CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
The King's Summons
The messenger should not have been possible.
That was Orion's first thought when he saw the man stumble through the Lower Gate—travel-worn, frost-bitten, and wearing livery that made his blood run cold. The colors were unmistakable: deep blue and silver, with a crowned stag emblazoned on the chest.
The colors of the Kingdom of Valdris.
The colors of his father's house.
"No," Orion whispered. He had been returning from the guild, a simple quest completed, looking forward to an evening with Nera and perhaps a drink at Helga's. Now he stood frozen in the street, watching his past crash into his present with the force of an avalanche.
The messenger spotted him almost immediately. Of course he did—he would have been given a description. Would have been told exactly who to look for. Would have crossed the Frostmarch, in early spring no less, solely to deliver whatever message he carried.
"Prince Orion!" The man's voice cracked with relief and exhaustion. "Thank the gods. I've been searching for weeks."
The title struck Orion like a physical blow. Prince. He hadn't heard that word applied to himself in years. Had hoped to never hear it again.
"You have the wrong person," he said automatically. "I'm just an adventurer—"
"Your Highness." The messenger fell to one knee, right there in the muddy street, drawing stares from passing locals. "I have traveled three thousand miles to find you. Please. I carry a summons from the King."
The King.
His father.
Orion's carefully constructed world began to crack.
* * *
"Your WHAT?"
Nera's voice hit an octave Orion hadn't known she could reach. She was human-sized, standing in the middle of their small home, staring at him with an expression that combined shock, disbelief, and something that might have been hysteria.
"I can explain—"
"Your HIGHNESS?"
"It's not as dramatic as it sounds—"
"PRINCE Orion?"
"Nera, please—"
"You're ROYALTY?" She threw her hands in the air, her light flickering wildly. "You're actual, legitimate, born-into-it royalty, and you didn't think to MENTION this at any point in the last two and a half years?"
"I was trying to leave that life behind!"
"So was I! But I still TOLD you!"
"You told me after I'd already figured it out!"
"That's—" She paused. "Actually, that's fair. But still! A prince! You're a prince!"
"Fourth in line for the throne," he said weakly. "Fifth now, probably, if any of my siblings have had children. It's not like I was ever going to actually rule."
"Fourth in line. FOURTH IN LINE." Nera sat down heavily on their bed, her expression shifting from outrage to something more complicated. "We're both runaway royalty. Both of us. What are the odds?"
"I've wondered that myself."
"Your wish." Her eyes widened. "When you were dying in the forest. You wished for someone to share your life with. Someone who would understand."
"I didn't consciously wish for another royal—"
"But your power grants what you truly need." She laughed—a slightly unhinged sound. "You needed someone who understood the weight of crowns. Someone who knew what it meant to walk away from duty. And the universe sent you... me."
Orion hadn't thought of it that way. But now that she said it, the symmetry was undeniable. Two people who had fled their birthrights, finding each other in the wilderness, building a life together far from the thrones they'd rejected.
"This is actually hilarious," Nera said, starting to giggle. "Two years of running from MY royal obligations, and I married into ANOTHER royal family. I can't escape crowns. They're following me."
"Technically, I found you first—"
"Semantics!" But she was smiling now, the initial shock fading into something warmer. "Okay. Okay. So you're a prince. Of a human kingdom. With a king for a father and presumably a complicated family situation."
"Very complicated."
"And this messenger has a summons. From the King. Your father."
"Yes."
"What does it say?"
Orion looked at the sealed letter in his hand. He hadn't opened it yet. Hadn't been able to bring himself to break that familiar wax seal—the crowned stag, pressed by his father's own signet ring.
"I don't know," he admitted. "I'm afraid to look."
Nera crossed to him, taking his hand. "Whatever it says, we face it together. That's what we do."
"Always together."
"Always." She squeezed his fingers. "Now open it. The anticipation is killing me."
He broke the seal.
* * *
The letter was written in his father's own hand—not dictated to a scribe, but penned personally. That alone spoke volumes. King Aldric of Valdris was not a man who wasted time on unnecessary gestures.
My Son,
Word has reached me through channels I will not detail that you are alive, well, and—if the reports are accurate—married. I confess this last detail surprised me more than anything else. You always swore you would never wed.
I will not pretend that your departure did not wound me. Nor will I pretend that I understood your reasons at the time. You were my son—are my son—and watching you walk away from everything I had built for you was among the hardest experiences of my life.
But I am old now. Older than I was when you left, certainly, and old enough to recognize that my understanding is not required for your happiness. You made your choice. I have had years to make peace with it.
I write not to demand your return to duty—that ship has sailed, as they say. I write because I wish to meet her. This woman who captured the heart of my most stubborn child. This wife whose existence I learned of through rumor and report rather than invitation.
Come home, Orion. Not forever. Not to claim what you abandoned. Simply to let an old man meet his daughter-in-law before he meets his gods.
The messenger who carries this letter has been authorized to provide whatever resources you need for the journey. I ask only that you come. I ask only that you let me see your face one more time.
Your Father,
Aldric
Orion read it twice. Then a third time, his hands trembling slightly.
"He's not angry," he said, disbelief coloring his voice. "I thought... I expected..."
"What did you expect?"
"Demands. Orders. A command to return and fulfill my obligations." He looked up at Nera. "Not this. Not... kindness."
"He sounds like he loves you."
"He does. He always did. That was never the problem." Orion set the letter down, running a hand through his hair. "The problem was everything else. The expectations. The politics. The weight of being a prince in a kingdom where princes are currency."
"Currency?"
"Marriages. Alliances. Strategic positioning." His voice was bitter. "I have four siblings. We were all pieces on a board, moved around to strengthen the kingdom. My oldest brother was groomed for the throne. My sisters were promised to foreign powers before they could walk. And I..."
"You?"
"I was the spare. The backup. The one they'd marry off to whoever offered the best terms, unless my brother died and I became suddenly valuable." He laughed humorlessly. "So I left. Walked away from all of it. Decided I'd rather be a nobody adventurer than a pawn in someone else's game."
Nera was quiet for a long moment.
"We really are the same," she finally said. "Different crowns, different realms, but the same cage."
"I suppose we are."
"And now your father wants to meet me." She looked at the letter, then back at him. "Do you want to go?"
The question hung in the air.
Did he want to go? Did he want to face the family he'd abandoned, the kingdom he'd fled, the father whose heart he'd broken by leaving?
"I don't know," he admitted. "Part of me never wants to see that place again. But another part..."
"Another part?"
"He's old, Nera. The letter said it—he wants to see me before he dies." Orion's voice cracked slightly. "Whatever else happened, whatever drove me away, he's still my father. And I've been gone for almost a decade."
"Then we go."
"Just like that?"
"Just like that." She moved closer, wrapping her arms around him. "You faced my past when Seraphel came. Now I'll face yours. It's only fair."
"This is different. Seraphel was one person. My family is... complicated."
"My family is an entire fairy realm. I think I can handle some human politics."
Despite everything, he smiled. "You haven't met my siblings."
"Are they worse than the Council of Thorns?"
"Probably not. But they're sneakier."
"Then I'll be on my guard." She pulled back to look at him. "We'll go. We'll meet your father. We'll navigate whatever political nonsense your family has cooked up. And then we'll come home. Here. To Thornhaven. To the life we built."
"Promise?"
"Promise."
He held her tighter, feeling the weight of his past pressing against the peace of his present.
Home, his father had written.
Orion hadn't thought of Valdris as home in years. But perhaps it was time to face it anyway.
* * *
The messenger—whose name turned out to be Aldwin—was given a room at Helga's inn and strict instructions to rest. He'd nearly killed himself crossing the Frostmarch, and Orion refused to have his father's servant die of exhaustion on his account.
"The King will be pleased," Aldwin said, relief evident in every line of his exhausted face. "He feared you would refuse."
"I considered it."
"But you didn't. That's what matters." The messenger hesitated. "If I may be frank, Your Highness?"
"Please don't call me that."
"Of course, my lo—" He caught himself. "Sir. The kingdom has changed since you left. The succession question has become... contentious. Your brother Marcus presses his claim, but Princess Helena has her supporters, and Prince Darius—"
"I don't want to hear about succession politics."
"I understand. But you should know that your return, however temporary, will be seen as significant. People will read meanings into your presence that you may not intend."
"People can read whatever they want. I'm coming to see my father, not to make a play for power."
"I believe you, sir. But others may not." Aldwin's expression was sympathetic. "The court remembers you. Some fondly, some not. And the princes and princesses... they remember you best of all."
Orion thought of his siblings. Marcus, the eldest, always so certain of his place. Helena, sharp as a blade and twice as dangerous. Darius, the charmer who smiled while he schemed. And Elara, the youngest, who had been barely ten when he left.
"How is Elara?" he asked before he could stop himself.
"Princess Elara is well. She's grown into a formidable woman. She speaks of you often—fondly, I might add." Aldwin smiled. "She was the one who convinced the King to send for you. Said that family matters more than pride."
Something tightened in Orion's chest. Elara. His little sister, who had cried when he left, who had begged him to stay, who he had promised to write and then... hadn't. Couldn't. Every letter he'd started had turned into an explanation, a justification, and he'd never been able to find the right words.
"I need to rest," he said abruptly. "We'll discuss travel arrangements tomorrow."
"Of course, sir."
He left the inn and walked home through streets that had become familiar, past neighbors who waved and called greetings, through a city that had accepted him without knowing who he really was.
Now they would know. The messenger had been seen. Word would spread. By morning, all of Thornhaven would know that the quiet adventurer Orion Stargrass was actually Prince Orion of Valdris, fourth in line to a throne he'd rejected.
He wondered how they would look at him then.
* * *
"They'll look at you the same way," Nera said that night. "Because it doesn't change who you are."
"Doesn't it?"
"Did I change when you learned I was a fairy queen?"
"That's different."
"How?"
Orion opened his mouth to argue, then closed it. She had a point. Learning what Nera truly was hadn't changed his feelings for her—it had only added context to what he already knew. She was still the same person who made him laugh, who challenged him, who loved him fiercely and without reservation.
"I suppose it isn't different," he admitted.
"Exactly." She was pixie-sized, perched on his shoulder as he sat by the window. "You're still you. The title doesn't define you—your choices do. And your choices led you here, to this city, to this life." A pause. "To me."
"Best choice I ever made."
"Obviously."
He smiled despite his worry. "Modest as always."
"False modesty is lying. I don't lie."
"You hid being a fairy queen for months."
"That's omission, not lying. There's a difference."
"Is there?"
"Absolutely." She nudged his cheek with her tiny hand. "Now stop brooding and come to bed. We have a lot of planning to do tomorrow, and I refuse to let you be exhausted for it."
"Planning?"
"The journey. We need to inform Crag, arrange for someone to watch the house, pack properly for a trip that will apparently take months." She ticked items off on her fingers. "Plus I need to decide what to bring as a gift for your father. What does one give a king who probably has everything?"
"You don't need to bring him anything."
"I absolutely need to bring him something. First impressions matter, Orion. I'm meeting my father-in-law—the fact that he's also a king makes it more important, not less."
"You've already impressed kings and queens. You ARE a queen."
"I'm a retired queen. Very different." She fluttered down to the bed. "Now come. Sleep. Tomorrow, we start preparing for my official debut as a royal daughter-in-law."
"That's terrifying."
"I know. It's going to be wonderful."
Despite everything—the fear, the uncertainty, the weight of a past he'd spent years running from—Orion found himself smiling.
His past had caught up with him. His secrets were exposed. His carefully constructed anonymity was shattered.
But he wasn't facing it alone. He had Nera. He had the strength of the life they'd built. And maybe, just maybe, that would be enough.
He joined her in bed, and they held each other as the stars wheeled overhead—a prince and a queen, both runaways, both found, preparing to face yet another chapter of their impossible story.
* * *
Word spread exactly as Orion had predicted.
By morning, half of Thornhaven seemed to know. By noon, the other half had been informed. The frozen city buzzed with the revelation—their quiet adventurer, their dependable quest-taker, was apparently a prince of one of the largest kingdoms in the south.
Helga cornered him at the guild.
"A prince," she said, arms crossed, expression unreadable. "My best tenant for six months, and he's a prince."
"Former prince. Functionally."
"Is that a thing? Former prince?"
"It is now."
She stared at him for a long moment. Then, unexpectedly, she laughed—a deep, booming sound that drew attention from across the room.
"No wonder you were so good at keeping your head down. You'd had practice." She clapped him on the shoulder hard enough to hurt. "Royal blood or not, you're good people. Both of you. Don't let that fancy palace change you."
"We won't."
"See that you don't. And when you come back—" She fixed him with a stern look. "—because you ARE coming back, that wasn't a question—I expect a full account. Royal gossip is the best kind."
"I'll do my best."
Crag's reaction was more subdued but no less meaningful.
"Explains a few things," the guild master said, scratching his chin. "The way you carry yourself. The training. Thought it was military, but noble upbringing makes more sense."
"You're not angry?"
"Why would I be angry? You did the work, took the quests, earned your rank." Crag shrugged. "Don't care where you came from. Care about what you do. And what you've done is make yourself valuable to this guild."
"We'll be gone for a while. Months, probably."
"Your rank will be here when you get back. Gold doesn't expire." A pause. "Take care of yourself out there. Southern politics are nastier than anything in these mountains."
"So I've been told."
Sanna found them that afternoon, vibrating with excitement.
"Is it true?" she demanded. "Is the flower lady married to a PRINCE?"
Nera laughed, kneeling to meet the girl's eyes. "It seems so. Does that change things?"
"It makes you a PRINCESS!" Sanna's eyes were wide as saucers. "A real princess! Like in the stories!"
"I suppose it does."
"That's so WONDERFUL!" The girl threw her arms around Nera's neck. "Will you still give me flowers when you're a princess?"
"Always. Royal or not, you'll always get flowers."
"Promise?"
"Promise."
Sanna ran off to spread this confirmation to her friends, and Nera straightened with a soft smile.
"She's going to tell everyone," Orion observed.
"Let her. It's a good story." Nera took his arm. "Now come. We have packing to do, arrangements to make, and a six-month journey to prepare for."
"You sound almost excited."
"I am excited." Her eyes sparkled. "I get to meet the family that made you who you are. I get to see where you came from, understand you better." She squeezed his arm. "And I get to watch you make peace with a past you've been running from almost as long as I've been running from mine."
"What if I can't? Make peace, I mean."
"Then at least you'll have tried. And you won't have to wonder anymore." She leaned into him. "Either way, I'll be there. Every step. Every awkward family dinner. Every political complication. You won't face any of it alone."
"I don't deserve you."
"Probably not. But you're stuck with me anyway."
They walked home through streets that buzzed with whispers and speculation, through a city that had just discovered its most unusual residents were even more unusual than anyone had guessed.
Somewhere to the south, a kingdom waited. A king waited. A family that Orion had left behind, that he had tried to forget, that he had never quite managed to escape.
But this time, he wouldn't face them as a runaway son, alone and uncertain.
This time, he had Nera.
And together, they could face anything.
— End of Chapter Twenty-Two —