your sleeve. “You look beautiful, darling.”

Warmth almost reaches you then, brief enough to feel dangerous, but before you can answer, she adds in the same calm, conversational tone, “I’m sure the Delmars will be very pleased.”

The room changes instantly; Alaric’s smile disappears first, the easy expression fading from his face so quickly. Your father straightens almost imperceptibly beside the window. Near the doors, James goes still.

You glance between them, confusion slowly twisting into unease. “The Delmars?”

Your mother turns toward you fully then. “Yes,” she replies carefully. “They arrived earlier than expected for the parade. They’ll be attending the celebrations tonight, along with the court reception afterward.”

Your father exhales through his nose. “Helena,” he warns. “I told you not to mention it yet. We agreed we would handle this conversation after tonight was over.”

“And continue letting her walk blindly into it?” your mother replies, finally looking at him. “She was going to find out eventually regardless, there’s no use delaying the truth, Edmund.”

Delaying.

The word settles heavily in your chest, and suddenly every strange look, every carefully avoided conversation over the past few weeks rearranges itself into a clear image, an awful one. You stare at them both for a moment before asking, more slowly this time, “Delaying what?”

Alaric steps in before either of your parents can answer. His voice is gentler than theirs, like he is trying to soften the blow before it lands. “It’s a proposal meeting,” he says quietly. “After the parade, the Delmars requested a formal audience with the family while they’re here.”

The silence that follows is unbearable, thick with the feeling that everyone else in the room already knew this conversation would happen eventually except you. You look at Alaric first because he is the easiest to look at, because if you look at your parents too long you think you might already understand the answer written across their faces.

“A proposal meeting?” you repeat, and even to your own ears your voice sounds distant, like you are hearing it from somewhere outside yourself. “You mean an actual marriage proposal?”

Your father finally speaks. “Several kingdoms have expressed formal interest in alliances over the past few years,” he explains carefully. “The Delmars are simply the first to move the discussions into something more official. Nothing has been decided, and nobody is forcing you into an agreement tonight, but conversations regarding your future have existed for some time now because whether we like it or not, your position has political weight attached to it.”

You stare at him, stunned by how calmly he says it, as though he is discussing trade routes instead of your life.

“I thought tonight was just a celebration,” you say slowly. “I didn’t realise the entire point of it was to prepare me to be handed off to another kingdom.”

“That is not what this is,” your father says immediately.

“Then what is it?” you ask, the hurt finally breaking through the disbelief. “Because from where I’m standing, it sounds like everyone in this room has spent months discussing who I might marry while conveniently forgetting to mention it to the person actually expected to live through it.”

“You are not a child anymore,” your mother says, her composure sharpening. “You were born into a position that comes with responsibility, and pretending otherwise will not change reality. Every royal family in existence survives because of alliances like these. This is not unusual, and it is certainly not cruel.”

A sharp laugh escapes you before you can stop it, disbelieving more than amused. “No, of course not,” you say. “There’s nothing cruel about turning your daughter into a political arrangement so long as everyone calls it duty instead.”

Your mother’s expression hardens. “Do not twist my words into something theatrical simply because you are upset.”

“Theatrical?” you repeat incredulously. “You just informed me, minutes before I’m expected to stand in front of an entire kingdom, that foreign royals are attending my birthday celebration to evaluate whether I would make an acceptable wife. How exactly would you like me to react to that?”

“Enough!” your father shouts, though the command lacks its usual force because even he knows there is truth in what you are saying.

Alaric moves closer, his expression careful, almost pained. “It isn’t supposed to feel like this,” he says quietly. “The discussions were meant to be gradual. Father wanted time before anything official happened because he knew how overwhelming it would sound all at once.”

You turn toward him so quickly the fabric of your gown twists sharply around your legs. Frustration finally breaks through the shock, hot and sudden after being forced down for too long. “Then what exactly was the plan, Alaric?” you ask. “Was everyone just going to smile through dinner while I sat there completely unaware that every conversation around me was secretly about where I’d end up living and which prince might decide I’m useful enough to marry?”

“No one is forcing anything immediately,” he says. “You will meet them. Speak with them. Consider your options properly.”

“My options,” you repeat.

“Yes,” he continues. “Prince Caelum of Thalassia has formally requested first audience. It is a strong match. Their kingdom is stable, their alliances align with ours, and it would secure long-term peace across the southern trade routes.”

You shake your head once, almost disbelieving. “So it’s already decided.”

“It is not decided,” your mother corrects sharply. “It is being arranged.”

“That’s the same thing,” you say.

“It is not,” she insists. “You will still have a choice.”

You let out a short laugh that holds no humour in it. “A choice between what? Three princes you’ve already vetted for politics instead of people?”

“Do not reduce this into something childish simply because it is upsetting,” she says carefully. “You are speaking as though this is some cruel betrayal when in reality it is a responsibility that has existed since the day you were born.”

“I’m not being childish,” you reply immediately, your voice rising despite your efforts to keep it steady. “I’m asking why nobody thought I deserved to know. I’m asking why I had to find out like this, standing here in the middle of my birthday while everyone else in the room apparently already understood what tonight was actually for.”

Alaric steps forward again, cautious in the way someone approaches a wound they know they cannot fix. “You would have been told after the parade,” he says quietly. “Father wanted the evening to pass first before any formal discussions happened. Nothing had been finalised yet.”

You stare at him in disbelief. “After I’d already spent hours being paraded through the capital in front of every visiting royal family?”

“That is not what the parade is for,” your father says firmly.

“It may not be what you call it, but it is certainly what it feels like.”

Silence follows immediately, heavy enough to pull the air taut between all of you. Even James, still standing near the doors, remains motionless now, his attention fixed entirely on the room in a way that makes it painfully obvious he no longer feels like a guard witnessing a conversation but a man trapped inside one.

Your mother’s expression softens slightly, though not enough to undo the damage already done. “You are letting emotion cloud your understanding of this situation,” she says, her tone gentler now, almost coaxing. “No one is trying to hurt you.”

Your jaw tightens so quickly it aches. “I’m being told that my future is currently being negotiated between kingdoms for political convenience,” you reply. “Forgive me if I’m not reacting with perfect composure.”

“It is not a stranger,” your mother continues, pressing forward as though she can still reason you into calmness. “You would have time to know him properly before anything official occurred. That is the purpose of courtship.”

“And if I don’t want to?” you ask.

The question changes everything. It is small, quieter than the rest of the argument, but it cuts through the room with terrifying clarity because for the first time it is no longer about politics or alliances or duty. It is about refusal.

Your father straightens slowly near the window, his expression shifting into something far more careful now. “That is not a decision you are expected to make impulsively,” he says. “Marriage at this level affects more than personal preference.”

“I didn’t ask whether it was impulsive,” you reply. “I asked whether it was mine.”

“It is your decision,” she says carefully. “But it is also your responsibility to think beyond yourself when you make it.”

You take a step back without meaning to, the movement instinctive, as though the room itself has become too small to breathe in. Your chest feels tight, every word they’ve spoken pressing heavier against your ribs until it no longer feels like a conversation at all.

Your mother’s voice sharpens. “Enough. You are not listening.”

“I am listening,” you fire back. “I am listening very clearly. I am listening to you tell me that I don’t get to decide my own life because it would be inconvenient for the kingdom.”

“That is not what this is,” she says, but there’s steel in it now. “This is protection.”

“Protection?” you repeat, louder this time, stepping forward before you even realise you’re moving. “You want to talk to me about protection? Do you actually hear yourselves right now?”

Your father’s expression tightens. “Watch your tone.”

“No,” you say, and now it’s no longer careful, no longer contained. “No, I won’t watch my tone, because I am so tired of all of you standing there pretending this is for my benefit.”

Your voice rises further, filling the room now, bouncing off stone and gold and silence that no longer exists. “You all talk about me like I’m something fragile you need to manage. Like I’m some kind of risk you need to control. ‘Oh, she’s special, oh, she’s important, oh, she has to be protected.’ Protected by what exactly? By handing me over to someone I’ve never met and calling it safety?”

Your mother steps forward slightly. “You are being emotional. This is not—”

“No.” you interrupt sharply.

The words come faster now, sharper, building on each other until there’s no space left between them. “You want to talk about protection?” you continue, voice shaking now not from fear but anger. “Then explain to me why I spent years locked in this place. Explain to me why I wasn’t allowed to leave, why I wasn’t allowed to have friends, why I couldn’t even step outside without someone standing over me like I was going to shatter if I breathed wrong.”

“You say it’s because I’m ‘special’,” you continue, voice rising again. “Because of my powers. Because I might be dangerous. But the only time I’ve ever actually been allowed to use them was when it benefited you, or when it was controlled, supervised, limited to whatever you deemed acceptable.”

Your hands tighten at your sides. “So tell me,” you say, voice low now but shaking with everything behind it, “is that what you call protection? Because from where I’m standing, it looks like control, Mother.”

Your mother’s face has gone pale with anger now, but her voice when she answers is still controlled. “You do not understand what those powers mean for this kingdom. If they are not safeguarded properly, they will be used against you. Against us. Against everything we have built!”

You laugh again, but there’s nothing in it anymore. “So this is what it is,” you say. “It’s not about me at all. It never has been. It’s about making sure I end up somewhere useful. Somewhere safe for you.”

You don’t wait for permission. You don’t wait for response. You turn sharply, the sound of your dress brushing against stone too loud in the silence you leave behind, and for the first time there is no careful exit, no composed restraint.

Behind you, your mother’s voice rises. “Do not walk away from this conversation.”

Alaric moves immediately, stepping forward. “I’ll go after her.”

Your father exhales, tired now more than anything else. “Let her go.”

Your mother doesn’t agree.

“Helena—”

But you’re already gone before the rest of it becomes words again. James catches up to you before you make it halfway down the corridor. Your hands are tight at your sides, your breathing uneven in a way you are clearly trying to control, and your gaze stays fixed ahead like if you look at anything else you might stop entirely.

“Princess,” James says eventually, quieter than before.

You don’t answer.

He exhales once, low and controlled. “Okay.”

And then he simply walks with you. The corridor opens into a quieter section of the palace, one of the older wings where the light is softer and the walls feel less watched. Only when you reach a small recessed alcove between two stone pillars does he finally step slightly in front of you, not blocking your path, just gently interrupting it.

“Hey,” he says.

That’s all it takes.

Your expression crumbles completely. You try to speak, but it doesn’t come out right. It catches halfway, turns uneven, and before you can stop it you’re shaking your head like you can physically push it back down.

James steps forward and pulls you into his arms. His arms come around you like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, one hand at the back of your shoulder, the other firm enough at your upper back to keep you anchored when your breath starts to falter.

You don’t even realise you’re shaking until you’re already there.

“I’ve got you,” he says quietly, not like a promise he’s making for the future, but like something happening right now. “You’re alright.”

You press your face into his shoulder, trying to swallow it down, trying to stop it from spilling over in a place where it absolutely cannot happen, but your breath stutters anyway.

“It’s fine,” you manage, though it comes out uneven. “It’s fine, I just—”

James tightens his hold slightly, not in response to panic, just in response to you. “You don’t have to be fine right now,” he says simply.

You let go properly then, the sound caught somewhere between frustration and hurt, and for a moment there is no composure left at all, only the kind of collapse that doesn’t look like anything from the outside but feels like everything inside shifting at once.

When your breathing finally steadies again, it’s not because anything is solved. It’s just because you’ve run out of energy to keep it all moving.

You pull back slightly, but he doesn’t let go completely until you do first.

For a moment neither of you speaks. Then, quietly, you say, “It’s not your fault.”

James lets out a slow breath, like he’s been holding it since the moment he found you. “Yeah,” he says after a moment, his hand still resting lightly against your back. “I know.”

The words settle between you for a second. Somewhere below the balcony, music drifts faintly through the palace halls, softened by distance until it barely sounds real at all.

James glances away briefly, jaw tightening like he’s thinking through something carefully before he speaks again.

“But I’m still sorry.”

You look up at him properly then.

The usual sarcasm is gone from his face for once. No dry remark waiting to pull the moment apart before it becomes too honest. He just looks tired on your behalf.

“I didn’t realise how much the parade actually meant to you,” he admits after a moment, his voice lower now, less teasing than before. “I thought it was just another excuse for you to cause problems in public.”

Despite everything, a small laugh slips out of you. “It is an excuse to cause problems in public.”

“Right,” he says, but there’s no argument in it anymore, only a faint, thoughtful acceptance. “But not only that.”

You lean back against the stone railing, letting your gaze drift past him instead of meeting it, toward the distant sprawl of Valenora below the cliffs, where the city lights blur into one another like scattered embers held too close to water.

“It’s supposed to be my birthday,” you say after a while, quieter now. “Or at least that’s what everyone keeps telling me it is.”

James shifts slightly beside you. “I’m sorry your day has been crap.”

You don’t answer that directly. “It never really feels like my birthday during the parade,” you continue instead, choosing the words carefully as they come, like you’re testing how much of them you can actually say out loud. “It feels like… something I’m placed inside of, rather than something I’m actually part of.”

James doesn’t interrupt. He just watches you the way he always does when the teasing fades, like he’s listening properly rather than waiting for his turn to speak. “And what would it feel like,” he asks after a pause, quieter now, “if it was yours? If you could have it however you wanted?”

A small smile tugs at your mouth before you can stop it. “That’s a secret.”

You finally look at him properly at that, and the expression on his face is so openly mock-offended it almost breaks the seriousness entirely.

He studies you for a moment, still smiling, then sighs like he’s accepting defeat on principle. “Fine. Keep your mysterious celestial secrets.”

You hum softly, still watching him. “You can have it if you tell me one of yours.”

That makes his expression shift just slightly, curiosity slipping in under the amusement. “One of my secrets?”

“Yes,” you say simply. “Fair trade.”

James lets out a quiet laugh under his breath, glancing away for a moment toward the city below as though actually considering it properly. The wind catches lightly through his hair, and for once he looks strangely uncertain, caught between amusement and something quieter.

Then he exhales. “I always wanted to be in the royal guard,” he says. “Ever since I was little.” the corner of his mouth lifts briefly before he continues. “That’s part of why I became friends with your brothers in the first place.”

That catches you off guard enough that you turn toward him properly. “Seriously?”

“Well, mostly,” he admits. “I genuinely liked Alaric, Cassian, and Elias, obviously, but when amá first started bringing me to the palace…” He shrugs lightly. “I was fascinated by all of this. The guards, the training, the discipline. Mi papá used to tell me stories about serving the crown when I was younger, and I think I just decided somewhere along the way that I wanted to be like him.”

You watch him carefully. “Is that why you kept coming with Lady Euphemia whenever she visited?”

“That, and because your brothers kept challenging me to increasingly stupid competitions,” he says dryly. “But yes. Mostly because I wanted to prove I was capable enough to earn a place here one day.”

“My parents hated the idea, though.” he says sorrowfully.

You frown slightly. “Why?”

James lets out a small breath through his nose. “Because of the risks, mostly. Mi mamá especially.” He glances down briefly at his hands before looking back out toward the kingdom again. “They couldn’t really bear the thought of losing me.”

“Amá had a lot of miscarriages before me,” he says more quietly. “Enough that they’d pretty much stopped believing they were going to have children at all. Then somehow I happened, and…” He gives a small shrug, almost embarrassed by the seriousness of the conversation now. “Well. There’s me and Sirius now, obviously, but she still worries constantly. Even now she acts like being in the guard means I’m one bad day away from dying heroically somewhere.”

Understanding settles slowly through you. “Oh,” you murmur softly.

James glances sideways at you. “Yeah.”

A smile slowly pulls at your mouth then, gentler this time. “So that’s your secret, James,” you say quietly. “You’re a miracle.”

His head snaps toward you immediately. “What? No, that’s not—” He laughs under his breath, already shaking his head. “The secret was that I originally befriended your brothers because I wanted to join the royal guard.”

“No,” you insist lightly, still smiling at him. “I think the miracle part is significantly more important.”

James groans softly, dragging a hand down his face. “See, this is why I shouldn’t tell you things.”

You laugh, leaning your shoulder lightly against the railing beside him. “No, this is exactly why you should tell me things. That was adorable, you’re literally a miracle child who became a royal guard because he hero-worshipped his father.”

“I hate the way you just phrased that.” he murmurs with a grimace.

James shakes his head . “Anyway,” he says after a moment, nudging your shoulder lightly with his own, “there’s your secret.”

“Now,” he says, “you’re telling me about your secret birthday wish.”

A faint smile tugs at your mouth before you can stop it. “I wish to see the suns.”

James looks at you. “The what?”

You lift a hand slightly, pointing past the palace towers toward the northeast horizon, where the sea meets the sky in a line. “The suns,” you repeat, like it should make perfect sense. “They arrive nearly a month after my birthday every year.”

Realisation settles into him slowly. “Ohh,” he says at last, quieter. “You mean the lantern lights from Solistia.”

“I think so,” you say, tilting your head a little. “Though I’m not entirely convinced that’s actually what they’re called. I’ve asked Alaric before and he insists it’s the Suns from the City of Suns, which sounds completely made up, if I’m honest.”

“It does sound made up,” James agrees, a faint smile returning.

“Well, yeah.” You shrug lightly. “They come every year,” you say softly, looking back toward the horizon. “Ever since I was born, apparently. A few weeks after the parade, the lights start appearing over the water and everyone gathers along the cliffs to watch them drift across the sky.”

James watches you carefully now instead of the city. “And you’ve never seen them up close?”

You shake your head once. “No.” A quieter pause follows. “But I really want to.”

“Because they’re pretty?”

“That too.” You hesitate briefly before admitting, “But I also…” You exhale softly through your nose. “I have this stupid feeling sometimes that maybe there’s something connected to them. To my powers.”

“You know the stories people tell,” you continue quietly, your gaze drifting back toward the distant horizon beyond the cliffs. “About how the Suns first appeared the same year I was born, and how the light over the palace supposedly lasted for three entire days afterward. Father insists it was some divine blessing sent by the gods. Alaric thinks it sounds more like an omen, which honestly feels significantly more like something he would say.”

James huffs a laugh beside you, but he doesn’t interrupt.

You glance down at your hands instead, fingers twisting lightly together against the stone railing. “I don’t know,” you admit after a moment, softer now. “I just keep thinking… they could be connected somehow, couldn’t they?”

The words sound almost childish once they’re out loud, but James doesn’t look at you that way. He just waits.

“They only started appearing when I was born,” you continue slowly, trying to untangle thoughts you’ve never really said properly to anyone before. “And ever since I was little, every time they come back, I feel…” You hesitate briefly, frustrated by your own inability to explain it. “Drawn to them, I guess. Like there’s something there waiting for me to understand it.”

The wind shifts softly around the balcony, carrying the distant sounds of the kingdom far below.

“I’ve watched them from my bedroom window every single year,” you say quietly. “Every year since I can remember. Everyone else just stands along the cliffs for a few hours and calls them beautiful, but I always end up staying awake half the night watching the last lights disappear over the water. And all I can think about is wanting to know where they come from.”

Your fingers tighten slightly together before you let out a small breath through your nose, almost embarrassed by how much you’ve said now. “Sorry,” you murmur. “I’m rambling.”

For a moment James says nothing at all. Then, quietly, “I hope you find it.”

You look over at him confused.

“The truth, I mean,” he says. “Whatever it is you’re looking for.”

A faint smile touches your mouth despite yourself. “Even if finding it means marrying some foreign prince?”

The question is light when you ask it, almost teasing, but James stills beside you anyway. It is subtle. So subtle most people would never notice it; aslight pause before he answers, the near-imperceptible tightening in his jaw, and the way his gaze shifts briefly toward the kingdom below instead of remaining on you.

For a moment the only sound between you is the distant rush of the sea against the cliffs beneath Valenora.

Then James exhales softly through his nose. “If that’s what it takes,” he says at last.

You look back toward the horizon after that, following the dark line where the sea vanished into the day. Somewhere beyond it sat Solistia, distant enough to feel half imagined. A kingdom made of stories and maps and drifting lights no one in Valenora seemed capable of explaining properly.

“And if it isn’t?” you ask quietly.

James glances over. “If what isn’t?”

“If marrying someone.” You hesitate briefly before continuing. “If the answer isn’t waiting for me in another kingdom or another marriage.”

The words come out calmer than you feel. Over the last few years every conversation about your future had slowly become the same conversation wearing different clothes. Alliances. Suitors. Stability. Legacy. As though your life were a negotiation already halfway completed around you.

“Then,” he says slowly, “maybe it takes a leap of faith.”

You frown slightly. “What’s that?”

“It means,” he says carefully, “that sometimes there isn’t going to be a clear answer waiting beforehand. No proof that things will work out the way you want them to.” His gaze drifts toward the horizon for a moment before settling back on you again. “Sometimes all you really have is this feeling pulling you toward something, even when it scares you. And eventually you reach a point where standing still starts feeling worse than the risk of falling.”

A faint smile touches the corner of his mouth. “So you jump anyway and hope that something matters enough to risk the fall anyway.”

“And you believe that?” you ask quietly.

James’ mouth curves faintly, though there’s something sad hidden underneath it. “I think,” he says, “It might be the only thing I truly believe in.”

You look away before he can see that too clearly, focusing instead on the distant lights scattered along the lower streets of Valenora. From this height the city looked peaceful.

You draw in a slow breath, trying to steady yourself before speaking again. “James?”

“Yeah?”

“I know this is probably the worst possible moment to bring this up again,” you say slowly, fingers twisting tightly into the edge of your sleeve, “but could you at least try?”

James’ expression shifts immediately, already knowing exactly where this is going.

“Please, just listen first.” the words come out quicker than you intended, desperation slipping through before you can smooth it away.

You look down briefly, gathering your thoughts, then force yourself to continue.

“This is the last parade I’ll ever have.” Your voice softens around the admission. “By tomorrow morning I’ll be engaged, and after that everything changes. Every appearance, every decision, every part of my life will belong to someone else’s.”

James stays quiet. You let out a small breath, staring out toward the city below instead of at him.

“I know how selfish it sounds,” you murmur. “Wanting to disappear for an hour when the entire kingdom is preparing to celebrate me. But I can’t stand the thought of spending the whole day smiling at strangers while everyone decides the rest of my life around me.”

The wind shifts softly through the balcony, carrying distant music from somewhere deep in the palace below.

“My brothers love me,” you continue after a moment, quieter now. “I know they do. But not enough to go against my parents over this.” A faint, humourless smile pulls briefly at your mouth. “Alaric would give me sympathetic looks and would probably just give me a pep talk.”

“But you…” Your voice catches faintly before steadying again. “You might actually be the only person here who understands what this feels like.”

James’ brows pull together slightly.

“To have every part of your life decided for you,” you say quietly. “To belong to something bigger than yourself whether you want to or not.”

You step a little closer without meaning to, desperation slowly outweighing pride now.

“I know your position’s at stake,” you say. “I know I’m asking too much. But I just…” You stop, frustrated by how difficult it suddenly is to explain something that has lived inside you for years. “I need one day that still feels like mine before all of this becomes permanent.”

“And I don’t think there’s anyone else I could ask. So, please James?”

James doesn’t answer immediately. He just looks at you. And suddenly, with a kind of reluctant clarity, he realises he has been losing this argument from the very beginning.

The weeks of refusing, of arguing, of reminding you how catastrophically dangerous your plan was had never actually been about stopping you. If he were being honest with himself, truly honest, he would admit he started considering routes through the lower city the very first time you brought it up.

Every objection after that had been performance.

A final attempt at convincing himself he still possessed enough sense to deny you something.

Because the truth is, James has discovered over the years that there is very little he can refuse you when you ask like this; painfully, hopelessly earnest in a way that makes him feel like the worst person alive for even thinking of saying no.

And standing here now, looking at the desperation you are trying so hard to hide beneath composure, he thinks he would probably walk you straight through the palace gates himself if you asked.

Which is precisely the problem.

James glances down the corridor briefly, checking instinctively for movement even here, then looks back at you again. “I can’t promise anything,” he says carefully. “If your mother notices you missing, I’ll be lucky if I’m merely exiled instead of publicly executed.”

Despite yourself, you let out a weak laugh. “There’s the dramatics again.”

You shake your head, and he watches carefully as the last of the tension starts slipping from your shoulders, little by little, until you’re no longer holding yourself quite so tightly together.

“It’s not dramatic when your mother is terrifying,” James says, laughing under his breath as he falls into step beside you again. “No offence to Her Majesty, obviously, but I genuinely think being on her bad side is equivalent to facing the angel of death.”

“Come on, James,” you burst out laughing. “take a leap of faith.”

James’s eyebrows lift immediately, and then a grin starts pulling at his mouth, slow and knowing. “Ahh,” he says lightly, “using my words against me now, are we?”

“You just said it now!”

“Because it’s good advice.”

“You only think it’s good advice when you’re the one saying it.”

“That’s because I usually am.”

You roll your eyes, still smiling despite yourself, and start walking again before someone inevitably comes looking for you. James falls into step beside you easily, hands clasped behind his back now.

James watches you for a moment before speaking again, more casually this time. “And when exactly are you planning on taking your leap of faith?”

You look ahead instead of at him as attendants finally spot you from across the hall and immediately start ushering you toward the rooms where your final parade preparations are waiting.

“Soon, James, soon,” you say, smiling at him as bright as the sun.

At your response, James smiles back even brighter, if that’s possible, the sun meeting the sun without dimming, light recognizing itself and returning doubled:

“And it’s going to be a very big leap.”

a/n: okay time for the long rant, folks!!

this chapter was originally around 19k words, which is honestly really long, so i ended up splitting it into two chapters. apologies if this one feels a little transitional because of that. the good news is that the next chapter is already written and currently being proofread, so unless i spontaneously die, the update should be coming very soon.

now onto the actual chapter!

first of all, the gifts were some of my favourite scenes to write. they were incredibly sweet, but they also carry a lot more weight than they seem to right now. several of them will become important later on in the story, so keep an eye on them, especially that crossbow cassian gave her. absolutely no reason in particular. none whatsoever. i am being Very normal about it…😃

we also got a bit more family drama this chapter and a better look at the pressure the princess is constantly under. queen helena is… well, queen helena. however, i am once again asking everyone to be nice to alaric. my sweet boy is trying his best. he has the weight of an entire kingdom sitting on his shoulders and unfortunately being heir means he doesn’t always get the luxury of choosing what he wants. let’s cut him a little slack for not speaking up on behalf of his sister. he gets a redemption very soon guys, i promise :)

and james!!! our miracle baby!!! i loved writing that conversation so much. i think it tells us a lot about who he is and why he is the way he is. he and the princess are finally putting their plan into motion, and that leap of faith we’ve been talking about for a while now is getting closer and closer (screams and jumps in excitement)

my two miracle lovers. i adore them.

that’s all from me for now. i really hope you enjoyed reading this chapter, and i hope you’re all doing well, staying happy, healthy, and hydrated (the triple h’s)

as always, every comment, theory, scream, keyboard smash, and reaction genuinely makes my day and helps keep me motivated, so please tell me your thoughts!!

see you in the next chapter loves <3<3<3

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