“I remember.” I smile as Auren takes my hand. Together, we walk with Tarin toward the temple.
As I stand at the front of the temple before the crowd, the priestess names me mate of the king, queen of this realm, protector of its people, and keeper of its future. The titles settle around my shoulders like a mantle both heavy and wondrous.
Then she lifts the crown. It is a perfect match to Auren’s, forged of twining silver metal with tiny crystals that gleam like captured starlight.
As she holds it overhead, I think of the past and all that I’ve been through. I was a girl who sat in her father's throne room not so very long ago, sharpening herself into a weapon because it was the only power she had. I was a princess who insulted every man who came for her hand, not out of cruelty, but out of the fear of being claimed, controlled, and reduced to something useful rather than known.
I believed a crown could only ever be a cage. And I was not entirely wrong. A crown can be. But this one, this kingdom, these people, this life… none of it was placed upon me without my consent. I think of my journey in the woods, beside a campfire, through grief and fury and a love I never expected and could not outrun. Through all of this, I have chosen this path.
The weight of the crown settles against my hair, and it does not feel like a cage at all. It feels like I’ve found the place where I belong.
After the priestess places it on my head, I glance at Auren. He’s dressed in his ceremonial black and silver robes, his crown nestled in his dark hair. Pride shines in his eyes as they meet mine.
The priestess tells everyone to rise, and Auren moves to my side, offering me his arm. I place my hand upon his forearm, andhis free hand covers mine a moment before we walk through the temple toward the doors.
The people lining the aisle bow as we pass, their fists pressed to their hearts in a show of support. Dain and Lyrea bow as well, and little Ailyn smiles brightly. Olly is beside her, wagging his tail happily.
At the end of the temple, great doors stand open to the balcony beyond. The bells echo through Elyrith as I gaze out at the city stretched before us.
The streets below are packed with people, cheering as we wave. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Auren looking not at them, but at me. When our eyes meet, he smiles.
He slips his palm into mine and raises our joined hands overhead as we look out over the kingdom. The crowd roars, calling out blessings and congratulations.
As I gaze out at Elyrith with its glowing mushrooms and crystal-lit spires, over the faces of people who are mine to protect now, just as surely as they are Auren's, peace and certainty settle deep in my chest.
I think of my mother, who sang us to sleep and left too soon. I think of the bargain that was supposed to ruin me. I think of a garden bench in the dark, and a Dark Elf soldier who smiled at me when no one else dared. Somehow… impossibly and perfectly, he became the truest thing I have ever known.
Beside me, Auren stands unwavering. He is mine, I am his, and my heart has never been so full.
EPILOGUE
VIVIENNE
Iwaddle. There is no other word for it. My belly is round and heavy, my back aches, and my ankles are swollen. I make my way across our chambers, one hand braced against the small of my back, the other rubbing circles over my tight skin.
Gods, I love this child already, but if I don’t sit down soon, I might actually collapse.
Auren watches me from where he stands near the fire. He has been hovering all day—hovering since I started showing, really. I know it’s out of love, but sometimes, I swear, he looks at me like I’m a glass sculpture about to crack.
“You should sit down,” he says, already moving toward me.
“I’m fine,” I reply as I carefully lower myself onto the plush sofa before the fire, shifting until I find something close to comfortable.
Vaelen curls up on his nest of blankets near the door. He’s become very protective of me during my pregnancy. Auren even teases sometimes that Vaelen prefers me over him. But I know the truth. He loves both of us equally.
The heat from the hearth warms my skin, the golden light dancing across the polished stone floors.
Auren sits beside me, lifting my feet into his lap.
“Auren, what are you—oh gods.”
His thumbs press into my aching arch, working slow, deep circles into my skin.
A loud moan escapes me, and Auren laughs in response.
“Is that better, my beautiful wife?” His voice is low and teasing, but there’s something reverent in it, something worshipful.
I let my head fall back against the cushions, completely and utterly relaxed. “I swear, your hands are magic.”
