The crown can wait. For the first time in my life, I’m done putting myself last.
“I might be queen,” I say. It comes out calm. Simple. “But I’m choosing to be happy first.” I look at each of them. “And I’m forever yours.”
No one kneels. No one rushes forward. The silence stretches—but it’s not empty.
Gray speaks first. “Good.”
One word. That’s all he needs.
Rhett’s voice is rough. “About damn time.”
Wes steps closer, eyes bright. “You know we’d have waited forever, right? However long it took you to choose yourself.”
“Longer,” Jace says. And for once, there’s no joke underneath it. Just truth.
Thane inclines his head—the barest movement, but from him it’s everything. “My queen chooses herself. As she should.”
“Took you long enough,” Stellan murmurs. But his eyes are warm. “Welcome home, darling.”
Seth doesn’t say anything for a moment—just looks at me like he’s memorizing this. “You’re the first person who ever made me believe I could choose too,” he says quietly. “Thank you.”
And then Theo. He steps forward, takes my hand, and his voice is steady. Certain. The same voice that found me in the dark all those years ago.
“You don’t have to be perfect to be worthy of being seen,” he says. “I told you that once. Do you remember?”
My throat tightens. “I remember.”
“We always saw you, Bree.” His thumb brushes across my knuckles. “But now… now you see yourself.”
The bond hums between us. All of them. All of me.
And for the first time since I was seven years old, I’m not afraid of what comes next.
THE END…
BONUS CHAPTER
You survived five books of chaos, near-death experiences, and emotional devastation.
The least I can do is let you watch them be deliriously happy. Among other things.
(This is me winking at you.)
Bonus: Bree
Four years later
The retreat is already loud when I push open the door.
Not waiting-for-me loud. Tuesday loud. The kind of noise that happens when eight people have stopped being careful around each other and just exist—overlapping conversations, someone’s music playing low, the clink of glasses, laughter that keeps interrupting itself.
Four years of this, and I still pause in the doorway sometimes. Not because it’s fragile. Because it’s not.
I take in the room in pieces:
Gray and Wes on the long couch, Wes draped across Gray’s lap like he’s furniture. Gray’s hand rests on the back of his neck—not gripping, just there. Wes keeps interjecting into some conversation across the room, and each time he does, Gray’s fingers tighten briefly—a warning—before releasing. Casual. Familiar.
Jace is on the floor near the fireplace, ostensibly playing cards with Stellan, except neither of them is looking at their hands. Jace says something—I catch the tail end, something filthy wrapped in a joke—and Stellan’s mouth twitches. Not the distant amusement he used to wear like armor. Something warmer. He flicks a card at Jace’s head, and Jace catches it, grinning.
