He headed out of the citadel and met up with Felicity, Willow, and a pair of unicorns that had stayed behind. Tristan mounted one and they galloped to the rift. Once they were safely through, he dismounted and both-direction spun his crucible. He spoke in Elvish. “Matriarch, report.”

  Her voice came back to him across the sky. “The army is back, the incursion rift is closed.”

  Tristan looked at the gnomes who had helped set up the fortification. “We are all accounted for?”

  “Yes, Lord Tristan.”

  He nodded. “Good.” He looked at Willow. “Close it up.” She did so, and Tristan let out a deep sigh of relief. “Prepare our celebration for any who were lost. We will mourn, and then feast on their behalf. Willow, please go to The Citadel and retrieve Eloise. She should be here for this. I’m going to be in the Queen’s Wood.” He began walking up the ramp into the massive tree, and heard Felicity’s Elfanoid-form footsteps just behind him.

  “Are you okay?” she asked.

  He reached back and grabbed her hand gently. “I am,” he whispered. “It’s . . .” He drifted off as he walked down below the Queen’s Wood, and went right to the sap pool. He sat on the edge of it, pulling his knees up to his chin and setting his head to rest on them. “I just had to tell her. Mother . . . I know you can’t hear me. But this is where I lay you to rest, and it feels like the right place . . . we avenged you. Everyone who died to those assassins, we avenged . . . thank you for raising me how you did. I hope I’m living up to your expectations.”

  Felicity wrapped her arm around his shoulder and squeezed, though he didn’t feel it at all thanks to the armor. “She would be proud of you,” she whispered.

  I can’t speak as her, but you just went into another realm, and killed its Realm Protector. All under thirty minutes. That beats my record. Zeltana’s voice was lighthearted, but sincere. In all seriousness, I am proud of what you’ve achieved. The major threats to the bloodline are dealt with.

  Tristan nodded slowly. “I can’t just sit here,” he said as he pushed himself to his feet, and Felicity stood up with him. “There is work to be done. A realm to rule. People who need my guidance. Fallout to deal with.”

  Take some time to celebrate those who gave their lives to protect yours, and your triumphs.

  That made Tristan’s stomach curdle. “People died for my revenge,” he whispered. “How many?” he asked as he turned to Felicity.

  “I don’t know. Want me to find out?”

  Tristan nodded, and Felicity shifted to her fairy dragon form before flying away. He made his way over to his chambers and took off his armor and gear. His skin was bruised where some of the armor was bashed in, and he quickly caste Cure Wound to fix the injuries that he barely felt.

  Felicity came back, shutting the door in her Elfanoid form, and going to sit on the bed. “We lost twenty. All in Saumur.”

  That’s an incredibly low number.

  Tristan still felt a pang of regret and sat on the bed next to Felicity, grasping her hand and just feeling her presence next to him. “People died for my revenge. To avenge my mother, and everyone else the assassins killed.” He felt just as much sorrow in that moment as he did when the forces under his command died in The Witchwood, which he had pushed aside in the moment but now with all of his urgent goals achieved, left him to deal with the emotions. He felt his eyes misting, and wiped them with the back of his hand. “I know it’s a risk they all took—”

  Felicity grabbed his chin and turned his face to hers. She had a slight frown, but it was gentle. “You did what needed to be done. You could have tried to assault Duberceix’s citadel on your own, and you didn’t. It was less risk. And they chose to help. You only took volunteers.”

  Yeah, don’t be so hard on yourself.

  Tristan sighed and held his head in both of his hands. “If I’m not hard on myself, then I won’t be the man I should be.” He looked up at the pool on the other side of the room. “ A lord should feel sorrow when those under his command perish. A ruler should value every one of their subjects. If I don’t feel this sorrow, if I don’t let myself wallow in it for a few moments . . . I will become callous and jaded.” He shook his head and stood up. “Tonight we celebrate their sacrifice.” He went to the door and glanced back at Felicity. “Come on, my love. We should help arrange things.”

  The whole of the Fey Realm was in attendance, as was Eloise and a few people at the Citadel of Essence who came with her – the Headmaster, Reginald Thrant the head of admissions, and even Archivist Betty. Logos was present, and he looked like a tall, lanky man with deep, blue skin and pure, white eyes. Tristan stood up, and cleared his throat. Everyone quieted, and he raised his glass. “A toast to the fallen.”

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  Everyone raised their cup. “Hail the victorious dead!”

  “Hail!”

  Tristan took a sip of the starberry wine, and then waited until all had sipped their drinks. The only sound was the bubbling of food in pots and the quiet talk of the gnomes in the crafting area, working on the finishing touches for the feast. “They gave their lives in service of the Fey Realm and its goals. Their sacrifice will be remembered, and their names not forgotten.” He glanced sideways at a huge chunk of granite that had been dredged up from the depths of the Fey Realm and planted upright into the dirt next to the Queen’s Wood. Every name of every person who had died, species or Heritage, since Tristan took over, was etched into the stone in intricate Elvish script. A constant reminder to him that sometimes ruling came at a price.

  He turned back to face the assembled Fey Realm. “Tonight, we celebrate the victory they helped achieve. The Demon King, who plotted and successfully eliminated dozens of prominent bloodlines, has been slain.” At this, he paused, and raucous applause shook the surrounding trees. He waited for the cheering to end, and then finished his speech. “The Winterbloom is no more. Now begins the era of the Dragonbloom.” He gestured with his left hand, and two fairy dragons who had been nestled up in the top boughs unfurled a huge banner. One that Tristan designed and painted in smaller scale.

  A gold, hexagonal scale with flowering vines blooming from the edges. The field was a shimmering band of rainbow hues, and in the center a silver claw with black tips holding a blossoming Winterbloom flower. There was applause, and Tristan smiled. “Please enjoy the feast prepared by our master chefs.” He took his seat, and the band struck up a chord.

  Felicity at his left hand began chatting with Thallia, who seemed to bear the conversation well enough. The Matriarch at his right was talking to Logos, and Tristan was trying to listen in to their conversation, but could not make it out given the general chatter. He did not feel like eating, or drinking, and instead waited until the second rotation where fairy dragons who had been eating swapped with those who had been serving.

  Tristan leaned over to Felicity. “I’m going to excuse myself. I’ll be on the top boughs.”

  She looked at him with concern. “Are you okay?”

  He nodded. “I am. I just want some time alone.” He stood up and entered the Queen’s Wood, walking up to the top boughs, and sank into one of the cushioned chairs. He leaned his head back and allowed himself to relax, loosening all tension.

  I know what you are feeling, Zeltana said bluntly. That impossible to release tension. You feel like you have to keep pushing, keep driving forward, but don’t need to. You cannot relax.

  Tristan closed his eyes and entered his Inner World, manifesting and walking to the tree to sit on a couch next to Zeltana. She regarded him with slight concern, but he ignored her look. “There is more to do,” Tristan said. “What King Arinclex said . . . I was thinking about it. He might decide his “taking care” of the Elves is killing them.”

  Zeltana grimaced. “If he does that, then I think you’re more than justified in killing him.”

  Tristan sighed and rubbed his temples. “And then there’s this whole business with who the next Demon Realm ruler is. Probably Clova Parslile, and I already told her about that plan to betroth a demon of her house to the empress Obadai serves.” He groaned in frustration. “Plus, we have the sub seals to deal with, and then getting all of the Elves back.”

  Zeltana got up and sat next to him, wrapping an arm around his shoulder. “You cannot do everything. Delegate, as you have done thus far. The Elves are being handled by Thalli and The Matriarch. With Willow and the dryads, Elves will come back with ease. This whole empress plot? That just requires a few diplomatic visits and then planting your fake brother. Focus inward. The Fey Realm needs to be unsealed fully. And, then, you can look to grafting Lost Realms, going to the Wild Realm and finding more dragons, increasing your own power. Be that benevolent conqueror you want to be.”

  Tristan nodded. “I agree . . . but I’ve just been constantly on the go or taking action for the past seasons. Ever since I learned of my real Heritage. I’m struggling with not having anything pressing.”

  Zeltana rubbed his shoulder. “I felt much the same. Restless. Sex helps. Well, it helped me, at least, forgetting about my worries in intimacy.”

  Tristan rolled his eyes, pushed her away gently, and stood up. “And then there’s the assassins who were in Saumur that need to be tracked down, and dealing with The Citadel and the fallout of that whole situation—”

  Zeltana got up and slapped him across the face. Hard. He barely registered the blow, and just stood there. “You idiot,” she growled. “You are the ruler of the realm. Delegate. You are the lord. Act like one.”

  Tristan sighed. “I . . . I will try. Don’t fucking hit me again.”

  She let out a barking laugh. “Or what?”

  Tristan glowered at her. “You have been a guide, but you’re also an asshole, you know that?”

  “It got your mind off of wallowing about the tasks before you, didn’t it?”

  Tristan couldn’t argue with that, and just departed his inner world, waking up on the cushion. He felt another presence nearby, and glancing to his left, saw Felicity sitting there. “What are you doing here?” Tristan asked her as he stopped the both-direction spin of his crucible, shutting Zeltana from his mind.

  She kicked her feet a little bit. “I didn’t want you to be alone.” She looked up at the stars. “We’ve got an eternity together, Tristan. Enjoy it.” She reached a hand over and grabbed his, rubbing the back of his knuckles with her thumb. “You stress too much. Take a lesson from fairy dragons – be carefree.”

  Tristan looked up at the stars overhead. “I know . . . I’ll try.”

  “Good. Now, we should go back down. People are starting to ask questions – mostly the visitors.”

  Tristan groaned and stood up. “Fine. Whatever you say.”

  Felicity stood up and gave him a kiss, and for a brief moment he felt the stress of what needed to be done wash away in her warm embrace.

  Maybe Zeltana was onto something here. He returned her kiss passionately, and ignored the feast and music down below.