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Elma kissed him, weaving her fingers in his hair, enjoying the feel of him, the knowledge that they were together, alive, and that she loved him. She was the Queen of Rothen, and she loved him.

He had stayed in Rothen to heal after the Death Games. At first, she had thought she might lose him. It had been the worst day of her life. And now that he was whole and hale again, she couldn’t stand the thought of him returning to Slödava, living so far away, ruling another kingdom. The idea of their fates forever branching apart, growing more and more distant… it wasn’t a future she had the strength to bear.

She wanted him. She wanted him all the time, to touch him, to be with him, laugh with him, spar with him. He was her star, and she was his.

“Marry me,” she said, kissing his ear. “Join our kingdoms. Be my king. Spend every day at my side and every night in my bed, for the rest of your life. You’ll be far from home, but—”

“Elma,” he said, interrupting. She could feel the heat in his voice, his excitement in the languorous way he nuzzled herneck. “Home? What do I care about home? I could never see Slödava again and die happy, just for the chance to spend a week of nights in your bed. Even for one night, really. I mean, all you’d have to do was ask. Want me to declare war on my mother? I’ll do it.”

Elma couldn’t help laughing, couldn’t help kissing him until they were both breathless. “That won’t be necessary,” she said, removing her flower crown and placing it on top of his. “Just marry me.”

“Then I’m yours,” said Rune, meeting her gaze with his bright blue one. “I always have been.”

Dark, snow-laden peaks rose up beyond them, the moon slowly curving across a black sky. Far beyond, the Frozen Sea spread out like shining glass, and the city of Slödava glittered at its edge. Great civilizations raged afar, their heights and declines unknown to Elma, a faraway dream. Rune’s hands were vivid and warm, his mouth spoke love, and she was a blooming flower in his embrace.

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