“That’s... that’s so smart.” Because technically, that’s one thing. It’s a loophole, and I’m clinging to it as we make our way down a red carpet. Where did they get this from? Which throne room is now carpetless?
“That’s it, keep going,” she murmurs. Then none of it matters, because at the top of this makeshift aisle are the four men who own my heart, looking fierce and formidable.
Gwyneth grips my arm to prevent me from running toward them. Nothing else matters. Not one thing.
Hart smiles as our eyes meet.
Safe. Loved. Home.
Gwyneth says something ceremonial to the dude holding long pieces of fabric and takes my bouquet. Hart takes my hands, and the guy wraps the material in a way that appears to be exact. There’s a chuckle around us.
Hart’s eyes dance. “It’s your turn to say your vows,” he mutters. “Just repeat after Merlin.”
I manage that, but it’s not the words that have me captivated; it’s everything not being said. The sense of wholeness and a future we are fighting for that is needed to free not just us but everyone in this room.
“Hold the cloth tight and step back,” Merlin advises.
I do as he asks. The material shifts and forms a knot in the center between Hart and me. We tied the knot. How apt. Hart comes closer and winds the fabric up before handing it to Nash, who winks at me with a dark promise in his eyes.Oh...
Can it be later already?
Heat blooms in my belly once more. I am insatiable. Clearly, I have issues.
“Now if you both kneel, I can crown you as king and queen,” Merlin says, pointing at the floor. We do, with Hart’s hand wrapped around mine in silent reassurance. “A reminder that coronated together makes you equal in the eyes of the kingdom. This isn’t simply a king ascending to the Arthurian throne, but a royal couple accepting their duties together in partnership.”
“As it should be,” Hart says. “And it is as I wish.”
“And it’s how it should have always been,” the All Knowing booms.
Merlin blinks and casts his gaze around the library.
“Don’t worry. He’s one of those guests you have to invite but know he’s going to embarrass you come what may.”
“Rude, Stone Sister,” the All Knowing groans.
“Shush,” Gwyneth says.
“Very well,” Merlin utters.
Magic gathers. Not the flashy kind that explodes or dazzles, but something older and quieter that threads through the hall like breath drawn in before a storm. The air tightens, heavy with expectation, and the murmurs that had been building around us falter into silence.
A tempo passes.
Then another.
Light spills from the walls and pools at our feet before rising in slow, deliberate spirals. It wraps around Hart first, climbing his frame as if it recognizes him, as if it has been waiting for him. Gold and shadow weave together across his shoulders, and Merlin places the crown on his head.
Then, the magic turns to me. It’s colder. Sharper. It coils around my ankles and climbs, slow and certain, pressing into my skin and bones, as though it is reading me, weighing me, deciding if I am worthy or if it should cast me aside.
My spine straightens as determination not to be found lacking fills me.
The light flares, and for a heartbeat, I see everything the naked eye misses. The threads of stories stretching in every direction, tangled and broken and bound too tightly where they should never have been bound at all. I feel them pull, feel the weight of them press into me, a thousand endings waiting for their moment.
A thousand choices waiting to be given back.
My chest tightens, my heart stuttering when the heavy crown settles on my head. It hums, alive with a pulsating power, restless and ready.
The magic snaps into place and disperses.
