Epilogue
Roan
We grow vegetables now.
I still can’t say it with a straight face.
Every morning, Aria’s out in the little garden we dug behind the cottage, barefoot in the dew-damp grass, hair a mess, cloak tossed over the fence. She hums to herself as she waters the tomatoes like they’re sacred, muttering encouragement to the carrots like we’ll take it personally if they wilt.
She told me once it’s her way of keeping me fed. Said it with that half-smile of hers, the one that tugs at my chest every damn time. You do so much for me, she said. This is something I can do for you.
As if she hadn’t already given me more than I ever thought I could have.
So I let her tend the dirt like it’s holy, and I stand in the doorway each morning—warm mug in hand, watching her move barefoot through a world she’s building with her own two hands.
And every damn time, my chest gets tight in that ridiculous way I still haven’t gotten used to.
Because we made it.
The cottage is small—two rooms, one stubborn hearth that always smokes when it rains—but it’s ours. Tucked on the edge of a sleepy village that asks no questions and offers fresh bread in exchange for firewood and vegetables.
We’re too far off the map to draw attention, and the last time we passed through town, the bounty board was still empty.
It’s over.
She’s safe.
And I get to wake up next to her every morning.
Aria straightens from where she’s crouched beside the squash vines, wiping the back of her hand across her cheek. There’s a smudge of dirt along her jaw, and something stupidly tender blooms in my chest.
“I see your cult of tomatoes is thriving,” I call, grinning.
She turns, one eyebrow arched. “Jealous? You could’ve helped plant them.”
“I carried the bucket.”
“ Once .”
“I made the fence,” I shoot back, lifting the mug in a mock toast.
“Then you knocked it over.”
I smirk, leaning against the doorframe. “And remade it. Better.”
I set aside my drink and saunter out toward her, the grass cool against my bare feet. She narrows her eyes like she knows what I’m up to, but doesn’t move as I slip behind her and wrap my arms around her waist.
“You like this life,” I murmur against her ear. “You were made for it.”
Her laugh is soft. “You were worried I’d get bored.”
“I was,” I admit, pressing a kiss to the curve of her neck. “But you’ve become a very intimidating garden vampire.”
She hums, tilting her head to give me more room. “And you’ve become a very devoted housewife.”
Oh. Right. I asked Aria to marry me.
It wasn’t grand. Just the two of us by the firewood pile at dusk, the scent of split cedar hanging in the air, her cheeks still pink from the cold. My fingers were twitching towards my pocket where the ring had been burning a hole for days.
I didn’t plan to do it then—I’d been waiting for something better, whatever the hell that meant. But she looked up at me, all soft eyes and wind-tousled hair, and I couldn’t hold it in any longer.
“So,” I said, like a coward. “You ever think about marrying someone who’s terrible at expressing her feelings but very good with a sword?”
“Only every day,” she whispered.
And gods—when I pulled the ring from my pocket, just a simple silver band I’d bartered for weeks ago, her eyes went wide like I’d handed her the sun and moon wrapped in a promise.
She didn’t even look at the ring, not really. She just looked at me.
Like I was the thing she’d been waiting for.
And, well… she’s not wrong.
I might’ve become a very devoted housewife.
Now, I snort. “Don’t tell anyone. I’ve got a reputation to ruin.”
She twists in my arms and kisses me—dirt-streaked, sun-warmed, home. When she pulls back, her smile is crooked, knowing.
“You love me,” she says, like she’s daring me to deny it.
I look between her eyes slowly. “Yeah,” I whisper. “I really, really do.”
We stand there for a moment, the wind brushing through the leaves, the world blissfully, impossibly quiet.
I think, not for the first time, that I’d fight a thousand enforcers to protect this fragile peace.
Because we aren’t alone anymore, not in the ways that matter. We share a life, a future, a hope. And for someone like me—a once-aimless sword-for-hire, hardened by violence—it’s more than I ever dared to dream.