My lips form a soft smile. After the war, when I was still finding my way as a ruler and grieving the loss of my parents and my sense of self, Admon would show up to surprise me often, claiming the way my magic could heat a kettle of water made the tea better than any he’d ever had. We both knew it was his attempt to provide me with company and support without overstepping. We haven’t had tea together like this in a long time. I wonder what has him reaching out in this way now—what flaw he sees in me that needs his guidance—but I welcome him all the same.

“Come in, Admon. I’ll heat some water.” As he crosses the threshold, Lunaria stands abruptly, eyeing Admon suspiciously. He keeps his gaze on her as he sits in a chair, expression neutral and unafraid. She’s skittish around others, and the hiss she gives Admon is nothing new. Yowling her displeasure, she disappears into my bedroom.

When the tea is finished, I hand Admon a steaming cup. He takes a sip and makes an appreciative noise.

“Just as good as I remember it,” he says with a smile. I only shake my head and drink from my own cup. “How are you doing, Laurel? Without Nemesia?” As usual he gets to the heart of my troubles with no preamble. I want to say I’m fine, but he knows better, so I give him the truth.

“I miss her, and I’m worried we won’t be able to stop the rebels without her. I’ve never been any good at offensive strategies. She’s the smart one.”

His eyes soften. “We both know that’s not true, Laurel. You’re a remarkable leader, not even considering everything you’ve been through. You have a mind for politics that I’d say rivals any of the best political strategists out there.”

My eyes sting and my throat aches, but I lock it away. He always knows what I need to hear. The recent attacks have left me feeling insecure, unsure of myself and my capability as a ruler. Not to mention all the slips with my magic and using the aether-voice so much lately. I feel like I’m unraveling. While the words don’t fully reach that place deep inside me that constantly whispers that I’m not enough, they quiet the noise, at least for a moment.

“You’re biased,” I say when I’ve gotten control of my emotions again, and he smiles with a steadiness that bolsters me. We continue speaking for another hour, chatting about potential strategies to deal with the rebels, the upcoming Abscission period, and smaller topics about the kingdom. Somehow, he navigates the conversation so that I’m reminded of what a competent and capable leader I am and how far the kingdom has come in the three centuries I’ve ruled.