Page 85 of The Nymph King

“I thought Tanyl had already done that.”

Imani stared at him for half a beat before a wicked smile spread across her face. “Fine. That was almost funny.”

“Almost?”

“Don’t get ambitious.”

His mouth finally curved before he settled back into the chair. “I want enough of it to protect what is mine,” he said. “I have no particular desire to spend my entire life accumulating things that require constant protecting.”

They fell into silence. Around them, the music continued while nobles drank themselves silly and danced beneath the chandeliers. It was almost disgusting how quickly they forgot the violence that occurred, but Imani had always known the Essnheim court was vicious and pragmatic. No one would defy the true queen when she declared the party would continue.

Ellisar seemed lost in thought, and Imani let her mind wander as she imagined a house where people waited for him because they loved him.

Then, she imagined a house where people loved her.

A lump formed in her throat.

Ellisar picked up his Drasil and twirled it between his fingers. Magic pulsed from it.

As a Norn elf with a wandlore brand, he could handle any wand without issue. She was sure he’d calibrate it the first chance he had.

“We have to make the realm safe enough for that future first,” he said, almost as if he was thinking out loud. “Which means whatever is happening to the Fabric becomes our problem whether we want it or not.”

As he spoke, her view of the throne diminished, victory more burdensome. The room, the crown, the power she had just claimed—all of it shifted in her mind, stretching beyond the walls into something vast and pressing. Responsibility grew into a real weight, no longer just an idea but a solid force reaching far beyond her. She realized its true magnitude, and retreat was no longer an option. The exhilaration vanished as quickly as it appeared, leaving only the pressure underneath. The monarchy didn’t care that she'd taken it, only what she would do next.

Ellisar looked ahead, yet his voice softened slightly to maintain the intimacy of the moment. “If you aim to rule,” he stated firmly, “you will need to hold more than just a throne. We need to repair the Fabric as well.”

She bristled. “I don’t need a catalogue of my problems right now, Ellisar. Let’s just enjoy the rest of the night,” she said through slightly gritted teeth.

He nodded. “I know. I’m sorry. I just don’t want you to get complacent.”

“Never.”

They fell into silence again. Imani straightened her posture despite her aching shoulder, anchoring herself in the seat, in her magic, her decision, and her next move. If conflict was imminent from Kiran or Lochheim, she wouldn’t wait for it to arrive—she would face it first.

CHAPTER 25

Amassive, weathered table dominated the Essenheim council chamber, its scarred surface buried beneath maps, treaties, and the restless hands of advisors. The ministers had arranged their chairs to prioritize proximity to the decision-makers over formal rank, sitting in tense silence or murmuring over urgent reports. Compared to the sprawling ballroom, this chamber was suffocating. Its stone walls seemed to press inward, the air turning dense, as if the room itself bore the crushing weight of the impending conflicts.

Imani entered unannounced. At a flick of her Drasil wand, the heavy wooden doors slammed shut with blunt finality.

Her chair stood at the narrow head of the table, near the tall hearth. Ellisar’s seat was positioned immediately to her right—close enough to project a unified front without casting him as a secondary ruler. To her left sat Esa, slightly withdrawn from the table’s edge so the First Witch could observe the entire room without being swallowed by it.

Conversations died mid-sentence. Chairs scraped loudly against the stone floor as the council rose in unison. Their eyes locked onto her, calculating, assessing exactly how she would lead after her recent displays of magic and force.

Imani strode across the stone floor and claimed her seat, waiting for no one’s invitation. Beneath the table, her fingers trembled slightly. She pressed them flat against her thighs to steady herself, then locked eyes with each advisor in turn. She let the silence stretch, establishing her authority before she spoke.

Once the weight of her presence had fully settled over the room, she gave a curt nod. “Sit.”

They obeyed. Imani fought a private smile at the rightness settling deep in her bones.

“Our realm is buckling, and time is a luxury we no longer possess,” she began, tapping a finger against the wood. “I want clarity, not speculation. We will define the threats, establish a response, and leave this chamber with a strategy.”

The advisors exchanged cautious glances before launching into their reports. They spoke in clipped, precise tones of border villages under siege, patrols tracking suspicious movements, and rumors of gathering armies. Yet even as they addressed the table, their eyes kept darting back to Imani, searching for any crack in her confidence.

“I don’t think we should proceed with any of this until a more pressing matter is resolved.” Esa’s harsh tone sliced through the rising din.

Several advisors leaned forward as the First Witch looked directly at Imani. “This concerns the crown, the succession, and information I hold as your First Witch.” The Sprite rolled her wand between her fingers. “The room needs to be cleared.”