“That was still on the table as of last Tuesday,” Barnaby confirmed.
The two of them stared at each other with the mutual bewilderment of people who had just accidentally agreed on something. At that moment, I could have sworn the golden light living inside them both flared a little brighter.
I wasn’t the only one who noticed the new, unexpected connection. Oberon shot Santa a sharp look, and the jolly giant just beamed back. “Isn’t this wonderful? Two kinds of spring. Coexisting. Both real. Truly joyful!”
At this point, even the ancient fae king had grown tired. “Quite right. The Title has spoken. We have two Heralds of Spring.”
By now, the spirits of the forest were just staring in silence. They’d even stopped posting online, which was impressive in its own right. Vixen flicked an ear, aware asalways that they were the center of attention. “I will agree, then, that the Osterhase isn’t that terrible. He put up a good fight.”
“You were much better than me at the CrystalGram part,” Barnaby pointed out. “Those filters… They’re almost as intimidating as Brok!”
As if summoned by Barnaby’s words, Brok stepped up to us and wrapped an arm around my shoulders. “I’ll have you know that few things are as intimidating as I am.”
“At this point, Brok, your CrystalGram account disagrees with you,” Vixen drawled. “You’ve lost two titles today. That of Herald and that of fierce orc warrior.”
If it was meant to be a taunt, it didn’t come out like one. Brok shot me a wide smile, one that made his tusks stand out just right. “Oh, I don’t know… I think I didn’t lose anything. I came out the victor, no matter what.”
I couldn’t help myself. I kissed him because I could, because he was mine. If even Barnaby and Vixen had found their place and their joy, what more could I ask for?
Nana had been right. The right man moved the world for you. But the really extraordinary ones? They moved it for everyone else, too, and then acted like it was just part of the job.
Epilogue
Brok
One YearLater
The wedding cake was a masterpiece.
Hazel had outdone herself. Five tiers that defied traditional symmetry, each layer a different shape. The whole thing spiraled upward like it was caught mid-transformation. Dark chocolate ganache flowed into white buttercream, shifted into gold leaf, and dissolved into deep red velvet. All of it was decorated with sugar flowers that were somehow both delicate roses and sharp-edged geometric crystals. It was elegant and wild at the same time, refusing to be pinned down to a single aesthetic.
Exactly what you’d expect for someone who refused to be labeled: Hazel’s best friend.
The happy couple was supposed to be cutting it.
Instead, Reynard—wearing a stunning suit that was part tuxedo, part ball gown, all custom-tailored—was jabbing one perfectly manicured claw at a very flustered Barnaby. “The Andersons are inStockholm for Easter this year. Stockholm is surprise territory. Therefore, they’re mine.”
“But the Andersons have three children under five!” Barnaby’s ears were doing that panicked vibration thing. “They need comfort! Familiar traditions! You can’t just surprise small children with… with whatever chaos you’re planning!”
Reynard shrugged, already dismissing Barnaby’s concerns. “I was planning a treasure hunt through the Royal Palace gardens, actually. Very age-appropriate.”
“That’s in a different country! They don’t speak Swedish!”
“Then it will be an adventure.” Reynard smiled with a serene confidence even Oberon would have envied. “Character-building.”
Hazel stood between them, a hand on each of their shoulders. Her red curls were starting to escape from whatever elaborate updo she’d attempted. She’d thrown off her stilettos hours ago, and her light-up sneakers, a gift from Barnaby, were barely visible from under her green dress. She looked frazzled, infuriated, and absolutely beautiful.
“Can we please,” she said tightly, “discuss the Andersons after you cut your wedding cake? People are startingto stare.”
“Let them stare.” Reynard waved one paw dismissively. “This is important. Spring coverage doesn’t manage itself.”
“Neither does your wedding reception!” Hazel’s voice climbed half an octave. “You’re supposed to be having your first dance! Throwing the bouquet! Stealing a private moment with your new spouse! Not arguing about territorial jurisdiction with a rabbit!”
I leaned against one of the reception hall columns and watched the chaos unfold. Beside me, Isengrim looked equally entertained by his spouse’s priorities.
“Your wedding,” I said, “and they’re arguing about work.”
“Ourfirstwedding.” Isengrim’s yellow eyes gleamed with predatory amusement. “I’m sure there will be others. Reynard does enjoy a good celebration.” He adjusted his perfectly tailored charcoal suit. Today, he’d chosen a deep crimson tie that matched the red velvet layer of the cake. “Though I admit, I expected the route dispute to wait until at least the reception dinner.”
