-From The Prophecy of Nature

Chapter Twenty-Four

The meal preceding the official coronation of Skye Ramison as King of Meyjia was quite possibly the rowdiest supper to ever take place at the Glass Palace.

Three weeks had passed since the coup in the throne room, long enough to plan a gala worthy of the man who would lead Meyjia into the bright and idealistic future long ago foretold. Long enough for certain members of the Kuskhin village to arrive in Dmondia—namely the Wise Man. The rest had elected to slowly assimilate into Noxynian culture once Keiran returned home to take over his province.

And long enough for Jaymon to realize he had no place in the fast-paced capital city.

In spite of the boisterous atmosphere at the long table reserved for private, family dinners, Skye could not help but feel a twinge of regret at the loss of his oldest and dearest friend. He did not know if Jaymon would ever return to Dmondia—or even Meyjia, for that matter. With the stigma of the Faceless Menace still looming over him, he’d thought it better to escape, to exile himself. Instead of heading back south, however, he’d followed a friendly suggestion from Jack Wolfe and headed north, to the Wilds.

Though saddened by the loss, he could only hope that Jaymon would find something, somewhere to help him overcome his tragic past.

Or maybe even someone.

His eyes slid to his mate, who would also on this evening become his wife, as she laughed at one of her father’s grumblings. It had only take a few days for the old man to accept that he was no longer King of Meyjia. There was no bitterness between him and his former Guardian Dukes—though Ryaden Davenson had avoided the Glass Palace like the plague for nearly a week afterwards for fear that his former sovereign would revile him for having stood up against him. Discovering that his eldest daughter had been the one to poison Brynna, however, had enlightened him to her true nature. Eventually, he was able to understand why the Dukes had done what they did, and after a few lengthy discussions with his future son-in-law, he was even able to accept Skye as the ruler of what had once been his country.

That did not mean he had to like it. Every time one of the servants bowed to Skye instead of him, he grumbled. And every time he grumbled, Brynna laughed.

And every time Brynna laughed, Skye was reminded of just how much he loved her.

“Oh, papa, you need to lighten up,” she scolded. “If you look anything less than ecstatic about crowning Skye King, there might be dissension amongst the people.”

“I will look happy,” he grumbled. “Right now, it is just friends and family, however. I do not need to pretend for them.”

Skye just rolled his eyes, knowing that the old man was all bluster. Earlier that day, he’d actually confided that he was glad for what had happened in the throne room that day. Naming Arellia his successor had been a last desperate attempt to salvage what he’d lost by pardoning Noxyn. He’d always felt as if he’d sold his very soul to save his daughter, and though he would never regret that, he would always regret the lives that were lost in Noxyn because of that sacrifice.

Harolde was tired. After so many years of having to stand back and watch his people suffer, he was exhausted and more than ready to retire. As King, however, that would have never been possible.

Except the Guardian Dukes had managed the impossible three weeks ago, and now Harolde could enjoy the rest of his days without the stress of running a country. That stress, after three weeks of crash courses in being King—which, in Skye’s opinion, sounded a great deal simpler than being Rami—would soon belong to another man.

“I think I should propose a toast,” Ryaden said towards the end of the meal. He rose slowly to his feet, smiling down at his pregnant wife briefly before looking up and down the table at his friends and family. At one end sat Brynna and Skye, flanked by the Wise Man and Harolde, who had formed an odd friendship in the days since the Wise Man’s arrival. Dispersed throughout the table were the Guardian Dukes and their wives and children, as well as Devlin and Trixie Wolfe and Lionel Foster.

Still more of their friends would be waiting in the Gathering Room for the coronation—Alistair and Christabel Bridgeton, newly wed thanks to the fortuitous murder of her husband; Dyrian and Mynk Fostergar, who would be welcoming their first child in a matter of months; Erondia Sheppard, her son, and most likely her latest lover; and quite a few Simvenians had even shown up for the celebration.

Arellia, however, would not be in attendance, as Skye had sentenced her to exile. The prisoner’s tent in Kuskhin would finally get to see some use from someone other than a guest, and when his people left the desert—well, if Arellia behaved, perhaps she could return with them. If not…

No one in Meyjia really cared. Her only ally, after all, had been found beaten beyond all recognition and hanging from a lamppost the day after Skye was named King.

Although Skye appreciated that so many people had come tonight to witness the crowning of the new King, he knew that what mattered were the people here, in this room. These were the people whose support would ensure that his rule was long and peaceful. These were the people who would help his vision of unity and equality to come true.

“To old friends,” Ryaden started, holding up a glass of wine in Harolde’s direction. “To new ones,” he turned towards Skye, “and to knowing that no matter what you do, love will always be more powerful than loathing. Anything is possible.”

“Hear, hear!” Brendan Wolfe exclaimed, lifting his own glass in agreement. Love, after all, had made it possible for him to walk again.

Beneath the table, Brynna took his hand, and as they lifted their glasses all in accord, her sparkling eyes met his. In a matter of hours, the people of Meyjia would watch, for the first time in the history of the land, as a man not born into wealth was officially crowned King. By his side would stand a bastard-born Princess, and he would be surrounded by an eclectic mix of Dukes—from a former alcoholic to a former sexaholic.

Ryaden Davenson was right.

With love, anything was possible.

Author's Note: Sigh. My final author's note. I am seriously going to go through withdrawals in the coming weeks--I have no idea when I will post another story. I don't really have anything else that is postworthy, and I'm torn between starting another series that I just got an idea for, or finishing another story that I started and sort of abandoned when I began posting my books to this website. I'm sure I'll make up my mind soon...

Anyway, hope everyone enjoyed this book. Thanks again for all of the reviews, edits, pointers, etc. Again, I didn't like that Jaymon's fate sort of ended up as undecided, so I might very well write a story about him. Eventually. Don't expect it any time soon, because I think I need a break from this series for a while.

As always, if you haven't already done so, please feel free to check out my other books. They aren't "romance" novels, so to speak, but every book I write is guaranteed to have a love story.

Happy reading!