He shakes his head. “I’m a Heartcleaver too now. I’m relinquishing the Phillips name. I’m free.We’refree.”
Delightful shock ripples through me. He’s right. We’re officially free from every obstacle that stood between us. His debt. His father’s control. My handfasting. All that’s left…is whatever the hell we want. What we want to do. What we want to become. Our careers. Our relationship. We’re both free to live how we wish. To love how we wish. To support each other and correct each other when one of us is being an idiot—mostly Monty, I’m sure.
I fully relax onto my bed of soil and stare up at the man I love, backlit by the setting sun filtering through the cedar boughs. “Correction,” I say. “I love you too, Monty Heartcleaver.”
He lowers his lips to mine in a fierce kiss. A kiss that burns with fire and lust, friendship and love. A kiss that burns with the violence that is distinctlyus.
EPILOGUE
ONE YEAR LATER
DAPHNE
Istand outside the entrance to Cypress Hollow. The trellised arch is decorated in braided wheat, sunflowers, and marigolds for Lughnasadh. For the first time, I’ll have to duck under the archway to enter the village. Because, for the first time, I’m entering it on two legs.
A squeeze to my hand reminds me to have courage. I meet Monty’s gaze and give him an anxious smile, returning the squeeze. His eyes say what his lips don’t—that we don’t have to stay in our seelie forms if we don’t want to. We can shift into our animal forms and fit in with all the other unseelie creatures, just like we did when we came last year, before we were chased out by a homicidal marmot. I didn’t bother coming back for the festival, for I wanted to give Clyde and his mate ample time to work out their problems before I showed my face again. This year, I’m determined to show the face I’ve never shown anyone here, save for Elder Rhisha the day I left with the other chosen girls to debut in society.
That was over a decade ago, and I’ve since come to integrate both sides of myself. I no longerneedmy hometown as my refuge, for I’m committed to following my dreams to be an illustrator amongst seelie society no matter what comes my way. That commitment has already paid off. I was officially promoted to illustrator at the beginning of this year. Edwina’s brand-new sexy book covers, hidden behind their much more discreet dust jackets, were such a hit, I was immediately contracted to do the next four after the first set was released. I still make mistakes, say the wrong things, or second-guess myself, but I’m no longer tempted to run away and hide.
I can be seen and accepted for who I am. Monty taught me that.
I am the artist and the hunter. The woman and the fae.
So desperately, I want to experience that integration here too, in this village that is my second home.
“Ready, love?” Monty asks.
I exhale a steadying breath and give a sharp nod. “I’m ready.”
“Me too,” Araminta says from my other side, even though no one asked her. In fact, no one invited her on this trip at all. “It’s going to be so nice not being hounded by my fans at every turn.”
I cast a wry look at her. Despite her words, she doesn’t look at all like someone trying not to stand out. She’s dressed in her most extravagant mourning gown yet, with layers upon layers of black silk lined with the most intricate lace I’ve ever seen. The bodice boasts a high neck, leg-of-mutton sleeves, and black jewels for buttons. She wears her tinted spectacles and an oversized bonnet that matches her dress.
I’m not sure if she’s quite as famous as she thinks she is, but she has had a very busy year. The Modesty Committee didn’t negatively impact her modeling career for long. If anything, the Committee’s bill to separate adult publications with explicit content from general-audience media only opened the door for more opportunities. Periodicals now had to either exclude adult content or create a separate alternate volume. And with such high demand for the lewd and scandalous, the latter became the most popular solution. Pinup magazines flourished, and now there is more ad space than ever with such a vast array of adult publications. Ari was unemployed for all of a month before she became inundated with work.
If she’s looking for a place where no one has seen her adverts or centerfolds, it’s here. And even though I didn’t technically invite her on this trip, I am glad to have her. I just won’t tell her that. She’d be insufferable if she knew how much I cherish her.
“Let’s go, then,” Monty says. “And let us hope we don’t get stabbed by marmots today.”
Ari whips her head toward us. “Is that something I should be wary of?”
Monty and I share a secret laugh as we pass under the archway.
As soon as we reach the market square, we find the festival in full swing. Cypress Hollow is never busier than it is during the seasonal holidays when the residents invite friends from other parts of the unseelie forest—or even from seelie cities—to attend. An eclectic blend of musicians form a band, playing a jubilant tune at the edge of a makeshift dance floor. Half of the musicians are fae creatures and residents of Cypress Hollow while the others are humanoid fae. There are several more bipedal figures scattered throughout; some are fae in seelie form, others are unseelie fae with naturally humanoid bodies, and a small few are humans, or maybe human-fae hybrids like Monty. Marigold garlands are draped amongst the strings of lights overhead, enhancing the warm glow of the midday sun that peeks through the dense canopy of trees.
We weave through the fray, circling the dance floor without joining in—I’m going to need a lot of alcohol before I can participate in that—and take in the sights around us. The village looks so different from five feet and some odd inches above ground. It’s a view I’ve never had the pleasure of admiring Cypress Hollow from, and it’s somehow even more charming than it looks from a pine marten’s perspective. The houses are even more quaint than they normally are, especially as heavily decorated as they are with wreaths of sunflowers and apples, ornaments shaped from wheat hanging from windows, roofs, and awnings.
On the other side of the dance floor, countless stalls beckon us with everything from food to wares to activities like fortune telling and games.
“Oooh, matchmaking!” Araminta starts off for a stall featuring stands of braided ribbons in an assortment of different color combinations. At the center of the stall is a miniature archway set with a wooden door that has a hole at the center.
Memories of past booze-addled decision-making flood my mind, and I snag Ari’s sleeve before she can take more than three steps. “No matchmaking,” I say through my teeth. “Trust me.”
She pouts but obeys with only a longing glance. Ari has certainly had more adventures in romance and heartache this past year than she needed. She doesn’t need a yearlong engagement to a stranger.
I link one arm through Monty’s—my other hand still firmly grasped to Ari’s sleeve lest she get any funny ideas—and drag my companions to the selection of stalls I’m already drooling over. Scents of candied meat and hearty bread fill the air, along with sweet wines and bitter ale.
Monty gives a good-natured roll of his eyes. “Yes, yes, dear, let’s get your bacon.”
