Tamsin straightens in my arms. Squares her shoulders. Lifts her chin with the regal bearing she was born to carry.
She’s not just a princess anymore. Not just a Fire-Bringer. Not just a witch.
She’s a queen. A mate. A weapon that chose its own purpose.
And she’s finally, finally home.
“Ready?” I ask.
She takes my hand. Laces her warm fingers through my cold ones. Turns to face the future we’ll build from the ruins of the past.
“Ready.”
We walk down the ridge together—dragon and queen, ice and fire, two people who started as enemies and became something infinite.
The war is over.
The future has just begun.
EPILOGUE
TWO AND A HALF YEARS LATER
AUREN
The Brotherhood fortress has never been this loud.
I stand in the doorway of the Fire-Bringer common room, watching chaos unfold with what I suspect is a ridiculous smile on my face. Drayke’s twins—eighteen months of pure destruction wrapped in bronze curls and amber eyes—are currently attempting to climb their uncle Rurik like he’s a particularly interesting tree. Kael has made it to Rurik’s shoulders. Lyric—named for my sister, a gift that still makes my chest tight every time I hear it—is dangling from his arm, shrieking with laughter.
“A little help here?” Rurik’s voice is strained, but he’s grinning. He’s always grinning when the children are involved. The dragon who once lived for battle and chaos has discovered a new kind of chaos to love.
“You seem to have it handled.” I lean against the doorframe, arms crossed, enjoying his predicament far more than I should.
“Auren.” Drayke’s voice carries the weight of a king’s command, but there’s laughter underneath it. He’s sprawled onone of the comfortable couches Selene insisted on adding, his mate tucked against his side, watching their offspring terrorize his brother with the satisfied expression of a woman who knows exactly how blessed she is.
“Don’t look at me.” Selene waves a hand lazily. “They’re his children too. He can rescue his brother.”
“Traitor,” Drayke murmurs against her hair, but he’s pressing a kiss there as he says it. His hand rests on her stomach—flat now, but they’ve been trying for a third. The way Drayke looks at his mate, at his children, never fails to strike me. The dragon king who once ruled with fierce isolation now wears fatherhood like a crown he was born to carry.
Kael finally tumbles from Rurik’s shoulders into a controlled fall—dragon reflexes already developing, even in a toddler—and immediately runs to his father. Drayke catches him without looking, settling the boy on his knee with practiced ease. Lyric follows moments later, climbing into Selene’s lap and demanding a story with the imperious tone of a princess who knows she’ll get whatever she wants.
She will. She always does. We’re all helpless against those amber eyes.
“Da!” A smaller voice calls from across the room, and my attention shifts to where Aisling sits in a rocking chair by the fire, her daughter in her arms.
Ember is eight months old, with her mother’s red hair and her father’s golden eyes. She’s reaching toward Rurik with chubby hands, apparently deciding that if the twins get to climb him, she should too. Rurik crosses the room in three strides and scoops her from Aisling’s arms, lifting her high enough to make her squeal.
“There’s my girl.” His voice goes soft in a way I never heard before Aisling came into his life. Before Ember. The wildfiredragon, domesticated by a healer and an infant with grabby hands. “Did you miss me? I was gone for thirty whole seconds.”
“She’s been inconsolable.” Aisling’s dry tone is undermined by the warmth in her eyes as she watches her mate with their daughter. “Practically wasting away.”
Rurik settles into the chair beside her, Ember tucked against his chest, one massive hand spanning nearly the entire width of her back. The contrast should look absurd—the warrior dragon cradling something so small and fragile. Instead, it looks right. Like he was made for exactly this moment.
He presses a kiss to Aisling’s temple. She leans into him without looking away from the tiny socks she’s knitting—for Tamsin’s baby, I realize. The thought sends warmth flooding through my chest.
My baby. Our baby. Still months away, but already so real, I can barely breathe around the anticipation.
“You’re hovering.”
