I slap his chest. “I’ve never saved you.”
“You did.” He brushes my dark curls from my face. The mist from the sea now mixed with a few tears of my own. “That day in Copenspire when we met, you saved me in so many ways, I just didn’t know it yet.”
He kisses me again, this time quickly before he spins me toward the hill. “Now, come. At long last, my queen,” he says,taking my hand and leading me up the hill, “let me show you to your throne.”
Fifty-Four
Elora
Three Years Later
“And the cropsin Wickersham and Copenspire have been more than fruitful, Your Majesty. We’ve had to extend the fields twice over to accommodate.” Councilwoman Maeve sits across from me, her dark hair only slightly longer than it was when we met three years ago.
After the coronation, Sorin and I let the rest of the council go, replacing it with those we seemed more fit.
Agnes and Ulric were the first obvious choices as well as Evren and Tallulah.
But there was something about Maeve, something that told me I could trust her. And luckily, three years later, I still do.
My heart swells hearing that the crops we replanted several years ago are not just surviving, but thriving. It’s been a straining few years repairing the damage from the blight, but finally, it feels as though we’ve made it through to the other side.
“And the rations?” I ask, swirling my finger along the rim of my teacup. “Have they continued to increase?”
“Yes, Your Majesty, just as you asked.” She smiles, her long, jade earrings catching in the light. “But with the towns growing their own food again, there hasn’t been much need for them.”
“Make sure they’re sent anyway.”
Maeve nods as she jots a few notes down.
“There is one more thing,” she starts, “about the Wicked Wood.”
My body tenses, nails digging into my palms. “What about it?” A shiver runs down my spine, remembering the last time I was there. Remembering how close I was to not returning.
Maeve eyes me over her notebook before setting it down. “There’s been no new growth.” She shrugs. “It seems whatever you did that day, was enough to?—”
“They’re here!” Sorin bursts into our room, startling Hati and Skoll who are dozing by the fire.
Maeve and I both turn, and neither of us has to ask to know who he’s talking about.
“They’re here?” I stand from behind my desk. He grins, nodding and gesturing me forward. “Maeve we’ll?—”
“Of course, Your Majesty,” she says. “We’ll pick this up another time.”
I weave around her, making sure the wolves know to stay behind this time.
We race through the castle halls, my stomach swirling and fingers tingling. Once we reach the large oak doors, Sorin doesn’t wait to knock before he swings them wide open.
Sam and Jarek both glance our way, matching grins on their faces. I hardly have time to take in the scene before me when a cry pierces the air. I jump slightly at the sound and Sorin laughs.
“Can run with a pack of wolves, cannot handle a baby crying. Noted.” He pinches my sides, and I scowl at his back as we join Samaria and Jarek at the table.
“Aunt Elora and Uncle Sorin,” she says through a smile, “meet Satori, Princess of Scandavi and your new niece.”
I glance down at the now quiet babe and my breath catches. Her skin matches Sam, but her hair is Jarek’s, blonde and curly. Her full cheeks puff out as she wiggles in Sam’s arms.
“She’s beautiful,” I whisper, stroking a finger down her velvety cheek.
“Looks just like her mother,” Jarek says. He straightens his shoulders, his eyes glued to Samaria.
