Briar reread the first line of the letter she had received from her mother.

The body of it was filled with the grace and poise Queen Leah always displayed, praising what Briar had done in Frankfurt and promising to arrive in time for the coronation. Indeed, Briar had already heard that the Austrian party had gotten in late last night, so she knew Leah would be at the cathedral in only an hour now.

Also in attendance, a different letter had told her, would be Johann, overjoyed to be seeing her again. He had signed his letter King Johann, no mention of zauberer or magic at all.

It had been a time for significant names in letters, apparently. Briar held such a letter, the one from her mother, as she stood in her suite’s front room by the window.

My dearest Briar Rose.

She read it twice more, each character filling up a hole inside her.

Briar.

Not Aurora.

Empress Briar Rose.

It was terrifying, still. It would never not be terrifying. But Briar didn’t fear it as much as she had feared being Queen Aurora, or even Princess Aurora.

She lowered the letter. The dressing mirror was across the room, angled so she saw her reflection in the morning’s pale light. A rosebud-pink gown hemmed in glinting gold, her hair curled in perfect waves, the Austrian crown already on her head, shortly to be removed and replaced by one of two crowns from the Holy Roman Empire’s jewel vault.

One, the crown typically used in declaring the new emperor, inlaid with opulent stones and fine intricate goldwork.

Another, ancient in its design, said to have been formed at the start of the empire itself, a simpler gold band set around an iron circlet, with fewer gems and stones, but still lovely.

The fact that servants had uncovered two crowns in the treasury only sealed this twist of fate even more.

Briar Rose and Frieda would both be empress.

Briar refolded the letter and put it back in the box on her table, one overcrowded with missives and documents and maps, a clutter of proof that she had spent the past two weeks since that banquet room confrontation getting sucked into the tasks that would be her life now. But in this rare moment of quiet—and solitude—Briar couldn’t help but absorb the enormity of what had happened, if only to see how it still felt, to test her own responses.

She would be crowned empress this morning.

She smiled, watching her reflection in the mirror, seeing a glimmer of the peasant bard in the crook of her grin, but the composure of a princess, too, and the stature of a queen, for however short a time she had been each.

There was no looming shadow behind her, no waiting other self who might swoop out and consume her. Going forward, she knew she would be a balance of these pieces, somehow, some way.

She could be many things all at once.

There was a soft knock at the door, and when it opened, in came the woman who now called herself Brynhild. Anyone else would see a magical illusion of her aunts still. Brynhild had asked if Briar would like to see that as well, but it would have been more uncomfortable to know that her aunts were different now and pretend they weren’t.

Brynhild had begun to lay the foundation for her aunts’ departure, though. Mentioning here and there that they had other responsibilities now that Briar would need greater advisers.

Part of Briar wondered if Brynhild’s impending leave was in response to realizing the mistakes that she had made when she had been split into the fairies and Maleficent.

But the other part of Briar knew there was little left for Brynhild to do. This had been her task, hadn’t it? To prepare Briar—and Frieda—to be empress. She had done her duty, and whether Briar and Frieda were up to the challenge was only something they could determine now.

So when Brynhild gave her a kind smile, Briar smiled back, holding that smile against the battering of tangled sorrow and gratitude and grief.

“You have a visitor,” Brynhild said, and stepped aside.

Behind her, coming into the room with her focus on her silk kirtle, was Frieda.

“I’m off to wrangle the rest of your party.” Brynhild slipped back out.

“How long must we be stuffed into these infernal gowns?” Frieda tugged her skirt straighter with a huff.

Briar looped her arm through Frieda’s and pulled her in front of the dressing mirror, her pink gown against Frieda’s blue, her blond hair against Frieda’s brown.

“It will never stop being ridiculous to see us like this.” Frieda heaved a sigh, rigid against Briar’s touch. She was coming around, slowly, almost the Frieda that Briar had known—but there was a level of hesitation in every interaction, no matter how open and effusive Briar was toward her, as though Frieda was punishing herself for what she had done.

“To see you like this, maybe.” Briar stood up straighter. “I look incredible.”

Frieda didn’t respond to that at all but to snort.

“One bit of credit I must give my mother: She preferred and encouraged far more functional dress.” Frieda seemed to realize she had mentioned Matilda in the half beat after she spoke. She stopped, lips flattening, eyes on Briar’s in the mirror.

“Have you spoken with her?” Briar tried, keeping her arm linked with Frieda’s.

“Yes.” Frieda’s gaze dropped. “She will be brought before a tribunal shortly. Whether it is here or back in Bavaria remains to be seen.”

“Austria will recuse itself from any involvement. If it makes things seem less biased, you should hold the trial—”

“That isn’t a concern. Austria should be involved. You are the ones we have hurt most.”

“Not ‘we.’” Briar squeezed Frieda’s arm. “Her. Matilda. Not you.”

Frieda finally met her eyes again in the mirror. Side by side, and Briar leaned her head on Frieda’s shoulder.

She heard Frieda’s quick intake of breath, the grate of what might have been a sniff, saw the way her eyes reddened.

“How can you do that?” Frieda whispered. “Pretend that I’m not at fault for so much. If I had realized sooner—if I had trusted you and Ben over her—”

Briar looked at Frieda. “Because I tried being angry with you, and it only damaged who I am. I’m tired of lingering on mistakes made by people I care about. You’re here now, and yes, we have wrongs to be righted. But we’ll do it together.”

Frieda gave her a disbelieving look. “I don’t for one second believe you’ve lingered on any of my mistakes. You never did. You’ve always been too forgiving—look at your aunts! You and Ben both are too sentimental to be sane. God help me, you’re identical fools.”

“Are you saying we shouldn’t forgive you? Would you feel better if we—I don’t know—demanded recompense of some kind?”

“Yes! Something. I hurt you.”

“Fine then.” Briar straightened and feigned tucking back a hair that wasn’t out of place. “I want you to sing the song about river witches.”

“The—what?”

“That song I wrote you for your twelfth birthday. The one you laughed at, when it was meant to be serious, and I was so cross with you that we didn’t speak for a week. Sing it and don’t laugh.”

Frieda’s blank confusion broke in exasperation. “Be serious, Briar.”

“I’m quite serious. I won’t forgive you otherwise. In fact, I shall endeavor to be positively wicked to you until you sing it. Does that make you feel better?” Briar flipped Frieda a puckered look, all scrunched nose and tight lips in mockery. “You’re the fool. Ben and I forgive you! What more do you want? Accept it, you nitwit, and let’s move on.”

Frieda rolled her eyes, still bloodshot and wet, and when she looked at Briar again, Briar only smiled.

“You’re so infuriating,” Frieda said.

Briar laughed. “I’m glad to have you back, too.”

It was as simple as that. Yes, Frieda had done things that had hurt Briar—but she was here now. They were friends again, or on their way toward it, and maybe Briar should have been more cautious, less trusting, or go it alone. But that had never been her, so why should it be part of this person she was becoming?

If people could be more than one thing, then relationships could be, too. They could be joyous and loving and careful and healing.

They were all multifaceted, and Briar was afloat in that future.

The door thudded into the wall with an unceremonious bang.

“—with a red-hot poker,” Ben was saying, head twisted over his shoulder to talk to Phillip.

“The imagery, good Lord, Benedikt.” Phillip shuddered.

“What imagery?” Briar asked.

Ben looked at her, but his eyes immediately shot to Frieda, and his whole face transformed. His usual steady level of joy went catastrophic, all lustrous smiles and bright eyes and wild giddiness, and as he dove across the room, Frieda could only get out a feeble shriek of “Don’t make them redo my hair!” before Ben hefted her up, lifting her against him and spinning them in a tight circle.

“I’m glad he has someone else to manhandle now,” Phillip said to Briar, putting a much more sedate hand around her hips.

“What was that about a red-hot poker?”

He smirked. “Ah. Ben was listing the other things he’d rather do than ride a horse in a joust.”

Briar whirled on Ben. “You don’t want to be a jouster?”

He set Frieda down, cupping her face in his hands, seeming only half-aware of Briar and Phillip even being in the room. “That was never my goal, Bri. I watch jousting, I’m a rabid fan, but Christ above, to actually ride as a jouster? No, that’s far too close to dancing with death for my tastes.”

Briar grinned up at Phillip. She nodded toward Ben, an unspoken Do you want to tell him?

Phillip shook his head and waved his hand. You be the one.

“But what else are knights to do?” Briar asked, too loudly. “If not joust, then I suppose all that remains is to…marry an empress?”

It was far more satisfying than it should have been to watch Ben’s focus snap away from Frieda. He thrashed his head toward Briar so rapidly that he whipped the tie off his hair.

“I’m sorry, I—I didn’t catch that,” he stammered. “Knight? Empress? What?”

Frieda’s eyes were narrow in amused consideration, dipping between Briar and Ben, her face still pinned in his hands.

“Oh.” Briar put a hand on her chest in exaggerated sincerity. “Oh, this is awkward. Phillip, darling, dearest one, did you not tell him?”

“I must have forgotten, my love.”

“So careless of you, sweetheart.”

“Heartless, I know.”

“Shameful—”

“I hate you both,” Ben cut in. They had his full attention for the first time in two weeks, Briar noted with a grin. “What are you talking about?”

“You’re to be a knight, Ben,” Briar said, unable to stop her smile. “If you want.”

Ben gave a laugh that was more of a startled cough. Then he released Frieda’s face to drop his head into his hands for one beat.

“Why do you keep doing this to me?” he grumbled halfheartedly. His head jerked back up. “I haven’t been a squire nearly long enough to warrant anything close to knighthood. You’re toying with me.”

“Dear me, you’re quite right.” Briar put a finger on her chin in mock thought. “If only someone in this room had the power to waive those sorts of bureaucratic requirements.”

“There are three someones with power of that nature in this room, by my count,” Phillip said.

“Should we fight to the death for the honor?” Briar asked.

“This is the fourteenth century, darling; we need not do anything so barbaric.”

Ben gestured between them. “You two are not in the least funny, trust me.”

“Good,” Briar said. “Because we aren’t joking, Ben. Well, about the death-fighting, perhaps.”

“You—” He flashed a startled look at Phillip. “You’re serious? You’re going to make me a knight?”

Phillip nodded, smiling too.

Ben huffed, head cocked as if waiting for the joke to land.

Frieda came up behind him and took his hand. “Are you all right?”

His eyelids fluttered. He met Briar’s gaze and held it for a moment too long, enough that she could see the unspoken weight in it, the gratitude and amazement.

“A knight.” He exhaled and faced Frieda, breaking into a gleaming smile. “A knight is fit to marry an empress?”

Briar gave a defeated sigh. “Well, this empress is already married.”

Phillip pinched her hip.

Frieda leaned her forehead against Ben’s. “Only if you still believe I’m fit to marry you.”

All of Ben’s humor vanished, leaving only rawness, truth.

“Yes,” he said with unshakable confidence.

Frieda beamed at him, her eyes tearing up.

“This is quite a lot of mushiness for a coronation day,” Ben said. But he kissed her and kept on kissing her, until Briar cleared her throat as loudly as she could.

“I finally understand what you were always complaining about when you were with Phillip and me. I don’t remember you two being nearly this annoying in Hausach.”

Ben laughed. Cackled, more like.

“This is your doing!” Frieda shot her an offended look. “You cannot set up this gift and then be appalled by the reception.”

“You’re right,” said Briar. “This was a spectacular mistake on my part. Ben, I rescind the offer. I’ll make you an earl instead.”

Ben laughed again, a deep, resonant laugh of pure happiness. “Don’t tempt me with that much power, Bri, I’d be too likely to overthrow you. Both you and Frieda. We can take them, can’t we, Phillip? King and earl, start ourselves a nice little war.”

Phillip arched one eyebrow. “Most people give jewelry as a wedding gift, not a war.”

“Do not joke about a civil war!” Frieda looked admittedly horrified, but at Ben’s persistent smile, she relented with an exasperated headshake and hugged him, her chin on his shoulder so she could look at Briar. “This is how it will be, won’t it? Us ruling with this jester at my side. At least yours is tame.”

Phillip barked with a surprising amount of offense. “Tame?” He looked down at Briar piteously. “She thinks I’m tame, Briar.”

Briar was smiling, smiling and she didn’t know if she would ever stop.

She felt the weight of Phillip against her, the palpable joy from Frieda and Ben. “I know the truth, don’t worry,” she said as she threaded her fingers through his.

Footsteps in the hall told her that Brynhild was coming back with her vassals, the rest of her party gathered for the coronation. They would meet with Frieda’s party, too, and make a procession to the cathedral, where the joint coronation would begin. And then she would rule an empire—with her friend at her side, and Phillip and Ben as well.

That was why the image wasn’t frightening. That was why she looked up at Phillip and her smile was so wide.

Because the future that lay before her would indeed be one of unity and peace, starting here, with those she loved. Anything they built on this foundation could only be good and true and right.

It could only be the stuff of dreams.