Eventually, the people began to recognize her as the lost Queen Marigold. They saw Finn and he didn’t even have to ask after a woman with long, chestnut brown hair. They freely offered that the old queen was seen in these parts. They gossiped with excitement and wondered what stories Marigold would have to tell after her disappearance.
Meanwhile, Helena and Topaz flew above it all, so as not to be recognized.
They caught sight of her only as she entered the limits of the kingdom proper. Her hair was down, her gait high. There were people lined in the streets…cheering for her. It was a strange parade of one–Marigold, barefoot in her torn, purple dress. She seemed to have grown taller. But then, this was always how Finn saw her, with a halo of brilliant elegance, despite her confused upbringing.
Marigold let her hand be held by babies in the street but any man who tried to touch her, to cut a lock of her hair, she suspended in the air. This only made the public cheer more at her return.
Finally, at the steps of the palace, she turned around.
She saw the excited crowds, but she seemed to be searching.
She locked eyes withhim.
Finn reddened. This woman was extraordinary. He had always known that. When she walked back towards him and took his hand, he felt whole again.
He only hoped he wasn’t just one of the admiring many.
When he looked around him, Finn thought he saw a tall man in a billowing black cloak looking on them, like an agent of fate.
But no, it couldn’t be.
They walked through the doors of the palace together, William, Oak, and Rain behind them. Finn took in the grandeur of the palace for the first time in proper daylight as two children, led by nurses, appeared to greet their mother.
Finn’s attraction to her deepened when he saw her like this, and he indulged in the idea of Marigold as the mistress of their family home alongside Rosemary, a bevy of happy children around them. Soon Freddie and Rosemary appeared, after being sick with worry, to realize that all was well.
When it was all over and the relief set in, King Topaz arranged for Finn and William to have rooms to sleep in. Finn witnessed a moment between Marigold and Topaz; he felt awkward arranging a room for her, so he would just let her choose.
Finn ascended the staircase to his room in a kind of daze. The sun was still out, but he was sleep-deprived. People were celebrating the survival of their former queen in the streets, but Finn couldn’t keep his eyes open. When he closed the door to his room, he felt intensely lonely in this strange but beautiful and dramatic place.
He thought he might even be left tossing and turning for a few hours before sleep took him. But he was wrong.
In seconds, he was sleeping and dreaming of Marigold. Not as she was walking through the streets, but as he found her in the fields outside his house that morning. Only this time he lay down beside her. He nestled his head in her hair and wrapped his arms around her.
When he stirred, the sky had darkened, and he almost felt that Marigold was really there with him. He smelled her, her hair damp and fresh as it was after she bathed, her skin soft and smooth. He opened his eyes and still saw her. He touched her cheek and felt her.
“What are you doing here?” he whispered. Marigold, bleary-eyed with sleep, settled in closer to him, put her face against his bare chest. They were under the covers and a crescent moon hung in the sky.
“When those men were plotting to kill me, I kept thinking of you,” Marigold explained simply.
“You? Queen Marigold thought of little me?”
Marigold wrinkled her nose.
“I am not queen.”
Finn felt her draw closer and the world recede. None of it mattered. Not Topaz, not Hestia, not William, or the fire kingdom and its opponents. He had travelled here, passed a sleepless night in stress and misery, just for this moment alone, and it was all worth it. Marigold pressed her body against him. She kissed his chest and he put his hands on the small of her back. He turned her over and lifted up her nightdress to enter her. He felt all of her–her large breasts, her luscious hair, her wet sex, as he thrust on top of her. Then, he lay on his side and brought her to him, still connected to her, holding her across the chest with his arm. He’d never let her go. His desire felt endless, and it was being endlessly renewed and then satisfied, satisfied, then renewed. She rolled over and mounted him, so that their bodies pressed together under the covers of the thin sheet. All of her softness was against his flesh as they kissed and gently moved together, and when he thought he could take it no longer, she sat up on him and rocked so slowly and began to moan, reaching her climax. He could see all of her and no longer held back his own desire.
When they were done, she said nothing, and he remembered when he blurted out that he loved her after the last time they were together. He risked saying it again when she closed her eyes as if to go to sleep again, and she quickly blinked them open.
“Of course, I love you, too,” she said, and his heart swelled. “From the moment I met you, I felt something. But you are engaged,” she said, “and what I am about to say may ruin everything for you, even if you love me.”
“What do you mean?”
Marigold looked away from him and bit her lip.
“I’m pregnant.”
Chapter Thirteen
