“No,” Ranka said, and it was the truth. “I’m glad you asked me to stay.”

“I didn’t ask. I ordered it—remember?” Aramis gave her a wide, crooked grin. “It’d have been treason if you’d refused.”

Ranka’s heart fluttered. She ducked her head so Aramis couldn’t see the warmth Ranka was certain was turning her cheeks pink.

She had made so many mistakes. She felt so unworthy of this place, this girl, this life. Ranka looked at Aramis, eyes tracing her lips, the slope of her shoulders, the delicate lines of her ink-stained hands.

Maybe Isodal wasn’t home—and maybe that was all right. The Northlands would never be home again either. Maybe home was no longer a place, but a person, a feeling, a dream.

Maybe home was wherever her heart could finally rest.

“We should go back,” Aramis said softly. “Before the new Council members get into a fistfight. Again.”

Disappointment closed Ranka’s throat. This was the first moment of quiet she’d had with Aramis in weeks. Soon they’d return to the palace, and they’d return to their roles of queen and Bloodwinn, pulled into a million different directions.

But for now they were just two girls, alone on a beach, the sun on their backs and the entire world at their feet. So she’d stretch this moment a little longer, if she could.

“Let’s wait,” Ranka said. “Just in case Percy has already set the ship on fire.”

Aramis paused, a twinkle in her eye, and then nodded sagely. “Or pushed the captain overboard.”

“Or made Galen cry.”

“Galen wouldn’t cry.”

Ranka lifted a brow.

“Okay,” Aramis admitted. “Galen would probably cry. Galen is probably already crying.”

Ranka inched her hand sideways until their fingers touched. Aramis slid her hand in Ranka’s and then, after a moment’s hesitation, leaned her head on Ranka’s shoulder. They relaxed, easing into the weight of each other.

“Ranka?” Aramis’s voice was soft. “I’m glad you stayed.”

Ranka squeezed her hand. “Me too.”

How strange to think that a year ago they had been strangers—the disgraced princess, the Butcher of Belren. They had been enemies at their worst, reluctant allies at their best.

And now?

Take a girl, give her a kingdom, and see what she becomes. Take a witch, give her freedom, and see where she stays.

All they’d lost, all they’d suffered—it was moments like this, when it was them, and only them, that it felt like it might have been worth it. Their scars were still there, but even the newest wounds were covered in shiny tissue. Their future was not guaranteed—nothing precious ever was. But this chance was more than Ranka had ever hoped for.

It was certainly more than she deserved.

“I think we’ll do good work here, Ranka,” said Aramis. “I think we can make a difference.”