“No,” I answer. “So Poseidon said he’s one of the first Idols ever created by the Grimms. The first generation, so to speak. All of them are different from the ones we commonly know.”
“I think I’ve seen something about that,” Gwyneth mutters, flicking through a book.
“And they created hundreds of storylines,” Malachi adds. “But those then became the more well-known Idols who coveted power and control.”
“Meaning the originals either retreated, or got locked down somewhere, like Poseidon,” I continue. “Those Idols still favor the original ethos of the Grimm bloodline. They want creativity to shine and for people to flourish in freedom, not be confined to a preordained destiny.”
Gwyneth stops flicking through the book and tilts her head to the side. “So if there are tiers of Idols, those five being at the top, the next rung being the ones who force our futures, what about the ones who fulfill the storyline? Are they another layer of Idols?”
“Huh,” Hart says, leaning back. “I never thought of it like that.”
“Well, we weren’t aware there were layers a turn ago,” I point out. “So we can’t think of that which we do not know.”
His lips twitch while Excalibur hums in satisfaction between me and Malachi, who frowns down at the sword. “It’s behaving weirdly,” he mutters.
“It’s an ancient, sentient sword. It’s always weird,” Hart answers.
I know what he means, but I can’t tell him what it means.
“You know, I think you’re right,” Gwyneth says as she kneels in front of the coffee table and flips through another book before scowling and snapping another open. “When the rightful whatever—prince, king, wolf, lost princess, damsel—takes their place, I think they become an Idol by extension. A lower-level one, perhaps.”
“That makes things easier,” Charming drawls.
I narrow my eyes. “Unless I missed a wedding and coronation while I was dead, I do believe you are still one of many in the running.”
“I wasn’t talking about me.”
I follow his stare and meet Hart’s hard gaze. “But he hasn’t taken his place yet, and to do so would mean?—”
“I need to marry,” Hart says carefully, without his eyes leaving mine.
“You could be the fourth Idol,” Gwyneth says. “That would be the blood problem solved and within a timeframe that works for this ridiculous summoning to a far away temple for Idols knows what.”
“The Idols do know. That’s the point,” Malachi says.
I’m too busy getting lost in Hart’s unspoken question to care about anything else.
“But I would need to marry,” Hart asserts again. This time, he arches a brow in a dare.
Silly man. He should know the answer.
“Ask me first,” I demand.
I expect him to laugh in my face and tell me it’s all a big cosmic joke. That they don’t really love me and it’s been the longest con I’ve ever known. Because how could I, Daphne Stone of Strongfair, capture the hearts of four gorgeous, caring, a little scary but a lot amazing, knights?
He slides onto the floor in front of the sofa, sinking onto one knee.
Genie pops into the room and blinks at the scene. “Oh, you’re right, I don’t want to miss this,” he mutters to Sir Sweeps-A-Lot, who was lurking behind the sofa but is now another floating spectator.
Nash strides down the corridor, his steps slowing at the scene, and to round off this show, Theo chuckles as he leans against the doorframe and crosses his arms.
Hart digs into his pocket and produces a small, black velvet box. He flips it open, revealing an oval emerald ring surrounded by diamonds set on a white gold band. “Daphne Stone,” he starts. Oh my holy Idol babies, is this really happening? Like right now, right here? It’s a dream, right? I pinch my arm and yelp.
Nope, not a dream.
“I have never felt the way I feel when I’m with you. Reckless, free-falling, excited, dumbfounded, exhilarated.”
“And that’s all before morning meal,” Theo adds, which earns him a chuckle from everyone.
