161. Echo

161. Echo
I have run through this moment with Nicholaus more times than I can count. What I would say. Where we would stand. How the hall would respond. Knowing the steps does nothing to soften their weight now. The coronation register is carried up the dais and unrolled before me, the parchment long and pale beneath the lanternlight. I sign my name, the ink drying dark against the page, and then Nicholaus lifts the scroll for the room to witness. He speaks, and the hall goes quiet, focused and utterly still.
“Behold your Queen,” he says. The words settle through the room like a stone dropped into deep water. “And know this: within her grows the first child born to this kingdom in more than two hundred years. With the birth of that child, the curse will break, and our people will rise again.”
The silence cracks softly at first with a choked sound from somewhere to the right. A whispered exhale from someone near the front. A hand pressed to a mouth. A shoulder trembling. A guard lowering his head, eyes closed. Hope doesn’t explode. It roots itself slowly, the murmurs rising with little smiles of excitement and joy and the utter bewilderment that just like that, the punishment held over them is over.
Nicholaus smiles proudly and offers his hand. “Walk with me.”

I place my hand in his, and we descend the dais together. The aisle parts with awe as we move. Faces blur into a single impression — relief, disbelief and a grief undone. We reach the doors and move into the bright cold of the balcony corridor. The attendants pull the curtains aside, and sunlight spills across the marble. When the balcony doors open, the courtyard comes into view.
People fill every inch of space. Humans, vampires, young and old. Shoulders pressed together in tight rows. The moment they see us, the noise dies instantly, falling into a silence so complete it seems to absorb the winter air itself. Nicholaus steps up beside me.
“Your queen,” he announces, “and the future she carries.”
The courtyard erupts. Voices rise. Hands lift. A wave of sound sweeps upward in joy, disbelief, prayer, relief, all tangled together. Some cry. Some fall to their knees. Some simply stare, unable to process the reality before them.
Nicholaus leans close, his hand brushing my back. “You gave them more than a queen today,” he murmurs. “You gave them tomorrow.”
I keep my eyes on the people below, letting the sound of their voices settle into my chest. When the chanting fades enough for us to step back inside, attendants and guards bow and begin guiding us toward the next chamber.
“The ballroom is ready,” Marienne says quietly. “They’re waiting.”
Nicholaus smiles warmly at me, “Shall we?”
I nod, and we walk together down the corridor, past tall windows spilling pale light across the floors. The closer we get, the louder the hints of celebration grow, with soft music drifting under the doors, the hush of movement and the low murmur of voices.

The ballroom doors open wide, and warm light washes over us from hundreds of candles hung in iron chandeliers. The polished stone floor reflects the glow in long sweeping arcs. Tables are arranged around the perimeter, laden with food — winter fruits, roasted meats, pastries dusted with sugar, warm breads, steaming bowls of broth. Humans gather near the tables, sampling dishes, laughing softly, hands touching shoulders as though steadying themselves after too much joy at once. The vampires stand closer to the centre of the room, watching quietly, drinking dark wine from silver cups. A string ensemble sits near the raised platform, the first notes of a slow melody already drifting outward. When we enter, the room shifts, settling into a focused, respectful attention. Nicholaus steps half a pace ahead, guiding me in gently. Echoes of applause break out and Nicholaus squeezes my hand once before he speaks.
“We’ll keep it brief,” he murmurs, sensing the faint twist still lingering in my stomach.
“I’m fine,” I whisper back.
“You don’t have to be.”
He lifts my hand, brushing a kiss just above my knuckles and the music swells softly. Couples move aside, clearing the centre floor without needing to be told.
“Dance with me?”
My laugh is quiet. “You’re the one who insisted I shouldn’t walk too far this morning.”
“This,” he says, “doesn’t count as walking.”
I place my hand in his, and he leads me onto the floor.

The musicians shift into a slower melody. Nicholaus rests one hand at my waist, the other holding my hand lightly. I step closer, letting him guide me into the first turn. We move in a slow circle. The room fades at the edges, the crowd blurring into warm colours and soft shapes. His hand steadies the small of my back. My fingers curl into his shoulder. Every step is measured, careful, gentle, as though he is learning how to dance with someone who carries more than herself.
“You’re trembling,” he murmurs.
“Only a little.”
“Only enough for me to feel it.”
His thumb brushes the back of my hand, steadying the faintest quiver. My stomach rolls once, not violently, just enough to remind me that food is still a distant enemy. He senses it immediately.
“We can stop.”
“No,” I breathe. “This is fine.”
And it is. The movement settles the nausea, loosening something tight in my chest. The hall watches quietly — humans smiling softly, vampires standing with hands clasped behind their backs, elders nodding as though witnessing a piece of history unfold in real time. Nicholaus leans in just enough for only me to hear him.
“When we finish this dance,” he whispers, “we’ll sit. You won’t have to go near the food tables.”
“I’m not eating,” I murmur.
“I noticed,” he says, the faintest smile warming his voice. “But I’ll still ask you to try.”
“You’re relentless.”
“For you?” he says softly. “Always.”
The music draws to a slow, lingering close. Nicholaus lowers our hands but doesn’t step away. Applause rises again, warm and relieved, almost emotional in its simplicity. He guides me off the floor with a hand at my back, and attendants hurry to pull out chairs for us at a nearby table. Nicholaus checks me once more with a glance, searching, assessing, making sure everything in me is still settled.
“You did perfectly,” he murmurs.
I rest my hand on my stomach, feeling the faint warmth beneath my palm.
“So did you.”
The celebration continues around us — music shifting to brighter songs, humans dancing, vampires watching with faint smiles as though they are remembering how joy feels on a roomful of faces. For the first time today, I let myself breathe all the way in. I am crowned. I am carrying life. I am about to change in ways I can’t yet imagine. But for right now, I sit beside my king, the people celebrating around us, the weight of the silver leaf warm against my heart and for right now, I let myself enjoy it.