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“I broke a centuries-old curse. I think I earned the fucking crown.”

Grimm laughs.

Then his expression changes.

Softens.

“There's only one way you earn this crown.”

My heart thumps.

I know.

Of course I know.

He comes toward me. But he doesn't put the crown on my head. He holds it between us.

Waiting.

The same way he's been waiting since the curse broke.

For me.

Not magic.

Not fate.

Not some ancient Witch's spell.

Me.

My choice.

I turn toward the open doors. Several members of the Pack are still gathered in the hall beyond them. More appear when they realize something is happening.

Grimm's hand finds mine.

I squeeze it.

Then I look at all of them.

At the people who crossed into Castor's Corner with an entire freaking castle because their prince finally came home.

At my Pack.

Maybe.

Hopefully.

Mine.

“My whole life, I've believed in magic.”

My voice wobbles.

I clear my throat.

“I mean, obviously. I'm a Witch. Not believing in magic would be professionally awkward.”