It had been a week, yet everything still felt new—as if the world had quickened the moment she closed her eyes and everything rushed forward at once. She found it difficult to adjust to many things; some occurrences were downright strange. She had expected that carrying the Spirit King's egg within the warmth of her shell would be the most shocking revelation of her life. Instead, it only got stranger.
Khalan was the Enchantress Supreme—dark queen Sheba. She had never known the witch race had a ruler, much less that the sweet, innocent-sounding Khalan could be that ruler. It all felt unreal.
Nathan turned out to be Lucifer, ruler of the Demon Realm. She had long suspected Nathan was a powerful demon, but Lucifer himself? She had never gone that far in her imagination. She had felt insignificant all her life, but now—realizing she had been cared for by the Demon Lord and the Enchantress Supreme, and that she had kept the Spirit King within her warmth for so many years—she could no longer think herself small.
Many astonishing things had happened while she slept. The one that bothered her most, however, was Saskia's being in love with a demon. It would have been less troubling if Vesper believed Saskia understood what she was getting into, but she did not. Saskia had no idea Hal was a demon—a very powerful one—and Vesper doubted he planned to tell her anytime soon. She understood his reasons; any sensible person would. Still, she thought Saskia deserved the truth.
Vesper had wanted to tell Saskia herself, to reveal Hal's nature, but she could not bear to be the one to wash away that radiant smile that lit Saskia's face whenever she spoke of him. She loved him, and he loved her; telling her outright did not feel ideal. They were into each other after all, they would have to work it out together, she told herself.
Still, Vesper kept watch. If Hal ever turned dark or threatened Saskia, she would be there to show him that she loved Saskia before he even knew the girl existed.
The morning breeze kissed her skin as she stood by the window, gazing over the Spirit Kingdom. Her people were free—no longer bound as slaves to the Human Nation. She had never believed she would live to witness a free and reborn Spirit Kingdom. Yes, they had hoped and prayed the king would return, but she had not believed she would be among the blessed generation to see the kingdom's glory restored. Its splendor felt surreal. She had so much to be grateful for, and enduring long unconsciousness suddenly seemed worth it.
The sun glared on her skin as her brown eyes struggled to see through the brightness and take in the view. She looked for a few seconds before a soft knock sounded at the door.
"Enter."
She turned from the window and returned to her bed, clutching the soft fur bedding for no reason in particular. A maid slipped inside and closed the door behind her.
"My lady, it is time." The maid's voice was as bland as always. Very odd, considering the occasion.
"Thank you Cerlin." Vesper smiled calmly; the maid nodded and left her alone.
The attendants had arrived earlier, Cerlin and two other maids, ready to help her dress. However, she had insisted she was fine on her own. No matter the luxury offered, she always refused extra attention. She simply did not understand the point of being served; she had been low-born like most of them. The only reason she now had servants was the egg she had guarded, passed down through generations in her bloodline. She had never thought the egg special at first, but she had kept it safe, along with other family treasures. Luck had found her; she was grateful, but she had not forgotten her place. Living well was a privilege she had gained by chance, and she would not abuse it.
She rose and approached the obsidian mirror standing in the corner. She admired the reflection: a satisfied smile spread across her face. She looked beautiful. Her hair was in a bun; her neck and ears were adorned with timeless pieces sourced from her shell. She wore a chestnut silk kirtle embroidered with gold oak leaves, beneath a dark brown sideless surcoat lined in saffron silk that flashed like flame with every step. She had to look her best—this was the most important day of her life.
Today the Spirit King would present her before the council and the kingdom as the one who had sustained his life, incubating him in her warmth until he was ready to be reborn.
She had felt selfish at first, accepting all the glory for a deed her whole bloodline had shared. She was not the first tortoise to carry the Spirit King in her shell; she was simply the last in a line of women who had preserved him. Her parents and relatives had died during slavery, so even if the King wished to acknowledge them all, she would still be the one receiving the honor. She gave up trying to persuade him otherwise. She would receive this glory on their behalf—on behalf of her mother, grandmother, and great-grandmother. They had borne the egg for centuries, unaware of the redemption they carried. It was a blessing.
Satisfied with her reflection, she left her room with a bright smile and made her way to the throne room. She paused outside the entrance, waiting to be announced.
Her palms cooled and her breaths quickened. She had never been the center of attention before; she did not know how to act. A multitude of spirits filled the palace grounds, waiting to see the blessed one who had aided the King's rebirth. Anxiety prickled her skin, but before she could steady herself, the herald announced her.
"All welcome, full of grace and poise: the blessed one, born of the tortoise clan, birthed by the Fletcher bloodline—Lady Vesper Fletcher, Hand of the King."
An uproar rose through the throne room and beyond.
Vesper felt overwhelmed. Did the King truly mean to make her his Hand? Was there a mistake?
She took slow, careful steps, fearful of tripping over her own nerves, and approached where he sat. She bowed deeply before him.
"Your Grace," she managed, steadying herself against the tremor in her voice.
"Rise." His grave tone sent chills down her spine, but she lifted her head.
Their eyes met. In that instant she remembered the first night they had met—how she had feared she was being kidnapped and he had not held that misunderstanding against her. She could still see the way his hazel eyes had seized hers that night. Now she saw the same look: something tender and warm, threaded with flickers of danger and concern. She was ready for the adventure—she had never been one to tolerate boredom.
Her thoughts halted when he rose from his throne and walked toward her. Her stomach dropped; she swallowed hard.
Then he reached for her bosom. Her heart sank, and panic flared—what was he about to do?
His hand did not betray her. From his palm he drew a small brooch forged from his flame and buried it into her chest—a sign and seal of her title, the King's binding. The brooch glowed and warmed against her heart.
"All hail Lady Vesper the Blessed, Hand of the King!"
"HAIL!"