Epilogue
Alexander (one year later)
I ’m waiting at the end of the aisle for my bride.
We’re getting our vows renewed a year after we had our first wedding.
But this time I wanted a wedding that she planned. Without all the customs she so angelically agreed to follow the first time.
So we’re on a beautiful golden-white beach in the south of Norjava, the sands stretching out in one direction as far as the eye can see, the sparkling blue waves gently hitting the shores. Everything is gorgeous and beautiful and perfect, and I can’t even object too much to Magnus presiding over the wedding in a Hawaiian shirt so unhinged and insane it could be seen from space.
“If you wanted the Archbishop’s robes, you should have done it right the first time,” Magnus said, and I’m too happy to say shit.
The most beautiful woman in the world, the only woman I could ever love, agreed to give me a second chance.
When I see Delilah walk down the aisle on her uncle Mortimer’s arm, my heart feels like it’s going to explode with joy.
My beautiful wife is in the dress she chose for our wedding, a buttercup yellow sundress, her dark curls tied in a half-bun and falling down her shoulders and back.
God, she’s stunning.
The gorgeous love of my life, who gave me a second chance. I hope I’ve made it up to her. I hope I can always make it up to her so she never doubts she’s my number one priority.
When she puts her soft hand in mine, her wedding rings finally back on her finger, I swear I could conquer the world.
The ceremony is short and sweet, with a lot of laughter, and exaggerated coughing sounds at the new line I added to my wedding vows.
It’s not customary in Norjava for aristocratic men to swear to be faithful to their wives, but I add the line in anyway, even though I know Magnus is going to clear his throat as loudly as he can, like he just swallowed a fly.
Her friends have only 75-80% forgiven me. Maybe in a few years we’ll inch that percentage up.
Delilah’s eyes don’t waver from mine, though, her lips twisting up with gentle teasing.
Thank fuck she forgave me.
I don’t want to know where I’d be without her.
She repeats the vows after me, her voice sweet and clear, and I clutch her hands so tightly.
Her love is the greatest gift I’ve ever been given.
After the ceremony, my wife peels off her sundress and heads for the bright blue waves.
“Wait for me,” I laugh, pulling off my T-shirt and unbuttoning my pants as fast as I can, my eyes on my wife’s polka-dot bikini, the way I want to grab her soft curves in my hands, pull her into my arms.
“Hurry up, Your Highness,” she calls back, and I stumble after her.
Catching up easily with my much longer legs, I grab my wife and swing her into my arms, loving how she smells like sun and sand, how her body curves around mine, her legs wrap around me.
I pull her into the water, letting the warm waves wash over us, and I kiss my bride, tears prickling at the corner of my eyes at the feel of her soft lips, the way she opens eagerly for me, the sweet taste of her tongue that sends heat pounding down to my cock.
Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night covered in sweat, my heart pounding through my ribcage, because I had a nightmare that she did leave me, that she gave me exactly what I deserved. Sometimes my cheeks are wet with crying and I feel like I’m drowning, my lungs filling with the hopeless consequences of my own selfishness and stupidity, and then I’ll feel the brush of my wife’s thigh or the touch of her hand, and I’ll pull her convulsively toward me, almost crushing her in my arms, so relieved and thankful that she stayed.
When Delilah looks up at me it’s like looking into the sun itself, my bright, warm, loving Queen.
“You remember what you’ve been wanting to do for months now?” she whispers in my ear.
My heart leaps and I feel suddenly dizzy with joy.
“Are you sure?” I ask, one hand firmly around her waist, the other stroking her face.
“Yes,” she laughs, and her eyes dance.
“I’m ready to start trying for a baby.”
Delilah (one year after that)
One year later it’s the day of the Grand Unveiling of the new St. Constance mural and I’m nervous as we walk across the palace lawns to the chapel.
What if no one likes my paintings? What if they make people faint? I told Magnus we went too hard on the gore, I fret to myself. But he’s so bloodthirsty and painting a vengeful St. Constance is so fun. . .
“Is he getting too heavy?” my husband asks, holding his arms out for our 3-month-old baby.
Kissing his sweet milky head, I hand my sweet Peregrine to Alexander, watching with a joyful leap of my heart as his little toothless mouth breaks into a grin to see his father.
Alexander is an amazing dad, quick to change a dirty diaper, always ready to get up in the night, happy to bring me four-course meals as I breastfeed my sweet baby for hours on the couch.
My fears are quickly relieved when we arrive at the chapel. It’s full of Norjava elite, visiting dignitaries, and, naturally, my best friends.
“Long live the Queen!” Magnus carols as soon as he sees me and insists on everyone raising a glass to the mural and me.
“I had so much help,” I say, blushing. “You and Libby and Roger and Henner all helped!”
“Nonsense!” trumpets Magnus. “ You were the mastermind behind it all. And I see you have brought your lesser-known husband, Mr. Delilah Levesque.”
Alexander only laughs.
“You’re right. My Queen is an angel on earth and a genius.”
The partying goes on for a long time, with delicious food and good friends, and Prince Peregrine gets passed from one set of happy, loving arms to another. Roger is playing a lullaby on a wooden flute as Peregrine bounces happily in Libby’s arms, and I take the opportunity to go look closely at my mural.
I feel a big, possessive hand around my waist, and my husband pulls me gently into his arms.
“You did an amazing job,” he says, his mouth on my throat.
“It’s pretty gruesome,” I laugh.
“It’s amazing,” Alexander insists. “You know I would never lie to you.”
His hands tighten on me, and I know he’s remembering what happened. That month changed him. Although he’s gained back the weight he lost, his big grin is as wide as ever, his laugh as loud and magnetic as ever, I know when he remembers how he almost lost me the King is sick with guilt. But Alexander still helps out in the kitchens once a week, and he has made good on his promise that I always come at least once before he does.
I meant it when I said a fresh start, so I don’t bring what happened up and I don’t tease him, as much as I want to when I see Matron Bushwick out at the visitor center getting in the news because she’s implemented some new strict environmentally friendly regulations, and the news report shows a deeply unhappy Julia and Jewel in the background, picking up dog shit tourists have left on the visitor center grounds.
“I know you wouldn’t,” I say, and I hear Alexander’s happy hum, the way his chest and throat rumble with satisfaction that he’s kissing me, that I’m in his arms.
“Let’s go put Peregrine down for a nap,” he says, and we collect our baby and head back to the palace.
My heart is so full as we walk back across the lawns, Peregrine’s soft blonde curls tickling my cheek, as I rub my chin gently on the sweet milky scent of his head. He’s already half-asleep.
My husband’s strong arm is around my waist.
“I love you, my Queen,” he says.
Alexander loves me fiercely, wildly, devotedly. I’ve never once regretted giving him that second chance.
As for me, it’s always been him.
I got my fairytale ending.
“I love you, too,” I sigh with contentment, and we walk back to our home with our beautiful baby.