Page 99 of A Match Made in Error

Noah’s expression crumbles so openly it makes my chest ache. He looks at her like every good thing in the world somehow ended up standing in front of him.

“If she’ll have me,” he says softly, “I’d be a fool to choose anything but being hers.”

The die glows gold before it even stops rolling. A twenty. Like they deserve.

The crowd erupts.

Aoife laughs as Noah pulls her into his arms, kissing her like he forgot anyone else existed, and beside me, Riven mutters, “Gods, they’re aggressively in love.” I smile so hard my cheeks hurt. “Just like us.”

Not long after, Angora and Erik step before the Moirai.

The contrast is almost comical.

The Crone watches them both with ancient amusement. “What do you wish to become of this match?”

Angora lifts her chin elegantly. “He’s a lord,” she says simply, smoothing a hand over her gown. “Of course I want to continue the match.”

Erik flashes a grin sharp enough to cut glass. “And she’s gorgeous, so I’d say we’re both winning here.”

Riven coughs suspiciously beside me.

The Mother sighs like she’s personally exhausted by them.

But when I look at Angora now, I feel…nothing sharp anymore.

No bitterness.

No jealousy.

No triumph.

Honestly, just a little pity about the bomb that’s soon going to be dropped on her about her match’s wealth. Honestly, I may even feel a strange sort of fondness from a distance. Because maybe, in their own odd way, they could be perfect for each other.

Erik rolls the die in his hands, and shockingly, a seventeen glitters above them.

Maybe they are two people chasing glitter and appearances and ambition with enough confidence to power the entire realm. Maybe sometimes love simply looks like two people choosing the same dream.

The thought settles warmly inside me, smoothing away the last remnants of resentment I’d been carrying.

By the time the final couple leaves the dais, the sky has melted into streaks of gold and violet above the arena. Around us, soulbonds glow faintly against skin. Couples laugh and cry and kiss beneath lantern light while the Moirai watch from their glittering thrones, which look suspiciously like they are decorated with ancient stars, weaving fate thread by thread.

Riven’s hand squeezes mine, and together, hand in hand, we leave the Festival knowing our story doesn’t end here.

If anything—it’s only just beginning.

Turns out, when it came to us, Fate wasn’t wrong.

Just early.

One Year Later

POPPY

The Foxhole, warm and golden-lit as always, is lively as ever. I wipe the counters like I’ve done a thousand times and wink at the little wooden fox I made Riven so many solstices ago that now lives on the shelf behind the bar. Through the front bay window, I can see the sign we put out this morning: Festival Match Night — Hosted by the Moirai.

After our deception and less-than-typical match season last year, Riven and I have been encouraged to support the Moirai in their endeavors to make every Festival as magical as ours. Starting by hosting the newly matched couples at our bar tonight.

The lanterns strung across the wide wooden beams flicker when I walk by, responding to the magic that created them.