“Especially because you tried to fail. You were the only one being honest.”
Finn laughed softly. “Look at us. The king who wanted honesty and the carpenter who couldn’t lie. We’re actually perfect for each other.”
“Disgustingly so.”
They fell silent again, Finn’s breathing evening out as exhaustion finally claimed him. Darragh held him close, watching shadows lengthen across their rooms as evening settled over the castle.
Tomorrow, they’d start addressing the infrastructure improvements Finn wanted to implement. They’d begin reforming outdated court traditions. They’d continue building the partnership that had proven so effective during the summit.
But tonight, they’d simply be together - two people who’d found each other against all odds and somehow made it work.
“Love you,” Finn mumbled, already dozing.
Darragh kissed the top of his head. “Love you, too, my impossible, wonderful, perfect king consort.”
“Your husband,” Finn corrected drowsily. “The titles are only useful for paperwork.”
“My husband,” Darragh agreed, smiling as Finn’s breathing deepened into sleep,my amazing husband.
Epilogue
Six months later
Finn wiped sweat from his forehead, leaving a smudge of sawdust across his temple. The village school’s roof stretched before him, half the old shingles already replaced with sturdy new ones that would see the kids through another twenty winters. His hands ached in the best way with the satisfying burn of useful work done well.
“Hand me that next beam,” Darragh called from his position near the chimney. His shirt was rolled to the elbows, his hair tied back with a leather cord, and he looked nothing like a king. He looked happy.
Finn passed the beam across, watching Darragh position it carefully. Six months of working together on projects throughout the kingdom had transformed his husband’s shipbuilding skills into housebuilding ones. Darragh wasn’t master level, but then Finn’s weren’t either. But they were both competent enough that Finn trusted Darragh with load-bearing structures.
“You’ve gotten better at this,” Finn said, admiring the way his husband worked.
“I had a good teacher.” Darragh aligned the beam, checking the angle twice before securing the first bolt. “Though I still think you’re showing off with those fancy corner joints.”
Laughing, Finn shook his head. “That’s called craftsmanship.”
“That’s called making the rest of us look bad.”
Below them, children played in the schoolyard while parents and villagers gathered with food and drinks. Mrs. Weatherby - who’d made the journey from Winrone specifically to monitor the kingand king consort’s performance - was holding court near the ale barrels, telling anyone who’d listen with stories about “young Finn” and his tendency to fix things that weren’t necessarily broken.
“Your Majesty,” Old Peter called up. “Are you going to finish before supper, or should we eat without you?”
“Start without us,” Darragh shouted back. “We’re almost done.”
“That’s what you said an hour ago.”
Finn grinned. That was what he’d missed most during those terrible months when he’d tried to be someone else - the easy familiarity of people who welcomed those ready to help.
The villagers of Greenmere had been wary at first when the king and king consort announced they’d be helping with the school repairs personally. But wariness had melted into comfortable acceptance after Finn spent the first day discussing timber quality with the local carpenter and Darragh had accidentally hammered his own thumb…twice. By the second time, the school children knew it was acceptable to laugh, especially at the faces Darragh would make when he’d done it.
“How’s it looking?” Marcus appeared at the ladder’s top, the castle’s head of maintenance surveying their work with a critical eye. He’d volunteered to oversee the project, which was his excuse for seeing what Finn could actually do.
“It’s solid,” Finn reported. “This will be weather-tight well before the next storm.”
Marcus nodded approval. “Good work. Both of you.” His head disappeared as he climbed down again, heading for the ale barrels.
The afternoon sun slanted across the roof, warm despite autumn’s chill. Finn moved to the next section, Darraghfollowing with the toolbox. They worked in comfortable silence, the kind that came from knowing each other’s rhythms. When Finn reached for a hammer, Darragh already had it ready. When Darragh needed the level, Finn passed it without being asked.
“I got a letter from Queen Cressida yesterday,” Darragh mentioned, securing another shingle. “She wants to visit next month.”
