My mouth parts, and I stare at him, wide-eyed.
“When I saw you step in front of that sword,” Zephyrus says lowly, “my heart stopped. And I knew then what I had denied for weeks: that my search for freedom had become secondary to the search for home, and that home was you.”
It is the most profound relief to know our hearts are aligned. I haven’t the words to combat his claim, for he, too, is my home. “Why do you say the nicest things?” I wail. “It’s not right.”
I have never heard anything more devastating than his laughter, its warmth and adoration weakening my knees. “Would you prefer I lie?”
“Are you certain this is what you want?” I hiccup. “Your power—”
His mouth brushes mine, effectively silencing my protests. “Power means nothing to me. You, the woman I love with my whole heart, mean everything.”
Fresh tears stream down my face. “But—” He would not lie to me. This I know. “You’re sure?”
“I have never been more certain.” He cups my face, the pads of his thumbs catching the salted droplets. “I was alone in this world, and faithless, but you, with your stubborn belief and maddening conviction, drew light into my gray existence. The strength of your heart, the resilience of your spirit… My darling Brielle, I have never met another like you.”
I had not realized that Zephyrus saw me as strong. Nor had I realized how badly I wanted him to view me in such a manner. How can I stand against a man who makes me weak in the knees? How can I fight the pull of my heart? I cannot.
“Zephyrus,” I whisper. “I love you, too.”
I’m not certain who moves first. My arms twine around his neck. His band across my lower back, hauling me against him. His mouth, and mine. The deep, overwhelming kiss of the reunited. Our tongues flirt, and he draws mine past his teeth, licking deep. A groan rushes down my throat, rough with hunger.
In the end, I break away first, lifting a hand to his sun-warmed cheek. All my life, I have wondered what was missing. This, here, now.My heart is a bird, and look how readily it spreads its wings. “I choose you, Zephyrus of the West. I choose you every day.”
He presses his forehead to mine. “And I choose you, Brielle of Thornbrook, for as long as there is breath in my lungs.”
Carterhaugh is bright on this day. The West Wind is just a man, a wonderful, mortal man with a lifespan equal to mine. We have today, and tomorrow, and the next day, and the next.
Imagine all that we will see.
EPILOGUEIn which the West Wind Attempts to Plan a Proposal
ZEPHYRUS HAD IT ALL PLANNED: the white daisies, the raspberry tarts, the sunlit river, the vows. With each piece of the puzzle artfully arranged, the plan would unfold without a hitch. After all, asking the woman he loved for her hand in marriage was no small thing.
As Zephyrus pondered how the day would progress, he departed the small cottage he shared with Brielle and began his walk into town. He had dressed in his tailored trousers, green cloak tossed over a fresh white tunic—unfortunately, with his powers stripped and the new weight of his mortal skin, he was sweating by the time he reached Kilkare’s town square. Shortly after sunrise, and the line to the florist already extended out the door.
He waited impatiently to make his order. When he reached the counter, he asked Lionel to set aside a bouquet of daisies, which he would collect at the end of the day.
The gruff man nodded, jotting down the order on a piece of parchment. “Been busy, but it shouldn’t be a problem.”
That gave Zephyrus pause.
“The flowers are for a special occasion,” he explained. “If you can’t guarantee supply at the end of the day, I’ll take them now.” Better to carry the bouquet than not obtain it at all.
“It won’t be an issue,” Lionel assured him. “If it were roses, on the other hand…” A graceless shrug. “I’ll set them aside for later. You can pay upon collection.”
Zephyrus managed to exit the shop with dignity, instead of tripping across the threshold. His legs shook from the rising pressure of this day, the need for its impossible perfection.
His next stop was the weaver. After dodging rickety carts and unleashed dogs wandering the main thoroughfare, he arrived at the storefront, only to find it locked, the windows secured. A piece of parchment had been nailed to the front door.
Out of town. Will return next week.
He stared at the dark, looping scrawl. “Shit.”
No blanket, then. It wasn’t the worst misfortune, but he hadn’t anticipated the setback. Nervously, he referred to his list. There was still much to be done. He would spend the day traveling from shop to cart to stall to acquire the necessary supplies.
Candles, next. The merchant, however, was sold out.
He had managed to procure a bottle of fine wine, yet it had shattered when a stray dog barreled into him in the town square.
