Epilogue
THREE MONTHS LATER
The brisk morning air kisses my face, threading chilly fingers through my loose hair. Beneath my sandaled feet, the stone balcony is cool and pleasant. Even winter in Arbinj is nothing compared to the cruel cold of the tundra I once called home.
The capital sprawls beneath me. Brick buildings, shingled roofs, neat and orderly streets—the city that welcomed me home as their Healing Queen along with their newly crowned Commander-turned-King.
Footsteps sound behind me, familiar and steady. A smile curves my lips as a muscled arm snakes around my waist, my husband’s mouth finding my fluttering pulse.
“Ready?” Zev murmurs, pulling me back against his chest.
“Yes,” I lie. He doesn’t conceal the gentle ripple that travels through him.
“It’ll be all right. The last letter was optimistic, remember?” His fingers trace slow, steady circles over my waist, anchoring me with his touch.
I frown. “Sorka said they’d be ‘open to discussion.’ That’s not exactly welcoming me with open arms.”
Zev chuckles against my skin. “He couldn’t very well write ‘Please come rule us.’ You’ve made more progress in just three months than most rulers make in years. New trade routes, the wielder-exchange, consistent letters and delegation. They’ll welcome you back. They just need to see you.”
Doubt still needles beneath my ribs. Arbinj has been surprisingly warm to change.
Tundrayn has been colder in every sense.
We hadn’t risked a visit while tensions remained high.
Sorka’s ruled over the kingdom since … I killed my father.
I haven’t seen my homeland since I left with Zev all those months ago.
That changes today.
From the balcony, I spot the carriages ready to ferry us across the border. I lace my fingers with Zev’s, steadying myself with the simple strength of him, and we head through the palace halls together.
In the courtyard, we bid Tairna farewell with tight hugs and promises to write as soon as we arrive. Zev guides us toward the royal carriage, but I tug him left—to a smaller, unassuming one. The prisoner’s carriage. The same one where Zev once shackled me.
He arches a brow. “Seriously?”
I fight a grin. “I’m only insisting on this painfully unworthy contraption for your safety. But worry not, husband. Once we reach Tundrayn, we’ll switch back into the royal carriage. You’ll enter the capital with all the pomp—”
I squeal as Zev scoops me into his strong arms and swiftly climbs the steps, settling down on the bench with me in his lap, hands gripping my waist with an easy possession.
“That smart mouth’s going to get you in trouble,” he murmurs, skimming his lips over mine.
“Mmm, I love being in trouble with you.”
“Yeah?”
“No. Not at all, actually,” I whisper. A shudder ripples through him, his lips curling into a sinful smirk that has my thighs clenching around his. Zev likes these tiny lies, I’ve learned, the ones that send a prickle down his spine and reassurance through his heart.
That it was all real. That we are real.
His lips are on mine before I can blink, and he swallows my startled gasp when the carriage lurches into motion.
I break our kiss, lifting one of his arms to the shackle bolted into the carriage wall.
“Mayah—”
“It’s not iron.” Click. The first cuff snaps shut. “I had Gregoran switch them out.”
Click.
“Oh?” Zev’s voice deepens, dark with promise as I shift in his lap. “And what exactly did you tell Gregoran about why you needed new shackles?”
“He didn’t ask.” I press a kiss to Zev’s lips, drawing back before he can deepen it. “But if he had asked, I’d have said it’s between me and my husband.”
I grind my hips and watch as his eyes flutter shut with a ragged groan.
“And what exactly is between us?” he asks hoarsely.
I scrape my teeth along his thick collarbone, reveling in his sharp inhale. I don’t bother answering, just bracket his jaw between my palms and kiss him greedily. Tides, I’ll never tire of his taste—of how he kisses me like he’s starving.
Even shackled, he holds all the power.
His tongue delves into my mouth, coaxing a breathless moan from me. If I’m not careful, he’ll kiss me senseless, and I’ll forget my plan.
Still kissing him, I summon power into my palms.
It’s takes him a moment to realize what I’ve done.
He jerks back, eyes wide. “Skies, Mayah. You—”
“I channeled my power into you.”
His chest heaves, face twisting into something like desperation.
“Fuck, baby. I—I could hurt you.”
“You won’t. And even if you do, luckily, I know an excellent healer.” I slide off his lap, settling lazily across from him on the bench, legs spread wide in invitation.
His gaze drops, dark and hungry. “Uncuff me. Let me channel into you, too.” His voice is an anguished growl, but I only smile.
“Next time,” I whisper huskily. My tongue darts out to trace my lower lip. He watches, entranced. “This time, I want to be in my senses when you ravage me.”
His breathing roughens, wrists straining against the cuffs. He blinks rapidly, then drags his gaze back to my eyes.
“Why now? We could’ve done this in our bed.”
I shrug. “It’s more fun this way.”
“Want to know what I think?” he rasps. “You’re afraid to return to Tundrayn. And you want a distraction.”
I purse my lips. “Both things can be true.”
He tips his head back, eyes closed, a deep growl rumbling through his chest. When he looks at me again, his eyes are nearly black. “Pick a word. Say it, and I’ll try my best to stop.”
“Thunder.” I have no intention of using it, though.
His gaze drags over me—mouth, throat, thighs—as if deciding which part of me he wants to devour first.
“Uncuff me,” he snarls, straining against the shackles.
“What’s wrong, baby?” I croon, widening my legs. “You look a little flushed.”
He’s panting now—not for air, but for me.
“You’ve been a very bad girl, Mayah.” It’s a throaty warning through gritted teeth. “Shackling me. Channeling into me. Fucking teasing me.” His smile is sharp. Wicked. “I’m going to have to punish you.”
Fuck. Yes.
“How will you punish me?” I breathe.
“You’re about to find out.”
With a brutal crack, the wood around the shackles splinters. My husband tears himself free of the wall like a storm breaking loose.
He looms over me, hunger and rage and promise burning in his eyes. His large hand wraps around my throat—firm, not cruel—tilting my head until I meet his feral gaze.
“On your knees.”
There’s not a single muscle in my body that doesn’t ache. My head lolls against Zev’s shoulder, his breath warm at my temple.
Cold air gusts through the holes he punched through the carriage walls, and I shiver, curling myself tightly against him. My gown lays in tatters on the floor, and I can’t be bothered to change into the spare I packed in anticipation of exactly this.
“You all right?” he murmurs, stroking my back.
“Yeah,” I breathe. “That was … intense.”
“I’m still going to punish you later.”
“I thought that was my punishment.”
He scoffs. “You enjoyed it too much.”
The journey back to Tundrayn unfolds nothing like our month-long trek to Arbinj.
This time, we travel the main carriage roads, stopping at small, cozy inns where warm fires burn in hearths and mismatched mugs brim with mead.
Dinners in our honor are common, held by minor lords eager to gain favor with their new king and queen.
I’m subjected to curious, sometimes wary, eyes, though that always changes after dinner, once I offer to heal any ailments.
Zev watches me with open, unapologetic pride etched across his handsome face, ensuring I eat enough between patients.
Nights blur together in cramped rooms with paper-thin walls, too-small beds, and scratchy sheets. We’re all sweat-slicked skin, tangled limbs, and teasing touches. Zev muffles my breathy moans beneath his large palm, whispering, “Quiet, baby. Those sounds are just for me.”
As we near Tundrayn, civilization thins and the air turns sharper.
At the first sight of snow, my stomach stumbles with a wave of homesickness so fierce, my hands tremble in my lap.
Zev halts the carriages without a word, and we walk until the cold bites at my ankles and my snowballs leave him glowering.
We spend most nights curled beneath thick blankets in the royal carriage, but one evening, I coax him into the woods, guards left behind.
I start a small fire while Zev hunts snowshoe hare, and we share a meal beneath the stars, like we’d done countless times, except now I sit in his lap and he feeds me pieces of charred meat, demanding a kiss between every other bite.
Later, beneath his smoke-scented cloak, Zev makes love to me, slowly, reverently, swallowing each gasp of pleasure, and worshipping me the way I’d imagined a thousand times over.
I fall asleep cradled in strong arms. Safe. Happy.
His.
A week later, my legs are shaky as I exit the royal carriage, a thick cloak thrown over my shoulders.
The cold air hits my face like home.
Let’s hope my people still see it that way.
Hand in hand, Zev and I walk through the snowy courtyard, flanked by our guards, who still pointedly avoid my gaze. I’m not sure they’ll ever look at us the same way again after this passion-filled journey.
My heart stutters as the towering ice doors, ones I’ve crossed countless times, open before us. Zev squeezes my hand.
Together, we enter.
Sorka stands ready to receive us. A good sign, I hope.
Beside him, Vy watches us warily, hands settled protectively over her round belly.
Behind them, standing with the waterwielders, are Sura and Tumaas.
Both wear bright, encouraging grins. Other warriors stand shoulder-to-shoulder with them, a sea of blues and whites, icy eyes fixed on Zev.
“Mayah. Commander,” Sorka greets softly.
“Sorka.” I school my tone into smooth diplomacy. “Thank you for overseeing the kingdom in our absence. I trust the food stores are full? The people, content?”
A beat. Then, a nod.
“Wonderful. My husband and I are ready for the discussions you mentioned in your last letter. I don’t wish to take Tundrayn by force. But make no mistake—I am its queen.”
Silence ripples through the room.
“Yes. About that,” Sorka says slowly. “I’ve discussed with our advisers at length. Tormik’s treachery, your mother’s murder. The storms. Your attack at the camp. And well—perhaps it’s easier to show you.”
He gestures us forward.
Through the familiar icy halls, homesickness swirls in my chest like a restless tide. The Great Hall rises before us, vast and glittering beneath frozen chandeliers. At its center, a circular dais gleams like glass. Upon it, rest two intricately carved ice thrones.
They’re larger than the ones from the betrothal ceremony.
Regal. Unyielding. Permanent.
I cut Sorka a sharp glance. In answer, he gestures for us to ascend.
Zev and I climb the dais, taking the offered seats. My betrothal ring gleams in the bright light.
“There’s much still to mend,” Sorka says. “Wrongs to be righted. But one thing has been decided.” He glances around the hall. “Tundrayn welcomes you home, Queen Mayah.”