The Citadel rooftop was still directly below him. This turned out to be for the best, given how low he found his mana reserves to be, once the adrenaline began to fade. He lowered, hardly daring to look down at the thousands of upturned faces on the city streets, and touched down atop the Citadel.

His knees buckled.

Clarus was at his side, hauling him upright and in a moment he was flanked by both Clarus and Weskham, as if between the two of them they could hide from view the quivering of his legs.

Damn this magic! Would he ever be free of the weakness that came from once-simple exertions? Or was that time of his life well and truly past, despite Reina's best efforts to end the war and free him from the Wall?

No. He refused to believe that. He was not so old after all. Merely tired. He had, after all, not had the most restful sleep recently.

He locked his muscles in place and drew more of his strength from the Wall, pulling it back like a petulant child coveting his favored toy from a jealous relative, until the Wall itself was nothing but a facade. An image of a barrier, which a tap from a Magitek soldier would have brought crumbling down. No matter. The war was over. The threat to Insomnia was gone. And all this strength belonged once more to him, whether he could truly release the accursed barrier or not, for political reasons. He would have this much strength, at least. The strength needed to stand on his own and walk tall without aid or assistance.

He pulled his arms free from both Weskham and Clarus, as discreetly as he was able, given that members of the council were now pushing their way past his retinue to ogle him. For a moment they all stood in speechless awe before, one by one, they dropped to their knees and bowed their heads. Even his retinue joined, as if they had momentarily forgotten that he was just an aging father who, more than anything, wanted what was best for his children.

In the absence of the storm, the silence seemed deafening. But a sound began to rise up from beneath them. Like the pattering of rain, growing steadily louder with the swelling of a storm. His retinue lifted their heads first, then the councilors, as they glanced about the otherwise empty rooftop, searching for the source of the sound.

"Your Majesty…" Sylva stood at the edge, nearly forgotten in the midst of the excitement.

He stepped out from between Clarus and Weskham, coming instead to stand beside Sylva. He followed her eyes down. The streets surrounding the Citadel and beyond were still packed with people. The umbrellas had disappeared, revealing tens of thousands of faces staring up.

It was the sound of applause. Of cheering. Of thousands of voices raised and rejoicing. And a growing chant rose up from his people.

"Regis! Regis! Regis! Regis!"

For a moment he could do nothing, save stare. But a lifetime of royal training took over and he lifted his hand to wave. The cries grew to crescendo.

"History has been made today," Sylva said.

"They could not have heard a word of what passed between us," said Regis.

"No. But they know what they witnessed: their king and sovereign, facing down the God of the Storm himself, and splitting open the black clouds that have plagued Lucis for months."

And then landing on the rooftop and nearly falling on his face. No. It was best that the veil remained firmly in place for them.

He was suddenly aware that he was standing in a puddle and dripping wet. He offered up one final wave to the crowds before turning and heading for the ladder.

"Weskham," he said, "Let some official statement be made to the press. I am going to have a bath and a change of clothes."

For once, his desires were as easily said as done. Avunculus was only too happy to provide both, though the latter lay hanging, half forgotten, on the suit stand beside his bath when he fell into bed directly. He had ended the storm. Let the others deal with the aftermath. Whatever that entailed.

He woke to explosions.

He struggled upright through a black haze of sleep, grasping for consciousness. The Wall. The Wall was weakened. If Niflheim struck it with so much as a grain of rice—

A hand clutched his shoulder. Lights burst outside his darkened bedroom windows: an explosion of color painted across the clear night sky in violets and blues, lighting Crea from behind.

By the light of the fireworks, he could just make out the smile on her face. "They're celebrating."

Regis let out a slow breath, willing his heart to settle to a normal pounding, and dropped back onto his pillow.

"Celebrating," he repeated.

"The end of the storm. You've been all over the news all evening. I'm sure by morning the picture of you standing atop the Citadel with the sun setting directly behind you will be all over the kingdom."

Regis groaned. "Was it that bad?"

She laughed. "You looked glorious. I can't wait to see what the headlines will say about you: 'King Regis Calms Angry God,' 'King Regis: Divine'—"

"That's quite enough, thank you."

She laughed again and he could not help but smile. She looked divine herself, sitting beside his bed in her courtly gown, lit by the occasional burst of color from fireworks outside.

"I'm so proud of you. Even from behind the veil, that was extraordinary," Crea said.

"You know full well it is Reina we must thank." He glanced around, half expecting to see his children in attendance. They were, of course, not present. The grandfather clock indicated it was midnight. "How are they?"

"Well enough. Reina was reluctant to see you go and spent several hours this afternoon sitting anxiously in the lounge while Noctis tried to distract her. Later we watched as much as we were able from the windows and the rest on the television. It was impossible to hear what you said, of course, but Reina quoted half the conversation as if she had some superhuman sense of hearing. It took hours to convince them to both lay down, after the excitement of the day. I doubt they're truly asleep if you wish to see them."

Had it really been last night when he had been convinced Reina might be forever lost to him? Had she, only this morning, clung to him like she was once more eight years old and insecure in her father's love?

And all because she had disobeyed a direct order from him and, in so doing, saved Lucis. Saved him.

He could not put these things off indefinitely. But let them be put off for a little longer, at least.

"I hardly know what to do with her," Regis said. "Is she greatly troubled still?"

"She's recovering well enough, though she's worried you'll be angry with her once the relief wears off. I think in time the stubborn streak will resurface and you'll find yourself with a self-righteous almost-thirteen-year-old on your hands once more."

"I'm not sure which I prefer," Regis said. "She disobeyed me several times over last night. And yet, in so doing, the result has been positive."

"That seems to be a trend with her." The smile on Crea's face could only have been pride.

Regis sighed. "Yes. And it is a trend I worry about. That she has defied me to make wise choices thus far does not make her immune to poor ones. What happens when she makes a grave miscalculation?"

"Then she makes a grave miscalculation and she'll have to learn to live with it."

Regis pursed his lips.

"I know you don't like that answer much, but they're of an age when they will want—and need—to make their own choices. Good or bad, you'll have to let them make those choices. That Reina has the self-confidence to step out from behind your authority and make a decision for herself is—whatever else it may initially seem—a wonderful thing. I can tell you now because there is no longer any danger, but once I feared she would forever lack that self confidence. That she would forever be looking to others for guidance."

When she put it like that, it seemed less dire and more natural. Nevertheless. "I would prefer that she made choices on a smaller scale. One that does not threaten so many lives."

"If she were any other child, perhaps she would. But not only is she the daughter of a king and the twin of the heir to the throne, but she also possesses magic that, by its very nature, seems to thrust her into the most tumultuous matters."

Regis groaned. She was right. She was right and he hated it. If only his children could have lived normal lives, removed from all this. For all that he had tried, they were flung into the midst of it in the end. It seemed inevitable. Unavoidable.

"Then what am I to do?" He asked. "Advise me, my queen."

She shot him a teasing glare at the title. "I thought queens didn't have to deal with child-rearing."

"This one certainly does," Regis said. "I will trust no other with the task."

Her glare turned to a sweet smile. "I'm glad to hear it."

She crossed one arm over her stomach and tapped her finger against her lips. Somehow, despite her courtly gown, this simple motion transformer her back into a nanny before his very eyes.

"She expects something and so you should do something. To let it pass, I think, is a bad idea. As you have said, she did disobey you and, at twelve years, the end does not always justify the means. On the other hand, it must be a punishment she perceives as fitting to the misdeed, or else—once her inner teen wakes back up—we'll have more trouble on our hands."

Regis nodded along with this reasoning. "There also remains the issue of Crowe, who knew of Reina's deeds and plans, and disclosed nothing."

"Another double-edged blade," Crea said. "As she showed that she has placed her loyalty with Reina, rather than with you. A not altogether poor place for it to be."

"Arguably," Regis said.

Crea gave him a lopsided grin. "What would it have done to your relationship with Weskham if, instead of meeting you at the door with a towel and a fresh change of clothes had told your father that you'd climbed down the outside of the Citadel tower in the rain?"

Regis stared. "How do you learn these things?"

"I talk to your friends," she said. "Well? What would it have done?"

"Nothing favorable."

"The bond she has with Crowe is more important than Crowe's loyalty to the crown. Maybe Crowe understands that."

"Perhaps," Regis conceded. "And yet, if she intends to advise the princess, I should prefer she had more specialized education with which to do so."

"Well, there you have it, then. Their punishment—if it can be called that—is additional tutoring on subjects that, perhaps, both of them should be familiar with in any case," Crea said.

"Diplomacy?" Regis asked.

"You'd be more familiar with all than me. Diplomacy, negotiation, subterfuge—I don't know. But Crowe would make an excellent spy."

An interesting suggestion.

Regis leaned back against his pillows. "You may have hit on something, there. By what Reina has said, she danced a subtle dance with the chancellor, and all this at Crowe's guidance. If they insist upon darting around behind my back in this fashion, let them at least have the tools to do so properly. And perhaps we shall put them to use in time."

"I'm afraid I won't be much use finding a tutor for that. You're better off discussing with Clarus."

A tutor to teach them of the subtle side of communications. Of all the little bits and bobs that went on underneath the surface, unnoticed by all but the keen-minded few. There was only one person who fit the description well.

He groaned aloud at the mere thought. "Am I permitted to place a guard on my daughter's tutor?"

"Crowe's going to be there anyway," Crea said. "Why? Who are you thinking?"

"One mischievous Master Hamon Carina."