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The Durrely Boys, Vance Industries, Lydia Mangrove, Bartleby’s—however many enemies or disapproving sources try to block our path, none will stand a chance.
But we do. I know we do.
We’ll show them all.
EPILOGUE
ONE MONTH LATER
The first time I fell in love, I started a war. I gave my power away, trusted the wrong man, and vowed to scorn love forever. Good thing I’m not a pureblood fae and can lie, for today, in breaking one vow, I take another.
Dante and I stand before a stone pedestal, hands clasped as a human priest from the Church of Bretton officiates our wedding ceremony with his opening remarks. Aside from the traditional priest, everything else about our wedding is unconventional. At least by human standards.
My dress isn’t a puffy white gown but an emerald green spider silk dress in the fae fashion, with a deep neckline and gauzy skirt. Dante wears casual black pants, an open waistcoat, and a linen shirt free of tie or cravat, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. In lieu of church walls lined with stained glass windows, we stand in a birch tree grove. The sunlight shining through the canopy of red-gold leaves above us casts glittering light upon the plush forest floor. Instead of a pipe organ, our wedding march is birdsong. Our only attendants are my sister, King Aspen, Foxglove, and Breeda. The latter flits over our heads, humming a tune that stands in contrast with the priest’s monotone. It’s hard not to laugh, especially when Breeda gets bored of fluttering and decides to perch upon the man’s shoulder, making his face go pale as death. He doesn’t miss a beat, though, and simply pretends the fire sprite isn’t there.
Dante squeezes my hand. As I glance over at him, I find he too is struggling to keep a stoic expression. Despite how he purses his lips, his eyes are crinkled at the corners.
Something slow and warm like melted honey moves through me, a feeling I’ve come to call love. I’ve felt it more and more over the past month. Not that I doubted my feelings when I proposed to Dante. Still, this journey of the heart is a new one for me, and it helps to be reminded over and over that it’s a path I do indeed want to travel. A path Ideserveto travel.
“Marriage is a sacred union,” the priest says, and I remember I’m supposed to be paying attention to him. A challenge, considering his dull delivery, expressing none of the passion I feel.
While I’d rather have a less somber figure overseeing our nuptials, utilizing a human priest from Bretton’s church was one of King Grigory’s demands. It was victory enough when my sister and the Alpha Council got him to agree to our new terms for a peace pact. None of us were willing to push it much further. The situation was tense when we first confronted the king about sending a spy into our midst and allowing him to act as a decoy when the point of the alliance was to establish trust.
It required some deception on our part. Not to mention asking my sister for help. Evie had to exaggerate her anger over being duped by a spy without swaying the Alpha Council toward drastic measures. Instead, the solution was a simple one: we would demand both the princeandthe spy as our hostages. The prince would be given comfortable accommodations to live in Faerwyvae from now on, but since the spy was guilty of insulting the fae by taking the prince’s place and testing for threats, he would be forced to marry a fae bride—me, of course, thanks to Evie’s cunning.
Everything has strangely come full circle. Twenty-two years ago, I was given as a forced bride to a stranger. I rebelled against my arranged marriage and chose a different groom. I let that groom rescue me. Lied to my sister. Pushed everyone I loved away.
I’ve once again rebelled against my arranged marriage and chose a different groom. And again, I let my beloved rescue me. A few times now. This time, though, I kept my power. I let my sister rescue me too. Told her the truth. Brought everyone I loved closer to me.
I never would have thought experiencing an echo of my dark past could feel so healing. So much like forgiveness.
But it does.
The priest guides us into the part where we sayI do. Then it’s time to exchange vows. My pulse kicks up with eager anticipation as we face each other, hands clasped. This is the part of the ceremony I’ve been looking forward to, regardless of our monotone officiant, because I get to speak from the heart. We may be required to state traditional time-honored words—per King Grigory’s demands—but that doesn’t mean I can’t pour that honey-warm feeling into each one.
Dante seems to be of the same mind. The priest delivers words for Dante to repeat back, and when he does, his tone is brimming with sincere conviction. Each promise to love and care for me through all stages of life is paired with a smile. He places my ring over the tip of my finger. It’s a rose gold band designed to look like a twining tree branch that curves around my finger in a three-tiered spiral. Three dainty emeralds rest on each tier. He caresses his thumb over the back of my hand as he settles the ring in place.
Breeda flutters off the priest’s shoulder to hover over my hand. “Oooh, that’s pretty.”
She’s right, but I can’t take my eyes off Dante to look at her or the ring. When I recall our vows someday in the future, I want to remember the sparkling warmth in his eyes, the beauty of his glowing smile, the potent love written over every inch of his face.
Evie whispers for Breeda to leave us alone, and the sprite obediently glides over to her.
Now it’s my turn to deliver my vows. My lower lip begins to wobble as I encircle Dante’s finger with his ring. It’s slightly thicker than mine with only one tier and the same twig-like design. I repeat the priest’s words, my voice far more tremulous than Dante’s, due to the happy tears constricting my throat.
“I now pronounce you husband and wife,” the priest says, sending a trill of delight through my chest. “You may kiss the bride.”
Dante doesn’t hesitate to pull me against him and press an enthusiastic kiss to my lips. I wrap my arms around his neck, meeting his enthusiasm with my own. When we don’t immediately draw apart, the priest clears his throat. Our guests, on the other hand, aren’t put off by our lingering affection at all. In fact, they downright ignore it, encircling us with warm hugs or firm pats—the latter courtesy of King Aspen, I can only assume.
Once we finally manage to separate, Aspen claps Dante on the back. “Welcome to the family, Mr. Fairfield.”
My heart swells at the sound of Dante’s new surname. He was overcome with emotion when I suggested he take mine.
“Thank you, Your Majesty.” Dante’s eyes flick briefly to Aspen’s intimidatingly large antlers, but he maintains a wide grin. The two have interacted only a few times over the past month, and Dante is still getting to know the fae aspects of his new home. So far, he’s integrating rather well, if I say so myself.
Evie wraps her arms around my waist from behind and rests her chin on my shoulder. “Congratulations, Ami. I’m happy for you.”
Foxglove barrels into me from the front, hugging us both. “So am I.”
