She cupped his face with her hands. 'But promise you'll live for me first, my love. Because nothing we are about to do is going to be easy and I need you by my side.'
Lady Celie cleared her throat. 'Hurry up and kiss her, Finnikin. The Mont cousin is coming this way with alarming speed.'
'Then turn the other way, Lady Celie,' Finnikin murmured before placing an arm around the queen's waist and lifting her to him, his mouth capturing hers.
Hours later, when everyone seemed to have gone home except for Trevanion and the Guard, Finnikin and Lucian sat on the roof of one of the palace cottages with Isaboe sleeping between them. They spoke of the past. And of Balthazar. About the ten years in exile. About their fathers, and the mothers they missed. About the queen.
Finnikin heard a cry in the distance as a hint of light began to appear. He leaned down to whisper into her ear. 'Wake up, Isaboe.'
He helped her to her feet and wrapped his arms around her, his cloak engulfing them both. They watched the light crawl across the kingdom, illuminating their land piece by piece. Its mountain and rock, its river and flatlands, its forest, its palace. She placed his hand against the beat of her heart and he felt its steady pace.
'Listen,' he whispered.
And then they heard the first words of the priest-king's song traveling across the kingdom, and they saw flickers of light appear across the landscape of their world.
'My king?'
'Yes, my queen?'
'Take me home.'
