“I am a monster, though,” Isabeau whispers. “You’re the Hunter, and I am amonster.”
“You have offered to marry me. Does knowing what you are change that desire? Does it erase your love?” I trace the contours of Isabeau’s face.
“No. My family has ... My mother ... Shekilledyour father, Gabrielle.”
“You are not your mother.” Tears trickle over my cheeks. “Icannotkill you, my love, especially when you are not guilty of any crime other than being born to a faery—which was not your choice.”
“Shouldn’t you kill me? That’s the Hunter’s role.”
“Mor and I agreed to allow several spies on both sides,” Gloriana says, reminding us that she is still here listening. “If you stay, she and I both know that will be what you are doing, or you can come explore your homeland.”
“I will not go to Faerie,” Isabeau says softly. “I cannot leave you.”
“That leaves you with marrying me and spying on your aunt?”
Isabeau stands and pulls me into her arms. As she holds me, she whispers into my ear, “Promise you’ll kill me if I ... become like my mother.”
“I swear I will not let you become a murderous monster.” I kiss my betrothed, and when I pull away, I realize that we are alone again.
The queen of Faery has vanished as silently as she arrived. I expect we’ll see her again, but I am alone with my bride-to-be. Whatever magic controls her heritage is contained, much as it apparently was for her mother.
The Beast of Brimmond is dead, and I am no longer left with the questions that plagued me of late. There will be other questions, more now that I have met the faery queen, but I feel the weight of the lives of Alveus’ citizens slip from my shoulders for the evening.
Epilogue
Three Months Later
“Love?” Isabeau’s voice startles me as it cuts through the noise in the courtyard of Maudite Castle. If not for Hunter’s gifts, I would not hear her whispered word over the din of hammering and chattering, over thethunkingof tools on stone and earth, over the creaking of pulleys and carts’ wheels.
I am who I am, though, a Hunter of beasts. I hear everything. Andmybeast is not to be home from visiting the queen yet, but she is here. I hear her whispered word and the bevy of questions inside that one word.
My beloved is nothing if not obstinate.
And beautiful and brave and clever,my heart reminds me, offering up a litany of her charms.
After Gloriana departed, I realized that we didn’t have a deadline for a wedding, that the faery’s admonishment was simply that I mustloveIsabeau. That, I already did. So I insisted Isabeau take time to think and heal and find peace with the recent revelations—about herself, about her mother’s death, about what I am. Of course, my impetuous duke insisted she was ready to summon a minister that day. In truth, I was, too. I wanted her to have time, though, to accept these truths about herself and about me.
Currently, she is still seated atop Woede as they wend through the crowd outside Maudite Castle. The stark black of her cloak and trousers is not quite as dark as the massive horse, but the sight of the dark-clad duke and the massive horse unsettles the workers. Almost unconsciously, the crowd parts to give extra room for her and for Woede. I wonder sometimes whether the extra deference is because they sense her otherness as much as because she is the duke or the niece of the queen herself.
Whatever the reason, she cuts through this crowd as she does in every setting. She is power incarnate. My feral duke.
With effort, I tear my gaze from her and look down at the plans that are stretched out on the planks before me. The castle yard is abuzz with masons and carpenters. I thought I had the week to make progress on the plans I’ve been plotting in secret, yet here she is, only a mere two days after she left.
“I don’t recall expecting an army of workers in our courtyard.” Isabeau dismounts, and Woede mouths her shoulder before turning his attention to me.
I stroke the horse fondly, and he then wanders off to either graze or study the people in the courtyard. Sometimes, I think he’s not entirely of this world, but I have no way of knowing. Perhaps, like the wolves in the forest, he’s simply untamed enough that he accepts my unusual beloved the way only the wild can.
The way I do.
I lift my chin as Isabeau steps closer to me, adopting a posture better suited to a fight. The only thing I must fight, however, is the temptation to behave too affectionately in front of the assembled workers. “This was to be a surprise.”
“I am certainly surprised.” Isabeau smiles at me as if I have done something she finds enchanting. Honestly, though, she often looks at me that way over the smallest things. Isabeau makes no effort to hide how smitten she is. Casually, she asks, “May I ask what they are doing?”
I feel my cheeks flush. “Mostly repairs, but also adding a moat.”
“A moat?” she echoes.
“You said you wanted a moat. I cannot truly fill the water with venomous serpents, but I can give you a moat.” I feel foolish saying it. “When you found out what I am, you said—”
