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It’s encouraging news, but not the news I’m most desperate to hear. The replies from Maystead trickle in one by one, all of them claiming ignorance of Prain’s whereabouts.
The last response is from Mistress Godward, written in her typical direct style.
Juliette,
You’ve always been straight with me, so I’ll tell you what no one else will. Prain is dead. Dom Echelin’s enforcers killed him the night you left. Not many know it for sure, though they suspect. But my husband saw it happen while he was making a delivery. Dom Echelin tried to take over your mill and your house, but your employees stepped up and fended him off. They got the Lady Mayor to intervene and protect your interests, so you’ve still got the old place, to do with as you please.
Heard some wild rumors about you and the goings on in the royal city. Not sure I believe them.
Keep baking. You always did make the best bread.
Heloise Godward
After reading the letter, I sit in perfect stillness and silence for a long time. Rupert doesn’t touch me or speak to me—somehow he understands that I need space and quiet.
In those moments, I understand the Elves better than ever before. Some emotions, like my feelings about my brother, are simply too deep and too complex to express.
The next day, I send word back home to trusted friends who can handle the sale of the mill, the house, and the land on my behalf. I give orders for all my employees to receive a portion of the proceeds.
Rupert and I work and wait—him doing various odd jobs that are more or less honest, me as a server in the local pub.
After a couple months, we receive a trunk of my personal belongings, with the remainder of the profits from the mill secreted inside. It’s the nest egg we need, the starter money for the dream we shared in the House of Bounty all those months ago.
“We’ll find a location with gardens and stables, somewhere between two big cities, on a main travel route,” I tell Rupert one evening. We’re sitting on the bench in the center of Hollen’s Bridge, on the outskirts of the village where we’ve been staying. “Rooms upstairs, and a pub below. We’ll keep the menu simple, and we’ll provide the very best quality and a pleasant experience. I’ll do the cooking, and we’ll both deal with customers. You’re charming—you just need a little practice having patience with the troublesome types. And I need to know more about which spells you can do, so I can figure out how to leverage your magic for the business.”
Rupert raises his eyebrows, and I wince.
“Alright, that sounded really cold and mercenary,” I admit. “What I mean is, you have certain gifts that you bring to this enterprise, and I—”
“Easy, sweetheart.” He wraps an arm around my shoulders and kisses the top of my head, laughing into my hair. “I know what you meant. You want to play to my strengths and make me your partner in this.”
“Exactly.” I take his hand, playing idly with his fingers. “I know the future I want to work for. But if at any time you decide you don’t want that future, you can tell me. You’re free to go anywhere, love anyone, and be anything that will bring you happiness.”
It’s hard to form those words, but I have to. I must be sure he isn’t staying because I saved him, or because of some lingering compulsion. He has to want this. And if he doesn’t, I need to let him go.
“Juliette,” he says, in a low, velvety tone, and my stomach thrills. “Look at me.”
I turn and lift my face to his. His expression is uncharacteristically serious, and a fierce light gleams in his blue eyes.
“You are where I want to be, whom I want to love, and the ‘why’ of my entire existence. You have been from the moment I met you, though I didn’t realize it at first. Where you go, I will follow. I will cheer you on, work at your side, tease you out of your sadness, and fuck you senseless whenever you’ll let me. This—you and me—it works. And I want to be your partner, your plaything, and your friend until the day I die. Does that clarify things for you? Do I need to write it in the notebook? Make a list of goals? One: Convince Juliette that I really do love her. Two: Persuade her to call me ‘stallion’ while we’re fucking…”
He’s teasing now, grinning, and I poke him in the ribs. He barks out a laugh and grabs me, tickling me unmercifully.
“Three,” he says, while I squeal and thrash, “marry Juliette as soon as possible. Four: fuck Juliette at least three times a day. Five—”
“What?” I gasp, stilling in his grasp. “What did you say?”
“Oh, that.” He shrugs. “I’m going to marry you.”
“You are?” I raise my eyebrows. “Just like that?”
A mischievous smirk. “Just like that.”
“I suppose I have no say in the matter.”
“None at all.” He leans in, nuzzling his nose with mine before kissing me soundly.
“What’s five?” I ask, breathless, when he breaks the kiss.
