Argrave did not sleep on the night before his coronation. This, naturally, worried him to no end—he didn’t want to be seen before all as a tired-eyed monarch with dark bags beneath his eyes. That worry did nothing to help him sleep, of course.

Very early in the morning, before the suns had even risen above the distant mountains, Ansgar of Dandalan came into Argrave’s room. He told him of the plan for today, and Argrave listened diligently despite already knowing how things would play out.

When it was done, Ansgar left, leaving Argrave alone with Anneliese once again. She laid against the bed, still-half-asleep. She had slept well, despite everything.

“Wish I could make a third pledge,” Argrave said once he was gone. “I’ll make my pledge to the people, make my pledge to the Grand Council… and then my pledge to you,” he leaned down until his nose brushed against hers.

“No,” she said in a playful, yet tired haze. She bopped him on the nose with her finger. “Bad. Terrible idea. I will be up there with you, per your insistence. That is bad enough.”

Argrave’s face hardened. “Christ, Anneliese, you’re more than half of the reason I’m here today. If you’re not—”

“I know. Please, do not take that seriously,” she quieted him calmly. “I need no honors, prestige. But if you insist on giving them to me…”

Argrave leaned down and kissed her, then whispered, “I do. I can’t be the only one that suffers in this. Going to drag the rest of you into the spotlight with me.”

She laughed, then pushed him. “Go on. The preparations for this will take some time.”

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