The Summer King and His Winter Bride-Chapter 75: Candidates

The throne room was cold.

Not in temperature as the fires crackled steadily in the fire place but in spirit.

The space had always been austere, carved in black stone and moonlight, but now it felt cavernous and hollow.

As Nixon stepped into its center, his footsteps echoed like distant thunder, swallowed by the height of the vaulted ceiling.

He walked alone, though his advisors waited just beyond the chamber doors. They would enter when summoned. For now, he needed the moment to himself, to let the choice settle in his soul.

His hand brushed along the edge of the throne as he passed it. He wasn’t ready to sit not until he felt like a king again and he had taken the first step toward securing the court’s future.

From his belt, he withdrew a sealed letter. A name inscribed on the outside in his own careful handwriting.

To High Priestess Imara of the Dawn Court.

The first invitation.

There would be more. Candidates from every realm, noble daughters with ambitions sharpened like blades, emissaries veiled in silks and secrets. Some would see opportunity and others, danger.

Few would understand the depth of what he was truly asking.

He set the letter upon the pedestal near the throne, a symbol of the beginning.

A flicker of magic shimmered through the seal it was his own, ensuring it could not be opened by any but its recipient.

A soft knock echoed through the chamber doors.

"Enter," Nixon called, his voice a low command.

The doors opened, and Cassian stepped in, his oldest friend, and one of the few souls he still trusted implicitly.

The spymaster’s cloak trailed like shadow behind him, his expression unreadable as always.

"You’ve made the decision," Cassian said, not in a question but in a statement of quiet certainty.

Nixon nodded. "The letters will go out today."

Cassian glanced toward the letter on the pedestal, then back to his king.

"And you truly believe one of them will give you what you seek?"

"A queen?" Nixon asked, a bitter smile touching his lips. "Yes. That much is inevitable."

"But more than that," Cassian pressed. "You hope for something deeper."

Nixon didn’t answer right away. He walked past the pedestal and to the great glass doors that overlooked the outer gardens.

The sun had risen higher now, painting the stone with soft amber light. Shadows still clung to the corners, but they no longer ruled.

"I hope," Nixon said at last, "that amidst all the politics and posturing, I might find someone who sees the night not as a prison but as a promise."

Cassian was quiet for a moment. "Hope, Your Majesty, is a dangerous game."

"And so is ruling," Nixon replied, turning back to him. "But here I am, still playing."

The scroll arrived bound in twilight-grey ribbon, sealed with the wax crests of the four other courts, Spring, Summer, Autumn, and Winter.

That alone made Nixon pause. Unity among the courts was rare; agreement rarer still. And yet, here it was, a message from the world beyond his shadows urging him toward a decision he had already begun to make.

He stood in the council chamber, the windows thrown wide to the pale light of dawn.

The parchment was thick, formal, its ink glimmering faintly with enchantment.

At his side, Cassian, Sera, and Chancellor Verin waited silently.

With one clean motion, Nixon broke the seal and unrolled the scroll.

The letter opened with an almost ceremonial tone, the voice of diplomacy cloaked in courtesy:

To His Majesty, King Nixon of the Night Court,

In these days of peace and renewal, the Courts find themselves united not only in purpose but in vision.

The restoration of balance has been hard-won, and now we look to secure it for generations to come.

We write not to pressure, but to offer. Below are names of those among our courts who would make fine queens, not merely for the sake of alliance, but for the strength, wisdom, and grace they embody.

May you find among them a match worthy of your crown and your heart.

With honor and shared purpose,

King Cyrus of the Spring Court, King Casimir of the Summer Court, Queen Arabella of the Autumn Court, and Queen Caroline of Winter Court

Below the names of the candidates were listed:

Lady Thalia of the Spring Court – a healer and botanist, with a reputation for serenity and insight. Said to sing to flowers and speak to roots.

Lady Serana of the Summer Court – radiant and commanding, known for her mastery of light magic and diplomacy. She had once calmed a sea storm with only her voice.

Lady Moira of the Autumn Court – a tactician and scholar, quiet in presence but razor-sharp in mind. Her family had ruled borderlands for centuries.

Lady Ysra of the Winter Court – stoic and strong, gifted in frost craft and war strategy. Rumors claimed she had once ridden into battle atop a large white horse.

Nixon read their names aloud, his voice calm but distant.

When he finished, he lowered the scroll onto the table with a soft sigh.

"So," he murmured, "they agree. A king should not stand alone."

"They agree a king without an heir is a risk," Verin added. "And that placing a daughter in your court gives them influence."

"They’d be fools not to try," said Sera. "The Night Court is stable again. Too stable for them to ignore."

Cassian stepped forward, voice quieter. "Still... there is respect in this. They’re not forcing your hand. Not yet."

Nixon turned toward the tall windows. Outside, the sky had fully brightened, light bleeding across the edges of the Night Court’s black spires. T

he balance he had helped forge now demanded something more from him, more than leadership. It was a legacy.

He spoke without turning. "Summon envoys to each court. Tell them I will receive the candidates in the coming new moon. If I am to choose, I will do so with eyes open."

"And an open heart?" Cassian asked softly.

Nixon’s silence stretched for a breath.

"That remains to be seen."