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“I fear Lotta is more responsible than both of us combined,” Thicket said, which made Bern chortle with laughter.

“Bernadette?” Alouette said, extending her elbow. “Shall we take our seats?”

Bern accepted the Dymrian Princess’ arm, a slight flush creeping onto her cheeks. “We shall!”

“We will come with you,” Lotta said, grabbing Elian’s sleeve and dragging him after them. Thicket laughed. She seemed to be taking Thicket’s request to keep him in line seriously.

As they disappeared down the carpet, she heard Elian ask, “When are you planning on returning to Dymree? I have a prototype I wish to give to an owl there.”

“An owl?” came Alouette’s baffled reply before the doors swung shut. Seeing it close was like watching an era of her life end.

“Are you alright?”

Thicket’s body instantly relaxed. Marcellus waited at the end of the hall. He was styled in a deep red jacket embossed with gold embroidery. It was similar to the outfit he had worn to the Dymrian ball. Oh, how that felt like a lifetime ago. He had been so grim and grumpy then. He still was, on occasion, yet she had learned to love those gruff edges of his. It made the tender moments feel even sweeter.

Beside him, Caspian stood with his hands behind his back, beaming at her. She swore there was even a glimmer of tears. “Your parents would be so proud.”

Tears welled in Thicket’s own eyes. With her memories now intact, her parent’s deaths had hit her harder. They had been the best parents she could have ever asked for. Flawed, of course, but not ever by intention. Sometimes, the harsh memories of the years she spent with her Dream World mother mingled with the ones of her real one. Thicket wondered if Lavender had orchestrated it that way. If she had killed their father in the Dream World to get back at him for believing she was the evil the prophecy warned of, or if it had been pure coincidence.

A horn blared from behind the doors.

“It is time,” Caspian said. “I will see you inside.”

He disappeared through the doors, leaving only Marcellus.

“Nervous?” he asked.

She laughed, dabbing at the remnants of tears, doing her best not to smear the makeup Lotta had painstakingly done. She had highlighted Thicket’s vivid eyes with black eyeliner and didn’t just leave Thicket’s freckles unconcealed, but added golden glitter to draw even more attention to them.

She was really going to miss her. She was going to miss them all.

But at least she still had him.

“I feel like we have already had this conversation before,” Thicket said.

“Yes. But now I can do this.” Marcellus drew her closer and pressed a kiss to her lips. The warmth from his body radiated into her own, sending sparks flying through her bloodstream. He ended the kiss with a hug. She inhaled his reassuring scent as he ran a thumb against the small of her back. “You got this,” he said, pulling away far enough to meet her eyes. He lifted a hand and tugged at one of the curls framing her face, bringing a smile to her lips. “Now go get your crown.”

The throne room was still slightly in shambles. All the debris and blood had been cleaned up but the scars of their battle remained, haphazardly covered by purple curtains and bouquets of astromeia. As she entered, everyone turned to stare. It was a smaller affair. Not everyone had been able to travel from Sleeria in time, but the Council had decided it was best to put the crown on her head before someone else attempted to kill her. Not that she was complaining. The less people staring at her, the better.

Nerves cartwheeled around in her stomach as she took her first step down the velvet carpet. She must have looked so stiff as she fought to take slow, upturned steps, just as Lotta had instructed her, so she wouldn’t trip on the hem of her gown. At the end of the carpet, she found the gazes of her friends. Bern and Elian gave her a thumbs up. Lotta and Caspian were far more reserved, yet the calmness made her feel more secure.

And Marcellus… His eyes never left hers. Thicket fought the urge to keep staring at him, envisioning what it would be like if it were him at the end of the throne room instead of the Archbishop.

Licking her lips, she turned her attention to the man in question. He was clothed in purple robes, the sleeves of which dangled far below his elbows. Clutched in one hand was a deep violet orb studded with green jewels. Silver plating wrapping around the middle and head like vines. In his other hand was a scepter, a crystal orb perched at the top. She crossed the room, doing her best not to rush despite the nerves crashing through her.

When she arrived at the dais, the Archbishop handed her the orb and scepter and motioned for her to kneel. She did.

Thus, the ceremony began.

This was it. This was the moment she had both dreaded and anticipated ever since she first learned she would become queen all those months ago.

What would Lavender think, seeing her now, holding the orb and scepter that had once been meant for her hands, about to wear the crown that she had stolen in her desperate attempt to keep her claim as future queen?

Thicket had visited her sister in the days leading up to her departure. Their conversations—if Thicket could even call them that—had mostly consisted of veiled threats and insults. She had continued to send Lavender letters even after she departed for the Desert Kingdom but had never heard back.

They may never be true sisters, but Thicket hoped one day they would be able to salvage the remains of what had once been their sisterhood and use it to build something new. After all, Lavender was the only family she had left.

Concluding his speech, the Archbishop turned his attention to Thicket. “Do you swear to rule this kingdom justly and with the wisdom of not only your Council, but of those who came before you? Do you swear to lead your people with grace and dignity, and guide this kingdom through time both good and bad. Do you, Princess Thicket Rose Vogeli, accept these duties as the next Queen of Vindrya?”