“Reynard is wrong, Hazel,” he’d told me the evening before. “Self-acceptance is beautiful, yes, but there’s no joy more powerful than that of love.”
I’d taken one look at him and known he was right. Even Grix, who cared only for results, hadn't argued with the plan. He’d been our strongest supporter. “I have tosee this. It’ll be brilliant. My biggest client, stealing the Mantle of Spring. We’ll be earning dividends forever.”
Now, here we were, at the finish line of the race. It hadn’t gone well for Brok. He’d finished it and done his best despite his terrible reindeer and the social media chaos. But he’d ended in last place. He didn’t seem to mind. Instead, he waited for the verdict, side by side with Barnaby and Vixen.
Wearing Brok’s own glamor amulet, I stood next to legendary entities I’d always thought were only myths. And I watched. This was it. The moment of truth.
Oberon descended from his platform, acknowledging all participants with an imperious nod. “Now, the Title will decide.” And it did.
Something was gathering. It was an old and patient warmth in the air that had nothing to do with sunlight. It should have frightened me. I was only a mortal, hiding in a place I didn’t belong. But this strange, powerful magic pressed against my skin, and it welcomed me.
Then the light came from everywhere and nowhere, all at once. Soft, golden, the color of spring sunrise spilling across the meadow. It gathered in the center of the archway, turned slowly, and began to move.
The crowd leaned forward as one. Barnaby clasped his paws together, ears pressed flat in desperate hope. Vixen stood up straight, their snout lifted, their tail curled in an elegant arc of confidence. Brok only waited.
The light moved to Vixen first. Of course it did. Their confidence didn’t waver, not even slightly. They simply received the attention as their due, amber eyes bright, chin raised. The crowd held its breath.
The light moved on. The sound Vixen made was so small and so quickly swallowed that I almost didn’t catch it. Their tail dropped an inch. Nothing else changed.
Barnaby perked up. “Please, please, please,” he whispered. The power of his Title lingered over him, making his fur stand on end. But in the end, it bypassed him, too.
Then it moved on to Brok. The golden warmth fell onto him all at once. For a single, endless moment, Brok swayed. I could have sworn that, under his green skin, he went a little pale.
Ultimately, he held his ground, just like he’d promised he would. A beat passed, and then another. The golden light faded entirely, settling into Brok’s skin. And Oberon lifted his arms and said, “Behold! The Easter Orc!”
Brok looked down at his hands, then at the crowd. His expression was exactly what I’d expected: not surprise, not triumph. Acknowledgment. The quiet recognition of a man who’d done the calculations and was now watching the output confirm what he already knew.
Then the crowd erupted. “The Easter Orc! The new Herald of Spring! This is unprecedented!”
Spirits of the forest were frantically taking photos and posting on their social media platforms. Everyone was vibrating to get closer, to see Brok better. “How?” someone asked from the crowd. “How is this possible?”
This was my cue. I unclipped my amulet from my wrist and stepped forward, now fully visible. “It’s possible because Spring embraces love.” I took Brok’s hand, entwining our fingers. “Even if it is between an orc and a human.”
Countless supernatural creatures were staring at me in shock. Love was powerful magic. Everyone knew that. But they likely hadn’t realized just how powerful it was until now.
“A human… It all makes sense now. So all those captions.”
“It was for her. Now it makes sense. The mushroom… The rock… All because of her.”
“Vixen and Barnaby never had a chance. It was always going to be the Easter Orc.”
Brok cleared his throat, and immediately everyone went silent. “I’m honored by the gift bestowed upon me. I won it through what I feel for Hazel. But to tell you the truth, I don’t want it.”
Brok’s voice carried across the meadow without effort. He wasn’t projecting. He was just big and honest, like he’d always been, even in The Cocoa Bean. “I’m an orc, and I’m happy with my nature. But I entered the HeraldChallenge because the only way to change something is to have the authority to do it.”
He paused. Not for dramatic effect. It wasn’t his style. He was making sure the next words came out right.
“Barnaby has carried this alone for centuries. It nearly broke him. He shouldn’t have had to do it by himself.” His eyes moved to Vixen. “And Vixen was shut out for bringing a different kind of joy. That was wrong. Spring isn’t one thing. It’s warmth and surprise. Comfort and wildness. It needs both of them.”
That was it. No philosophy. No grand rhetoric about systems or fairness or the nature of joy. Just the problem, as he saw it, and the solution, as he intended to deliver it. The reality we’d understood together.
I loved him so much that my chest physically hurt.
Brok turned to Barnaby first. My favorite customer hadn’t moved since the Title had passed him by. He stood in the same spot, small and rigid, his ears flat against his head. His cream-and-gold reindeer stood close behind him, occasionally nudging Barnaby’s shoulder with its nose.
Brok crouched in front of Barnaby, so low that they were practically at eye level. He’d always been enormous next to Barnaby, but now he seemed somehow bigger. “You’re the best at what you do.” Brok’s voice was quieter now, but in the silence of the meadow, everyone could hear it. “Comfort. Warmth. The kind of joy that makespeople feel safe when everything else is uncertain. Nobody does that better than you.”
Barnaby snapped out of his trance, his whiskers trembling with emotion. “Brok…”
