They reached the place his mother had described, where the land fell away, and the view widened. Greyson stopped there, standing with Hazel at his side, and let the wind move around them. Behind them, his mother remained with Damian, memory and love held together in quiet communion.
“Hazel,” he said, and the sound of her name steadied him in a way nothing else ever had.
She looked up, and that smile was always there for him.
“I love you,” he said simply. There was no hesitation left in him now. “I have loved you longer than I understood what the feeling was asking of me.”
Her breath caught, but she did not interrupt him.
“I thought I was living,” he went on, unable to stop even if he wanted to. “I did everything expected of me. I ruled, I endured, I survived.” He shook his head once, the truth pressing close. “But it was a kind of half-life. I was moving forward without truly beinghere.”
Hazel’s hand found his, her fingers warm against his own.
“You brought me back,” he revealed. “From the brink of something that felt very much like death. Not the kind that ends, but the kind that hollows.” He glanced toward the graveyard behind them, then back to her. “I did not know how empty I was until you filled the space simply by being yourself.”
Her eyes shone, and he felt a tightness in his chest that was not pain. In fact, it could not have been further away from it.
“I am alive because of you,” he finished quietly. “And I will spend the rest of my life proving that I know the difference now.”
He lifted her hand and pressed it to his chest, over his heart, letting her feel the steady beat beneath his palm. “This,” he said, almost a whisper. “This is yours.”
For a long moment, the world seemed to hold its breath with them, until there was only the present, only the truth they shared. Then, Hazel lifted her hand slowly, as though the movement itself were something to be savored. Her fingers brushed his cheek, and Greyson leaned into the touch without thinking, his eyes closing at the simple grace of it.
“Because of you,” she divulged, “I am no longer afraid to be myself.”
The words settled deep, striking a place in him he had not known was still tender.
“I spent so long being what was required,” she continued, her thumb tracing the line of his jaw. “The sensible one, the steady one, the one who carried what others could not.” Her gaze held his without the slightest hint of hesitation. “With you, I am allowed to want, to feel, to take up space without apology.”
Greyson’s throat tightened. He covered her hand with his own, holding it there as though anchoring himself to the truth of her presence.
“You should never have had to be anything less than yourself.”
She smiled then. “Perhaps, but loving you has taught me that I may choose it now.”
He bent and pressed a kiss into her palm, reverent and unhurried.
“Then let us choose each other,” he murmured. “Every day.”
She stepped closer, resting her forehead against his once more. Greyson drew her into his arms, holding her not as something fragile to be protected, but as an equal, a partner, a life intertwined with his own.
Behind them, memory lingered. Before them, life waited.
Epilogue
The first thing Hazel noticed upon waking was the quiet.
She didn’t wake up to the heavy, expectant hush of a house waiting to be managed, nor the early morning stir of servants anticipating instruction. What welcomed her upon opening her eyes was a gentle, unclaimed stillness, broken only by the soft rhythm of breathing next to her.
Greyson lay turned toward her, with one arm flung carelessly across the pillow, his dark hair mussed in a way no duke had any right to look. The sight warmed her instantly, a quiet joy blooming before she had quite opened her eyes to it.
She smiled, not wanting to wake him, but at the same time, wishing he would wake. She let her thoughts drift to the day ahead.
“We shall walk to the village first,” she said softly, already half-planning aloud despite herself. “There is a church said to beolder than the inn itself, and the landlady mentioned a path along the river… oh, and the market square?—”
A sudden crack of thunder split the air.
Hazel jumped, feeling the words dissolve on her tongue. Almost at once, rain followed, drumming against the roof and windows with unmistakable purpose. Another roll of thunder sounded, closer this time, as though the sky itself had decided to intervene.
