Jaredeth had learned early in his teachings that a king needed a repertoire of regal qualities. A level head, a discerning mind and the ability to command respect, among other things. But he learned the hard way that he also needed a strong neck, because crowns are heavy, both from the metal and gems they were made of and the responsibilities that came with them.

Many days Jaredeth felt his neck was too weak and struggled to keep his head up. Many days he thought it would snap and his head would roll off his shoulders, crown and all. But on rare occasions, he could wake up and leave his heavy crown behind for a precious bit of time.

Today was such a day. One of the few where Jaredeth could breathe for a few hours before being crushed by the mountain of responsibilities that came with ruling an empire. He walked the castle halls, his steps as light as his body.

Beside him, his daughter Jaliah skipped along, the hems of her frilly dress billowing with each stride. She favoured him—a little too much, he sometimes thought—from her glossy auburn locks to her stormy eyes to the dimple that winked in her right cheek when she smiled. "Will you come to my tea party later, papa?"

"Of course." They stopped in front of the high double doors of the castle's library. One side stood open and the scent of books drifted into the hall. Rows upon rows of bookshelves stood beyond the door, interspersed with leather seating and small study areas.

Jaredeth knelt, so he was at eye-level with his daughter. "I won't be hearing about you from your teachers today, will I?"

She gave a dramatic pout. "I said I didn't do anything, it was—"

"Yes, yes, yes." He held his hands up. "I know. Miss Brooker blamed you when it was Averey who snuck the sweets into the study. But you had no problem partaking in the fruits of mischief. And don't give me that face," he said when she puffed out her cheeks.

Jaredeth supposed he had himself to blame for this. "You spoil this child," Octavia had told him. And damn that woman, she was right. During her time in Avaly, she had all the castle children in order. The other instructors were too strict or too lax, but Octavia was the right balance of the two.

"I'm always the one getting in trouble when something happens." She folded her arms and huffed.

"This is nothing. Just wait until you become Queen." He planted a kiss on her forehead. "Go on now." Smiling, he watched her disappear around the stacks before continuing his trek through the castle halls, navigating his way back to the main corridor. His ancestors looked down upon him from the gilded frames lining the walls. What would they think of me? he wondered.

So much had happened since he'd taken the throne. He'd gone from being a puppet of the Divine City, to one of their most hated adversaries, from killing necromancers, to falling in love with one.

Jaredeth stopped in front of his own likeness. Beside it was Jaliah and an empty spot where his ex-wife's portrait used to hang. He'd delighted in ripping the painting from the frame and casting it into the hearth, watching the fire consume her face. Hopefully, she was suffering them same fate on the other side.

Jaredeth imagined Quintus' portrait hanging there instead, his chiseled face and smiling eyes looking down on all who walked the corridor. Indeed, it would be a welcomed addition. For Jaredeth. He wasn't sure how Quintus himself would feel about it.

His stomach clenched at the thought of Quintus rejecting him. He never claimed to be a perfect man. When they first met, he'd been rash, impulsive and ill-tempered, and while he'd made significant strides in changing his attitude, there was one thing he couldn't change. His mortality.

He imagined time pulling at his skin, robbing the rich auburn colour from his hair and etching lines into his face. He imagined his body and mind growing slower, weaker. What would happen if he took bed with some horrible illness like his grandfather? Would Quintus leave him to rot alone?

Jaredeth turned away from the painting and the morbid thoughts and continued down the corridor to his office. He bypassed the small sitting area, which and sat behind the desk that was far older than him. All its familiar sights and imperfections greeted him—an oblong spot much darker than the rest of the wood from when his great grandfather spilt a jar of ink, a chip on the edge from where father had slammed his chalice down in a fit of rage.

Like the rulers before him, he couldn't bring himself to replace it. The wear it had accumulated over the centuries gave it more character, and he felt wiser sitting behind it—as though the cumulative knowledge of his ancestors was imbued into the wood.

From the desk's bottom drawer he pulled a square black box. Nestled in its velvet interior was a white gold ring topped with a fat onyx. He'd fought tooth and nail with the castle's jeweler and rejected hundreds of different designs before settling on this one. Gaudy extravagant and eye-catching, just like his Quintus.

Jaredeth twisted it, admiring the way the gold glinted in the light. It would look magnificent on Quintus when he accepted it. If he accepted. To think that he could order the slaughter of hundreds, and challenge the Divine City without batting an eye or stuttering, yet he lacked the nerve to ask the man he loved for his hand.

A knock on the door pulled him from his pondering.

"It's me," came Quintus' voice from the other side.

Jaredeth scrambled to put the lid on the box and move it out of sight. "Good morning," he said as Quintus stepped inside.

Quintus glanced around the office, before settling his gaze on Jaredeth, one bushy brow arched. "No stuffy aristocrats, governors or council lords breathing down your neck this morning?"

He shook his head. "I'm taking a break until late afternoon. Emergencies only. Although I do have an appointment the princess."

Quintus dumped himself into a couch, placing on booted foot on the coffee table. "Another tea party? Am I invited?"

"She didn't say, but you crash our parties either way." Sweat made his palms slick as he squeezed the box tight. Just ask him. "So how goes the research?" Not that, you idiot.

"It goes." Quintus sighed up at the roof. Ever since he'd returned from his short trip to Hedalda, he'd been fixated on solving the puzzling predicament plaguing the island. All the talk of anchors and barriers and nightwalkers had flown over Jaredeth's head. But he'd gleaned enough to know the situation was dire.

He worried for Octavia, who was out there in the midst of it, fighting to free the island from the netherborne's choking grasp. While he admired her bravery and conviction, he also feared for her life. She was the most stubborn woman he'd ever met. It was her greatest strength but also her greatest flaw.

"You said you're taking a break, yet here you are in your office." Quintus gestured at the stuffy furnishings with a wave of his hand. "Surrounded by work."

"I only came here to grab something. Would you like to take a walk? I need to stretch my legs." Jaredeth tucked the box in his pocket and rose from the desk. He couldn't stall all day, but if he wanted to ask for Quintus' hand, it should be in a nicer place than this.

"Are you sure? It's pretty chilly out."

"I'll manage."

"All right." Quintus rose and stretched before leading the way out the office. They took the castle's east exit out to the gardens, only stopping to throw on a second layer of clothes. The gelus trees were in full bloom, their variegated leaves and tiny blue flowers littering the garden paths.

Jaredeth stuffed his hands in his pockets and hunched in his clothes as the cold slapped him. Gods, he hated winter. He hated the hard, frozen ground, the layers upon layers of extra clothing, the too long days and too short nights.

"We can go back inside if you'd like," Quintus said, and Jaredeth realized his ire showed on his face.

"No, I'm fine. This is fine."

As they followed the cobblestone path through the trees, Jaredeth scanned the area for the perfect spot. A bench? No, they were metal and likely frozen. In the middle of the path? No, someone could walk by. They kept on down the path in silence, blossoms crunching under their feet and the sun peeking out from the clouds overhead.

It wasn't long before they made it to the garden's centerpiece—a man-made lake. Winter had frozen it over but fish still swam beneath the ice. More gelus trees lined the perimeter, and their leaves and petals littered the ice. Yes, this was the perfect place, here on the on the lake's shore, beneath the trees.

Jaredeth swallowed and looked up at Quintus, trying to think of something, anything to say. Should he ask him outright? Or reflect on their time together first? Gods, he was too ill-prepared for this.

Quintus gazed straight ahead, his eyes holding a faraway look, like he was staring into a world only he could see. Sunlight made his golden skin glow and the breeze played with his curls. He was beautiful—a flower in full bloom, and he would never wilt.

"Quintus," Jaredeth said, finally mustering the courage to speak. "May I ask you something?"

"Of course anything."

The box felt like a boulder in his pocket and sweat made his palms slick. "I..." The rest of the words died in his throat. Gods, what was he doing? Setting himself of to be heartbroken yet again. While he doubted Quintus would conspire to kill him and steal his throne, being rejected would hurt just as much.

Quintus frowned, turning to face Jaredeth fully. "Is something the matter?"

Jaredeth couldn't look at Quintus as he spoke, so he turned his attention to the pond. "I have misgivings. About us."

After a beat of silence he asked: "Does it have anything to do with your morality?"

Jaredeth nodded and trailed the path of a falling blossom with his eyes. "I worry that you may..." The words stung his throat, but he forced them out. "That you will leave me once I'm old, and senile and sick and bedridden."

"And how did you arrive to this ridiculous conclusion? Was it something I did or said?"

He hid his embarrassment behind a cough. "No, I don't believe so. I suppose it's my own insecurities impairing my judgment. Sometimes I wonder how you forgave me so easily after all the vile, despicable things I did to your kind."

"Jaredeth." Quintus cupped his chin and tilted his head up so their eyes met. "I'm not going to leave you. Not when your hair turns grey. Not when you're too senile to remember your own name. And certainly not when you're ill and bedridden."

The tightness in his chest eased as though he'd taken a fresh breath after staying under water too long. All his fear and fretting seemed so silly in the face of Quintus' conviction. Now was his chance. He could—

"Your Highness! Your Highness!"

Jaredeth ground his teeth together to stop himself from swearing out loud and turned to greet the messenger sprinting down the path. "I said emergencies only."

"But my king," the messenger said between ragged breaths. She held out a wooden canister with a lily engraved on it. "It's an official correspondence from Hedalda."

Quintus snatched the wooden canister from the girl's hand and waved her off. He made quick work of fishing the rolled up slip of parchment from inside.

"'Official' means that correspondence is for me, my dear." He plucked the parchment from Quintus' grasp, recognizing Beatrix's slanted scrawl as soon as he opened it.

King Jaredeth,

I hope this correspondence finds you and yours in good health. I write to you concerning the music teacher you recommended to us.

Octavia has revealed herself to be an imposter. Not only is she a necromancer, but the Night-Blooming Rose. The Council understands that you may have erred, or have no knowledge of Octavia's true nature.

We would like, if it's possible, to return her to your custody. Currently, she is in the jailhouse beneath the hall. I'm sure you have the proper protocol in place for dealing with those of her kind. Do with her what you will. The Council eagerly awaits your reply.

Kind Regards, Beatrix.

Jaredeth fisted the edges of the parchment, his heart roaring in his ears. The cold no longer bothered him; it fled from the anger burning through his veins. "They locked her up. She went there to help them and they did this to her."

He'd kept his dealings with Hedalda brief and detached, not wanting to work too closely with anyone with ties to the Divine City. But when Octavia had asked him if he knew of any places that needed aid, he'd remembered the tiny island and its woes.

"I'm taking the boat," Quintus said from over his shoulder.

Jaredeth caught his arm. "Let's not be rash about this. Octavia isn't dead and—"

Quintus huffed out a cloud of breath, his dark eyes ablaze. "We don't know that! They could have tied her to a sack of rocks and tossed her into the ocean by now. Dear gods, I told her to run if things went awry."

"I understand your anger Quintus, but Beatrix came from a noble house and is a lady of her word. We need to approach this situation delicately or we risk putting Octavia in more danger." One of them had to remain level-headed, and Jaredeth wasn't used to being it.

Just another way he'd changed. If something like that had happened six years ago, he would've threatened war and destruction. It seemed Beatrix still believed him to be that monster, but he couldn't be angry, because that reputation may have saved Octavia's life. Perhaps he'd need to channel a little bit of that monster now.

"Then we play their game and get Octavia out of there."

"No. Let me explain," he said when Quintus opened up his mouth to argue. "If Octavia wants to leave Hedalda, she could do so on her own. If she's sitting in jail, it's because she wants to be there. You know how stubborn she is."

Quintus stuffed his hands in his pockets and sighed through his nose. "Then what do you propose we do, your Highness?"

"I will write back asking for a correspondence from Octavia. Ensuring her safety is paramount. I have the advantage here. Avaly is Hedalda's only remaining trade partner. Without us they have no link to the mainland and no supplies to keep their village afloat. I'll cut them off if I don't hear from Octavia within five days. If I send a fast flyer, the correspondence can be at their doorstep by tomorrow."

His eyebrows shot up. "And you're willing to be that cruel?"

"For Octavia's safety? Yes, of course."

Quintus gave an approving smile. "Very well, my love. I'll see you later."

"Wait. Where are you going?"

"To the post. Someone may have sent a correspondence to the Arch Bishop of this region, or the Divine City." With that, Quintus ran off in the direction of the stables.

Jaredeth made the trek back to his office, smiling when the warmth of the castle seeped into him. He rifled through the drawers for quill, ink, parchment and his official seal. As he settled in to write his correspondence, the edges of the box dug into his skin. He fished it from his pocket and popped the lid to examine the ring one more time.

Gone was the fear, panic and doubt that had plagued him, replaced by a warmth that flooded his chest.