The crown began begging before anyone touched it. From her place on the floor, the scullery girl heard it whisper, “Please. Don’t put me on his head.”

The grand wedding banquet stretched long into the starlit night. The courtyard blazed with thousands of colorful lanterns, music from traveling troubadours filled the air, and tables groaned under the weight of roasted feasts, sweet pastries, and sparkling wine.

At the head table, Queen Lucy sat beside King William, laughing as Captain Marcus attempted—and thoroughly failed—to execute a complicated court dance with the head chef.

William reached under the table, finding Lucy’s hand and interlacing his fingers with hers. She turned to him, her eyes reflecting the warm, golden glow of the festival lanterns.

"Happy?" William asked quietly over the sound of the cheering crowd.

"More than happy," Lucy replied, leaning her head against his shoulder. "The castle feels wonderful tonight. No complaints, no groans, no dark secrets hiding in the foundations."

"Just peace," William murmured, kissing the back of her hand.

Across the courtyard, resting gently on a velvet display cushion in the royal gallery, the old golden crown sat quietly under the moonlight. Its cursed spikes were gone, smoothed down into simple, elegant filigree, gleaming harmlessly as a historical relic of a bygone age. It no longer begged or whispered warnings of death. It was simply a crown, resting in a kingdom that no longer needed monsters to survive.

Lucy looked out over the crowded courtyard, watching nobles and commoners dancing together without fear or division. She closed her eyes for a brief second, listening to the deep, steady, comforting heartbeat of Oakhaven Palace pulsing up through the ground.