“She will.” He gave her a tired smile. “Give her time.”

Ranka nodded, her throat tight, and looked away.

Movement rippled ahead of them.

The Sunra twins had arrived.

They approached together, arms brushing, Galen in a plain shirt and breeches, Aramis in a loose, shapeless dress that hung from her shoulders in a single sheet of white cloth. There was no place to sit, so instead everyone dipped their heads as the royals took their place.

Galen’s eyes crinkled. He looked calm. The most at ease Ranka had ever seen him, in fact. Instead of letting his sister take the lead, he stepped forward with an easy smile. “Thank you, all of you, for taking the time. There have been many questions about our path forward—and I thought it best to bring everyone together and discuss exactly that.”

Everyone looked faintly surprised. It was like a totally different prince had entered that garden. Percy watched him with a soft light in his eyes.

Maybe there was something that could keep Percy in Isodal after all.

All the Council members began speaking at once.

“—a coronation as soon as possible—”

“—uniting the country—”

“—Isodal in need of leadership—”

Galen held up a hand, and the garden fell silent.

He looked too content. Too comfortable.

“I know you’re all eager for a coronation. Isodal has been without a proper ruler for over a year. We need strong leadership now more than ever.” His smile broadened. “So effective immediately, I’m abdicating my right to the throne.”

Noise exploded in the clearing. Council members shouted over one another, and witches clamored for answers. Beside Galen, Aramis stood with her mouth hanging open, staring at her brother with pure, naked shock.

Sunras didn’t just resign. To Ranka’s knowledge, no one had ever turned down the throne before.

“Your Highness,” one of the Council members blurted, dabbing frantically at a sweat-slick temple. “If I may. You cannot just resign.”

“I can,” Galen said pleasantly. “And I do.”

Palace workers drifted closer, drawn by the clamor.

“But Isodal needs a ruler,” someone sputtered. “It needs a leader. You are the heir.”

Galen shrugged. “I am not the only heir.”

Every eye in the garden went to Aramis. Aramis didn’t seem to know what to do or where to look. Ranka had never seen her so stricken. Her entire history seemed to flash across her face—memories of being groomed for this title, when the world had thought she, too, would be a witch. The first true witch queen, the first Sunra queen, the girl king of Isodal. Poised to make history, only for it to be snatched away when she proved to be plainly, painfully human.

Galen’s voice wrapped around them. “She has always been more suited for it. My parents saw it, we all did. We would thrive under her reign. We would struggle under mine.” He paused and added wryly, “We already have.”