The capital gates opened at sunrise, and the city lost its mind.
People had lined the roads for miles: farmers, merchants, children on shoulders, old women waving scraps of blue cloth painted with a rough silver star. They had heard the rumors first (Varyn dead, the war over, the peasant consort bleeding but alive), then they had seen the banners on the horizon. When the royal column finally appeared, the roar was so loud it rattled windows.
Star rode at the front beside Elandor, upright in the saddle even though every breath still tugged at his healing chest. He wore the silver-starred blue coat now without hesitation. The wound had left a puckered scar just below his collarbone, hidden beneath linen and leather, but the ache was a quiet reminder: I took an arrow for this man and I would do it again.
Elandor's hand rested on his thigh the entire ride in, a silent claim in front of ten thousand witnesses.
They passed under the arch of flowers and cheers, past the market square where Star had once danced drunk and desperate in Elandor's arms. Lila rode just behind them, eyes shining with tears she refused to let fall. Duchess Calera followed on a white mare, stern face cracked with the closest thing to a smile she ever gave.
At the palace steps, the entire court waited. Some faces were new (loyal lords elevated after the purge), some were old and pale with fear. They knelt as one when Elandor dismounted.
Star swung down more carefully, pain flaring, and found his parents standing at the front of the crowd.
His mother's hands flew to her mouth. His father, weathered face usually carved from stone, had tears cutting clean tracks through road dust.
Star walked straight to them. No bowing, no titles. Just a boy hugging his mother so hard her apron tore at the seam.
"You're too thin," she sobbed into his shoulder.
"You should see the other fellow," Star laughed, voice cracking.
His father gripped his nape the way he had when Star was small. "Proud of you, son. Prouder than I've ever been."
Behind them, Elandor watched with soft eyes, letting Star have this moment that belonged only to family.
Later, when the formal reception ended and the palace finally quieted, Elandor led Star up the private stair to the royal apartments. The doors closed. The world shut out.
They stood in the vast bedchamber, suddenly shy.
Elandor spoke first, voice low. "Welcome home."
Star looked around: the huge bed draped in blue and gold, the balcony where they had once argued and kissed and bled together, the fireplace crackling with fresh cedar. Everything smelled like them now.
He turned back to Elandor and said the simplest truth he had.
"I never thought I'd have a home bigger than a one-room cottage… and now this feels small, because you're in it."
Elandor's breath hitched. He crossed the room in three strides and kissed Star like a man drowning: slow, reverent, hands careful of every bandage. When they parted, Elandor rested their foreheads together.
"I kept one thing for you," he whispered.
He led Star to a small side door Star had never noticed before. Inside was a room no bigger than the cottage Star grew up in: wooden beams, a simple iron stove, a table hand-carved from oak, and on the windowsill a single pot of wildflowers exactly like the ones that grew by the old farm gate.
Star's throat closed.
"I had it built while we were gone," Elandor said quietly. "So whenever the palace feels too big, whenever you miss the smell of turned earth and woodsmoke… you can come here. And remember who you are. Who we are."
Star couldn't speak. He walked inside, fingertips trailing the rough table, the worn quilt on the narrow bed. Then he turned and pulled Elandor down into the tiny space with him, kissing him against the wall, against the table, against the rest of their lives.
Much later, lying tangled on the cottage bed that somehow fit them both, Star traced the new scar on Elandor's palm (mirror to his own) and laughed softly.
"Think the nobles will faint if they find their king sleeping in a servant-sized bed?"
"Let them faint," Elandor murmured against his neck. "I sleep where you sleep."
Outside, the city kept celebrating long into the night. Inside, two men who had bled for each other, defied prophecy, and carried a kingdom on their joined hands finally, truly came home.
And for the first time since the trumpet sounded over a quiet farm field, Star Farewater fell asleep certain of tomorrow.