The Most Precious Gift

Gregor hurried through his lunch, hardly tasting a bite. His thoughts were already racing ahead to The Quiet Room. He had told Luxa he would meet her before nightfall, before their secret return to Redson and the Chamber of Peace. But patience had never been his strength, and today it felt impossible. He slipped from the dining hall and followed the winding corridors until the familiar wooden door came into view.

When he pushed it open, the warmth of the fire spilled toward him—and with it, something that made his heart leap. Luxa was already there.

She turned at once, violet eyes bright against the glow. And then, before Gregor could even form a greeting, she ran to him. The force of her embrace drove the breath from his chest, but he didn’t care. Her arms locked around him as if she never meant to let go, her face pressed close as though she had been waiting hours, days, longer. And he locked his arms around her, pressing her even closer as if that were possible.

“Luxa,” he murmured, steadying himself, “I didn’t think you’d be here yet.”

She shook her head against him, her words muffled but sure. “I could not wait. I told myself I would, but I could not. I needed to see you.”

Relief flooded him, matched with a joy that caught him off guard. “I felt the same,” he admitted. “Like the hours were dragging just to keep us apart.”

For a long moment, they simply held each other. Gregor could feel the faint tremble in her shoulders, the steady beat of her heart, the way she clung as if the walls outside might vanish. Nothing he had ever felt was like—this need simply to be closer together.

At last, Luxa pulled back, though her hands lingered on his arms. She led him toward the fire, where the flames painted the stone in restless gold. Turning, she took both his hands in hers, holding them tight between them, and looked into his eyes as if she were making a solemn vow.

“Gregor,” she said, her voice hushed yet fierce, “I have felt the King leading me to this moment for longer than I dared imagine possible. You have been called prince by others, and you have rejected that royal title. I have called you Prince Gregor for something more than prophecy or peace.”

He blinked, trying to find words, but her gaze held him still, and he marveled at the beauty of her eyes at this moment.

“You may never wear a golden crown upon your head,” she went on, “but you carry something greater—the trust of those who would follow you, and the bond of one who will always stand beside you. You will not be crowned a prince by council or throne. I have called you Prince Gregor, but now I will anoint you my king, for you are my closest and dearest friend. I will anoint you as my true king now, but will you accept this, the greatest of all titles, given by me to you… forever?”

The words struck deep, cutting through the doubts that had haunted him since their last talk.

Luxa lifted her chin, eyes unwavering. “Gregor, I anoint you King Gregor, not with oil or gold, but with something more precious to us both.”

She rose on her toes, and he felt the brush of her lips—light, deliberate—against his right cheek, then his left. The warmth lingered, more powerful than any crown of jewels could have been. He had never felt anything so wonderful, and he never wanted the feeling to stop.

When she stepped back, her eyes shone with quiet certainty. “You are now officially King Gregor, chosen and anointed by your queen. More than this, you will always be my king.”

Gregor’s throat tightened. He had no training for moments like this—no sword drills, no strategy from Ripred, no advice even from his father. All he had was his heart.

“Luxa,” he said slowly, his voice strained with feeling, “I never thought I could be worthy of standing like this with you, but I have dreamed of you in my arms, knowing that this would never be possible for you are a queen. I’ve stumbled more times than I can count, knowing I could never deserve you… and I do not deserve even now to be in your presence like this or your Prince Gregor, as you called me, or now as King Gregor. But if being your king means standing beside you, never leaving your side, fighting for peace, and never letting you bear the weight alone—then I’ll carry it. Gladly. Because I don’t want anything else. Really, I want you more than I want peace and I would go to war to keep you.”

Luxa’s breath caught, her eyes softening as though his confession had struck her deeper than any blade. For a heartbeat, she said nothing, only searched his face with a gaze that held both the steel of a queen and the tenderness of a girl who had lost much and still dared to hope.

Luxa trembled, though her voice held steady. “Gregor, do not speak of deserving me. You are not my king because of perfection—you are my king because we chose each other, again and again, even against fear of what that might come to mean. Peace matters, yes, but my heart is yours first. And I would fight beside you, in war or in love, forever.”

Her fingers tightened around his as she stepped closer, so near the firelight gilded the edge of her hair. “I anointed you with kisses because you are more than a comrade in arms, more than a peacemaker who carries burdens no one else would. You are the one I trust above all others, the one I would have beside me not only in battle but in life. You are my king—not because a crown declares it, but because my heart does. The hope and promise that the King would lead me to my king has been fulfilled.”

Her eyes glistened, fierce and unflinching. “When I touched my lips to your face, it was not just for ceremony, though that is the proper ceremony here when a queen chooses her prince to be her king. I meant it to be forever. Better than any bond sealed in flight—ours is sealed in love, sealed in faith, sealed in the promise that we will never let go. A Regalian bond breaks with death. Ours does not. And if death should try, I would rise and fight it to remain with you.”

Gregor swallowed hard, his chest aching with the weight and wonder of her words. The fire popped softly as though marking their vows to one another, and he felt the truth of their words settle deep within him.

Luxa lifted one hand to his cheek, brushing her thumb lightly across his skin. “What I gave you tonight as my king was far greater than a bond. For it was not born from a single moment of peril—it was born from all that we have endured, all that we still dream to build together. Almost like a prophecy, like the queens before me," she whispered, “Eventually, when the Underland speaks your name, they will not think of crowns or thrones. They will think of the boy who became a man and a prince and my king without either, because he was chosen—by me and by his own heart. You are my prince, you are my king, I have chosen you, and I will not take those words back. Not ever.”

“Yes,” he whispered. “And I have chosen you.”

For a heartbeat, neither spoke. There was only the fire, the nearness, the breath they shared.

She drew closer to him, her forehead resting gently against his chest. The firelight flickered, warm and eternal, as she breathed the words,
“Truly together, now, and forever.”