Page 270 of Of Masks and Fury

“You were never going to be him,” he said against my hair. “Not for a single day of your life.”

Finally, I knew he was right.

Trew released me but knelt in front of me to the gasps of those who remained.

“You don’t need me to fight your battles.” His golden eyes held mine. “But I’m asking you to let me stand beside you anyway. Not as your protector, but as your partner. Your equal. Your chosen.”

Behind us, Syllavar soldiers knelt as well in respect and solidarity.

I pulled him to his feet, framing his face with my hands. “I didn’t choose you because I needed you. I chose you because I wanted you. Every infuriating, overprotective, impossibly stubborn part of you.”

His lips curled up on one side. “Then we’re well-matched, minxpip.”

I kissed him, putting everything into my touch, solidifying the future we’d carved out of blood and fire and impossible choices.

Gavelle’s chirp broke us apart. He limped toward us, one wing dragging, and I dropped to my knees to gather him into my arms.

“You’re hurt,” I said. “We’ll help you.”

Pherin’s distress came through our bond.

Trew knelt beside me. “Let me see his wing.”

We examined Gavelle’s injury. The bone wasn’t broken, but the muscle must be badly bruised.

“He’ll recover,” I said, more to reassure myself than Trew.

“He will.” He met my eyes. “We all will.”

I looked at my sister standing with Fenmark, their hands linked. Our people ready to fight to the death to protect us all. And the land healing around us, green spreading like a promise that even the deepest corruption could be cleansed.

“What happens now?” Addie asked.

I stood, Gavelle cradled carefully in my arms, and squinted in Caldrith’s direction. Then toward Syllavar and a future that wasn’t written yet.

“Now,” I said, “we go home to both kingdoms.”

“Bothkingdoms?”

“I’m abdicating Caldrith to you, sister. And Fenmark if you choose him as your king.”

“Me?” she squeaked.

I gave her a quick hug. “You’ll make an amazing queen. Teach them that there’s another way.”

“I will.”

King Cyril’s body lay where he’d fallen, a reminder of what happened when fear turned to hatred, when power became more important than compassion.

He didn’t define us anymore.

We did, and we’d chosen differently.

Trew’s hand found the small of my back. My king who’d knelt before me. The man who’d let me fight my own battles yet refused to let me face them alone.

I leaned into him and felt him lean back.

And that was all I needed.