Taste of ecstasy

Chapter 51

"A kingdom heals not only through victory, but through the soft courage of gathering again. Love after war is a quiet thing...made of soft touches and the courage to let someone hold you homeward."
——-

The first festival after the war did not come with trumpets or parades. Idris was not ready for noise. It needed something gentler a celebration shaped by breath and candlelight, by the simple act of people stepping into the streets again without fear. And so the Festival of First Light was declared. Queen Mayres organized it with her usual quiet brilliance, turning the entire palace district into a tapestry of warm lanterns, floating candles, and soft strings of gold-threaded banners. The markets reopened at dusk, their stalls offering warm breads, honeyed nuts, ribbons, toys, and tiny vials of perfumed oil. Children darted between fountains, chasing firefly lamps. Musicians tuned lyres and flutes in corners, their melodies drifting like wind over water.

For Magnus, this was a world he had never imagined being part of. He stood at the edge of his chamber balcony, watching the lights flicker in the streets below as the palace prepared for the evening. Alec's cloak settled around his shoulders, but Alec himself was not with him. Alec had been summoned abruptly that afternoon a diplomatic crisis, a council of ambassadors who refused to wait. It was a meeting that required the king's full attention and his queen mother's steady influence. Magnus had tried to insist he could stay behind as well. Alec had kissed him deeply, cupping his face with reverent hands.

"Go," he said. "Be seen. They need to know you belong to them as much as you belong to me." Magnus had pretended not to feel his heart quake at the words. Now, as lanterns began to glow and the palace stirred to life, Magnus stood at the threshold of the royal wing alone except for Ruelle and Raphael, who would accompany him.

Ruelle adjusted the fur-lined shawl around Magnus's shoulders. "The people want to see hope," she murmured, her voice gentle. "And nothing brings them more comfort than seeing you alive and healing." Magnus swallowed. "I have never been to a festival." Raphael arched a brow. "You are going to one as the future parent of Idris's heir. Trial by fire." Magnus shot him a flat look. "You have an extraordinary talent for saying the wrong thing at the wrong time." Raphael only shrugged. "I am honest."

"Painfully."
"Always."

Magnus found himself smiling despite the nerves. Ruelle stepped forward and placed a small silver charm behind Magnus's ear a faintly glowing rune for calm and protection. "There," she said softly. "Now the crowd will not overwhelm you." Magnus breathed out, grateful. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me yet," she teased. "Wait until you see how many children want to touch your hair."

When Magnus stepped through the palace gates into the main courtyard, a hush rippled across the assembled crowd. It was not the hush of fear. It was awe. Hundreds of lanterns floated above them little suns suspended by invisible threads, their light casting warm halos on every face. Citizens dressed in their festival best soft tunics, embroidered shawls, ribbons woven into hair turned toward Magnus with expressions of reverence, gratitude, disbelief. Many bowed. Some placed hands over their hearts. A few simply cried.

Raphael and Ruelle kept discreetly behind him, allowing Magnus to step forward alone. The soft stone beneath his feet felt like history adjusting itself to a new rhythm. Magnus hesitated. Then a little girl, no older than five, tugged on his sleeve. She held a lantern shaped like a star, its light trembling at the edges.

Her voice was tiny. "Your highness? They said we should give lanterns to someone we want the world to love. Can I give mine to you?" Magnus's breath caught. He knelt slowly careful, graceful, one hand instinctively resting on his stomach and met her eyes. "What's your name?"