Domhnall was last. He stood there dressed like the prince she once knew, but there were changes. He wore no crown, his clothes were wrinkled, and that patch remained over his eye.
It was because of him that she began this journey, and now they were finally going their separate ways. It was not what she had originally planned, but she was glad this was their ending.
“Treat Niamh well,” she said, hands fidgeting with her sleeve.
He grinned. “With her, I don’t think I have a say in anything.”
“I’m serious.”
“She can handle herself,” he said. “But if it makes you feel better, I have no intention of ever doing her any wrong.”
“Good. Because if I hear any complaints from her, you’ll find me on your palace steps with a sword in my hands.”
His grin grew even wider. “I don’t doubt that.”
“Be good to yourself too.” The flakes were falling in a proper flurry now, and time was running out. “You deserve happiness.”
His nod was solemn. “Thank you, Clía.”
Ronan joined them. The two men stared at each other, and Clía wondered if they’d ever had to say goodbye before.
Domhnall nodded at the Caisleán insignia pin on Ronan’s cloak. “You wear it well.”
Ronan pulled him into a hug. “I’ll see you again soon.”
“The gods can’t keep us separated for long,” Domhnall said, clapping him on the shoulder.
When they separated, Ronan reached out to take Clía’s hand. The gold flecks in his eyes were radiant. She found herself falling for him all over again.
“We should be on our way,” he said. She nodded, looking back at her friends.
They had struggled, lost, fought, and killed. And they had lived.
What final words were worth leaving them with? Her mother would have said something grand that would resonate with them in her and Ronan’s absence. But she wasn’t her mother, and these weren’t subjects waiting to hear from their princess.
These were her friends, and she had to be nothing but herself.
No combination of words and phrases would change what they thought of her or ease the pain of this moment. So she simply looked at the six of them, drinking in the sight.
Then she turned back to Ronan and took his hand. Snowflakes swirled in the breeze as they climbed into the carriage.
“Are you ready to go home?” he asked.
Clía let her gaze travel from the snow beginning to blanket the dirt to the haunting gray sky. Soon there would be nothing but white on this scarred battlefield.
“I am,” she whispered.
This was not the end. The snow would melt, and flowers would bloom where there was once blood and death.
More battles lay ahead. And she was ready.
Epilogue
THREEMONTHSLATER
The lake was tucked away in a quiet part of the Álainndoran palace’s grounds. Ivy hung down from the surrounding trees, providing a hidden escape. Below the trees, the bushes were finally gaining back their green hues, and Ronan couldn’t wait for the weather to get warm enough for him to plant a garden there.
The water was as smooth as the evening sky above, reflecting soft pinks and faded oranges. Ronan sat on the shore, Clía’s head resting against his chest, until their view was suddenly blocked by a dobhar-chú.
