“Tainted?” Aelin’s voice cracks like a whip, and suddenly the air fills with the scent of ozone and impending storm. “You speak of my mate’s blood as tainted?”
The temperature plummets as his power unfurls, ice forming on every surface as his control finally snaps. But before he can act on his rage, I place a gentle hand on his arm.
“Let me,” I murmur, and he nods, though his eyes still burn with protective fury.
I turn back to the council, and when I speak, my voice carries the weight of absolute certainty. “You’re wrong about the people. They’ll follow strength, and strength is what we offer. Not the weak, stagnant rule of frightened old fae clinging to the past, but a partnership that bridges worlds. A reign that embraces change instead of fearing it.”
“Pretty words,” Valdris sneers. “But words don’t make a queen.”
“No,” I agree, and smile. “This does.”
I reach out through the bond, drawing on Aelin’s power as he draws on mine, and together we touch the heart of the winter realm itself. The response is immediate and overwhelming—magic flows through the palace like a river in flood, answering our combined call with eagerness that speaks of long-suppressed hunger for change.
Every light in the hall flares brighter. Every window frosts over with patterns so beautiful they take the breath away. The veryair shimmers with power, and when I speak again, my words echo with the voice of winter itself.
“I am Jessa, Queen of the Northwood, Mistress of Winter’s Heart, Born of Two Worlds and Bonded by Ancient Magic. The realm recognizes me. The magic accepts me. The only question that remains is whether you will accept what has already been decided by forces far greater than your fear.”
The demonstration leaves the council speechless, their faces pale with shock and something that might be grudging respect. They can deny my humanity, question my bloodline, challenge my right to rule—but they cannot argue with the raw power that flows through me, or the way the realm itself bends to my will.
“The vote,” Theron says weakly, as if grasping for some last thread of control. “We called this session to vote on the king’s fitness to rule.”
“Then vote,” I say simply. “But know that whatever you decide, we will rule together. With or without your blessing, with or without your approval. The bond is complete, the magic has spoken, and your old world is ending whether you embrace the new one or not.”
“This is still my realm,” Aelin adds, his voice deadly calm. “I am still your king. And she is my queen, chosen by fate and sealed by power older than your memories. Anyone who cannot accept that is free to find themselves another kingdom to serve.”
The threat hangs in the air like a blade, sharp and final. For a long moment, no one speaks. Then, slowly, Theron rises from his seat and bows deeply.
“My king,” he says formally. “My queen. House Winterhold acknowledges your bond and pledges its loyalty to your joined reign.”
One by one, the other council members follow suit. Some with obvious reluctance, others with what might be relief. Only Morel remains seated, her pale eyes burning with undiminished hatred.
“I will not bow to a human pretender,” she says coldly. “I will not watch three millennia of tradition destroyed for the sake of one man’s lust.”
“Then you are dismissed from this council,” I say before Aelin can speak. My voice carries absolute authority, and I feel the magic of the realm responding to my words, sealing them with power that cannot be undone. “Your services are no longer required.”
“You cannot—” she starts, but her words cut off as an invisible force lifts her from her chair and carries her toward the door. Her eyes go wide with shock and rage, but she can no more resist my command than she could hold back winter itself.
“I can,” I say simply. “I am your queen, and I will not tolerate those who threaten my mate or my realm. Choose exile, or choose a cell in the deepest dungeon. Those are your options.”
She chooses exile, her final words a curse that dissipates harmlessly against the shields I raise without conscious thought. When the great doors close behind her, the remaining council members seem to sag with relief.
“Well,” Valdris says after a long moment, and there’s something almost like admiration in his voice. “I believe we have our answer about the queen’s fitness to rule.”
“Indeed,” Theron agrees, and this time his bow carries genuine respect. “Your Majesties, how may we serve?”
The rest of the session passes in a blur of practical concerns—adjustments to law and custom, preparations for a formal coronation, discussions of how to integrate the new queen into existing governmental structures. Through it all, I feel Aelin’s pride and satisfaction flowing through our bond, warm and constant as a hearth fire.
When we finally dismiss the council, he pulls me into his arms, his mouth finding mine in a kiss that tastes of victory and promise.
“My magnificent queen,” he murmurs against my lips. “Did you see their faces when you banished Morel? I thought Valdris might actually applaud.”
“They needed to understand that I’m not some decorative ornament to be ignored or dismissed,” I tell him, my hands sliding up to tangle in his hair. “I’m your partner in all things. Your equal.”
“More than my equal,” he corrects, spinning me around until I laugh with pure joy. “You’re going to be a better ruler than I ever was. The realm is lucky to have you.”
“The realm is lucky to haveus,” I counter. “Together, we’re unstoppable.”
And looking into his golden eyes, feeling the bond that ties us together pulse warm and unbreakable between us, I know it’s true. We’ve faced down politics and prejudice, survived threats and ultimatums, and come through it stronger than ever.
