Mav’s grin flashed white. “My personal favorite, as the ghost lover in question.”
“They do notknow?” My voice shook. “No one truly knows what happened?”
“Most fear the truth too much to seek it.” Branrir shrugged.
Thistle chimed in, “While they bickered, a regency council rose up. A puppet king sits on the throne now—a boy barely old enough to hold a sword. The real power’s in the council’s hands.”
“But what of the witnesses?” I asked.
“To those in the ballroom, you vanished in a blaze of silver light,” Branrir explained. “To the common folk, you’re a savior. To the nobles, you’re a nightmare. Either way, you’re untouchable. They don’t dare declare war on you because half the realm would rise to your banner.”
Thistle smirked. “Children play at being you in the streets. They call themselves Twilights and pretend to fight tyrants.”
Branrir’s voice dropped to a reverent rumble. “You’re their bedtime story now. The kind parents whisper to make their little ones behave—or to give them courage.”
My thoughts spun, frantic and unmoored. “So we are not fugitives?”
He laughed, full-throated and wild. “Fugitives? Saints, you’re the most powerful woman in the realm—and they don’t evenknowif you’re real.”
“And I say we keep it that way,” Thistle added.
I turned to Mav, who had been silent through it all, his thumb stroking the back of my hand. “Are we truly free?”
Mav nodded. “Yes, we are free,” he said with a squeeze of my hand.
I looked up at him through wet lashes. “Where to now?”
He smiled. “Home.”
52
QUINN
My heart swelled with something too large for language. The day’s last throes of sunlight spilled through the cottage windows. I sat on the low stool before the hearth, as Thistle braided ribbons and flowers into my hair.
A knock sounded at the door.
“Come in,” Thistle called around lips holding hairpins.
Devronica stepped through, her silver hair bound in its familiar coil.“Lady Quinn,” she said, unfurling the gown. “I think you’ll find this one suits you far more.”
I caressed the flowing ivory fabric, entranced as it shimmered with the colors of my Twilight aurora as it moved. “It is magnificent. Thank you.”
Devronica smiled, eyes misting. “Anything for a friend.”
Her hands were gentle as she helped me into the gown and fastened the low back. Sheer sleeves danced to my wrists, connected to a bodice with a V neckline. The gown hugged my waist before flowing to my feet in a waterfall of silk.
“How long does it take to get ready for a wedding?” Vesper griped from the doorway.
“Hush, you!” Thistle chided.
“You can’t rush perfection,” Devronica added.
Vesper rolled his eyes. “Could perfection at least consider a trot?”
“Let us go.” I chuckled. “I have waited a long time for this.”
Branrir stood at the center of the grove, beneath an arch of twisted wood and flower garlands. He looked equal parts reverent and uncomfortable, which fit perfectly.
