Ursay held Ranka’s stare, and their jaw shifted in the barest of nods. The humans looked wary, but not opposed. The witches murmured among themselves.

Behind them, Percy’s eyes shone brighter than stars, and Galen held back a smile.

Ranka’s heart ached.

How had she ever chosen anyone but them?

Ranka’s next words felt like she’d spent a lifetime waiting to say them. They were a question, an apology, a promise, all wrapped together—one she was finally ready to keep.

“I vow to serve the full lifetime term of Bloodwinn under Aramis Sunra,” she said softly. “I revoke my coven, my land, my birthright, in service of the Sunra throne. But only if it is this Sunra who rules.” Her voice softened. “And only if she’ll have me.”

The Skra hatchet at her hip, the totem she had carried for nearly a week, had never felt heavier. Ranka unbuckled it and laid it at Aramis’s feet.

“I give everything I have, and everything I am, to Aramis Sunra,” Ranka whispered. “First queen of Isodal and first of her name. Solomei bless her reign.”

The small noise that came from Aramis nearly made Ranka fall to her other knee. There would be no going back now. Either the witches would follow, or they would be in defiance of their own Bloodwinn. Either the humans would follow, or they’d have no witch alliance at all.

A smile lit up Galen’s face. “You all know my feelings on the matter.”

And then he knelt too.

An awkward beat passed through the glade.

Then Ursay stepped forward, the slightest hint of a smile on their lips. “If the Bloodwinn is willing to serve a human queen, then the Oori are as well—so long as the new terms are honored.” Ursay knelt, a proud line to their back. The rest of the coven followed in a ripple of movement, and then the Arlani. Finally, only the Murknen and the Skra remained standing. They shifted their weight from foot to foot, their eyes on Ranka, and then slowly, begrudgingly, sank to one knee as well.

Through it all, Galen was completely at ease. Ranka nearly laughed.

For the first time in his life, Galen Sunra was going to get exactly what he wanted.

One by one the humans followed suit, until only a few remained standing—and Percy, looking out of place in his swirl of purple and silver robes.

“I don’t think I get a vote,” he said cheerfully. “But you’d all be fools to say no.” He stepped back and leaned against the trunk of one of the few orange trees that had made it through the fire, plucked a fruit from a branch, and bit straight through the peel.

The last knelt. And then it was Aramis, standing alone.