The blood oath petered out of her system, and the acolyte accepted the bloodletter, but Akeylah continued to speak. “My father believed in the power of the unified Reaches. But in order to be united, we must stand together as equals. From this day forward, none of the outer Reaches need deny or disguise their history. Their names will be spoken as freely as they once were. And their represenatives will have stronger voices than ever on my council.”

She didn’t know what she expected. Resistence, perhaps. Or disdain.

Not applause.

It started with Danton. Then a small contingent of Eastern nobles began to clap next. Soon it spread to the other ambassadors, even Ghoush. Akeylah’s eyebrows rose as Lord Rueno brought his palms together, and other Northerners cheered.

Then a Southern lady knelt. It swept through the crowd.

Akeylah stood dumbstruck as the entire rooftop took a knee. Even her sisters, Ren first, then Zofi, the latter with a broad grin.

“Father Sun has heard your testimony.” The acolyte’s voice boomed across the rooftop. “In his sight and in the sight of all the gods, your oath has been accepted. Kneel, for the mark of your office.”

Akeylah knelt along with the rest.

On the far side of the dais, she spotted the face she’d longed for all night. Rozalind climbed the steps carefully, a pillow balanced in her hands, atop which rested the crown.

After much debate, they’d decided to retire her father’s crown, with its warlike talons. They’d opted for a new design, one to represent an era of peace.

Rozalind crossed the stage at a sedate pace, head high, shoulders back, every inch the regal former queen passing her title along to the next. But when her back turned to the audience, she flashed Akeylah a quick wink.

Rozalind’s fingertips brushed her temples, cool as ever, and she laid the crown on Akeylah’s brow.

The gold felt cold against her forehead. The crown itself was graceful, slender, with six spires to represent the six Reaches, and set throughout with stones the same blue as the waves Akeylah used to watch from the cliffside where she grew up.

When she opened her eyes once more, everyone on the rooftop, still kneeling, lifted their hands to the sky, palms up in an offer of fidelity.

“Rise,” the acolyte said, “Queen Akeylah of the Reaches.”

“Have I mentioned that you look positively delicious tonight?” Rozalind’s voice was a breath against her cheek, sending a thrill down her spine.

“Funny,” Akeylah replied, voice light, “because it’s you I’m looking forward to enjoying later.” Her fingertips traced Rozalind’s curves, came to rest on her hips. “My queen,” Akeylah added, soft and sly.

“You’re the queen now.” Rozalind paused in the middle of their dance—a slow, easy spin, the most Rozalind could handle at present—and touched the crown Akeylah wore.