As he walks away, I’m left staring after him, my mind already racing through the implications. Another variable to factor into our plans, another element that could make the difference between success and catastrophic failure.
“So that’s why you brought me here,” I say to Laurie, who’s appeared beside me with his usual silent grace.
Laurie blushes, colour spreading prettily across his cheekbones. “Partly,” he admits. “But mostly because...” He trails off, suddenly fascinated by his boots.
“Because?”
“Selwyn and I intend to live here,” he says in a rush, the words tumbling over each other. “After everything is finished, when the portals are sealed and the world is safe.We want to be part of this family. To make a home here with my brother.” He looks up at me, vulnerability clear in his blue eyes. “We were wondering if you would like to live here too.”
The question hits me with unexpected force. I look around the room, still warm with the lingering presence of so many people who’ve chosen to build something good together. The easy acceptance, the way those children demanded stories about dragons instead of cowering in fear. The way Ned offered crucial information without demanding anything in return.
I think about Jack’s promise that we can save the world and then fall in love. The possibility that there might be a place for us where we don’t have to hide or fight or constantly watch our backs.
“I’m honoured that you would ask,” I tell Laurie, and I mean it. “Truly honoured.”
His face lights up with hope, but I hold up a hand before he can respond.
“But first we have to succeed,” I say sternly.
“Of course,” Laurie says quickly. “I just... I wanted you to know that the offer is there. That you have options.” He reaches out to touch my arm gently. “You don’t have to face the future alone.”
The simple kindness in his words nearly undoes me. After a lifetime of isolation, of trusting no one and depending only on myself, the idea that I might have a family, a chosen family, waiting for me is almost too much to process.
“Thank you,” I manage, my voice shaking for more than I would like.
As we prepare to leave, Laurie calling for his dire wolf and gathering thanks and promises to visit again soon, I find myself looking back at the transformed manor house with something I’ve never felt before.
Hope.
A place where I can stay on Earth, with Jack, and not put him in constant danger by my simple existence. Humans who hate fey, wouldn’t hurt him getting to me if they couldn’t find me. And they wouldn’t be able to find me here. This place is warded by a powerful demon.
We could hide here. We could be safe here.
Hope.
Not just for survival, but for something more. For the possibility that there might be a place in this world where I can simply be myself, without masks or careful calculations or the constant weight of political manoeuvring.
A place where Jack and I can build something good together, surrounded by people who choose to care about each other. Where children ask about dragon preferences and vampires share crucial intelligence because it’s the right thing to do.
The portal back to London shimmers to life under my hands, but for the first time in my life, I’m reluctant to leave a place behind.
“Ready?” Laurie asks, already stepping toward the doorway.
“Ready,” I tell him, but as I follow him back to his art studio, I’m already planning my next visit.
Because for the first time, I have something to look forward to after the war is won.
Chapter thirty-three
Dyfri
Jack’s fingers work with careful precision through my hair, weaving the strands into the intricate pattern of my wedding braid. Each movement is deliberate and gentle, his touch sending small shivers of warmth across my scalp. The lamplight catches the silver thread as he works, the same thread that binds us together in more ways than one.
The rest of my hair is already done. Adorned with the gift he gave me on his human festival. Silk ribbons that I am so proud to wear. A symbol of how proud I am to be his.
In our bedroom mirror, I can see the careful furrow of his brow, the way his eyes track each strand to ensure the pattern is perfect. He’s become remarkably skilled at this, my human husband, learning the intricacies of fey customs with the same determination he applies to everything else.
The ritual should be soothing, but tonight it feels bittersweet. I watch our reflection in the mirror as he concentrates, his tongue poking out slightly in the way it does when he’s focused on something important.
