68. Epilogue
It was on Stella’s order that a chair of equal elegance be placed beside her throne. I insisted I didn’t need one, that I was more than delighted to take my usual place—leaning against one of the grand pillars and either cleaning my fingernails or causing mischief. She only arched an eyebrow at me and said, “Maybe I just don’t like being parted from my advisor. He gives very good advice.”
What can I say? I had no will to protest after that declaration.
So I sit in my throne beside hers while she holds court. There has been much, much to do following the end of Faradir’s reign and the beginning of a new era in Faerieland. Rahk and I have already put down a rebellion in one of the lesser courts. That has been the only blatant rebellion since Lulythinar, but there have been plenty of subtler messages, especially from the Nothril Court. There is much reform Stella and I long to make, but we cannot rush anything if we are to peacefully maintain the loyalty of the Courts.
Slowly and surely, we are rebuilding a stronger world for many centuries to come. In time, we will make Faerie a safer place for the humans who end up trapped here. For humans, for us, for our people.
But not just for them.
My gaze drifts from the fae coming forward one by one, bringing their problems to their High Queen. It shifts to where Stella sits on her throne in a gown of pure white, with scalloped sleeves, and her crown of gold rests on her lovely head. This is the best part about having my own place to sit beside her: I get to look at her all day, enjoy every little play of emotion across her face. Her focus, her concern, her surprise, her joy, even her anger. There are fewer observers in the gallery than when my father reigned, for the simple fact that Stella’s reign is far more boring. It is full of problem solving and practical, level-headed considerations. There are no heads rolling for random reasons, no explosions of temper, no trickster bargains.
I never thought I’d come to love the throne room. But as of late, my view has improved.
Stella listens to the latest fae babble about how the rebellion ruined his millow farmland, and now he’s lost his livelihood. Her hand gently glides absent-mindedly over her rounded middle while her brow puckers, and she nods in understanding to the case brought before her.
Then she turns to me.
Her face pinks when she catches my expression, catches that I’ve been watching her instead of listening. Her voice is dry when she asks, “Do you have any advice to impart? My inclination is to use the crown’s funds to hire laborers from the Small Cities to repair the damage, if there be no fae available for the task.”
She understands well by now that fae do not like to be hired. They think of it as temporary—or permanent—slavery, regardless of the fact that they are compensated. Humans, on the other hand, have no such compunction.
My lips pull into a smirk. “Brilliant, Your Worship.”
She rolls her eyes and goes back to work, but there’s a glint in her eye, a warmth to her mouth, and she gives our unborn heir an extra caress.
One of Stella’s favorite things to do now is to ask for advice on things she neither needs advice on, nor is at all relevant to my areas of expertise. This morning, she asked if I advised her to wear white or blue. Yesterday, she asked for which variety of human food we should serve at our next banquet. The day before, she asked if I advised a limit on kissing. At least on that front, I have a strong opinion.
As the hours of work drag by, I find myself struggling with restlessness more than usual. Part of me thinks I am not at all suited to the sheer boredom and tedium of ruling, whether in part or full, but the rest of me knows it’s because I’m excited for tonight. I have a surprise for Stella that I think she is going to love.
Hopefully.
The doors to the throne room open, and where I expect more fae to enter with cases to bring to their High Queen, it’s a human who enters. He speaks to the crier, who announces: “King Roland of Aursailles, here on behalf of peace!”
Stella’s attention sharpens, but she makes no move as the doors open wide, and a human entourage enters. I push upright from my slouching position, old anger turning my gut hot as one of the two kings I despised most in the world comes down the center aisle. His gaze is transfixed on Stella, his jaw slackening as he beholds her in her full glory.
He realizes now who among his daughters is actually the fairest.
Coward that he is, he’s brought one of said daughters. She wears no veil—of course, because that was not a real tradition. I have no idea which sister this one is, only that she carries a toddler at her hip and looks much older than Stella does. Another man stands at her side, and the crier announces him as King Ilbert of Enslington.
“Amelia!” Stella gasps.
Amelia’s mouth drops open. “Isabelle Louise!”
I drum my fingers impatiently on my armrest. “Will the humans not bow before the High Queen of Faerie?”
Stella’s eyes are wet as she watches King Ilbert and her sister kneel before her. King Roland, his hairline having receded in the time since our last parting, hesitates. As though he cannot believe the woman he stands before now is his daughter.
I’m about to bark a threat that he bows before my wife or else, when Stella shifts her attention from her beloved sister to her father, and the tears vanish. They’re replaced with boredom.
“If you have come on terms of peace, I see not why you should care to insult me,” she replies, lifting her chin. “I know why you’re here, and if you want me to oblige your request, you will offer the due respect.”
My mouth twists into an utterly delighted, wicked grin. Stella was born to be Queen of Faerie.
King Roland bows.
Stella gestures with one hand. “You may speak.”
Roland looks like he would rather eat his own shoe than obey his daughter, but he rises. “We ask for the land stolen by the Long Lost Wood to be returned. It was part of our bargain.”
“The bargain you made with me that when I was High King, I would return your land?” I interject. “That is not a transferable bargain, I’m afraid.”
Roland grinds his jaw, likely to keep from shouting that I am a liar and a trickster.
Stella tilts her head to one side. “You think that, because I am your blood, you can request anything of me that you wish? Would you have asked High King Faradir thus?”
We both know it’s not a fair question. He wouldn’t have even come to Faerieland—wouldn’t have been able to find the door to Valehaven without a fae escort—if Faradir was still on the throne. But fairness isn’t the issue.
“No, Your Majesty,” Roland says. His face contorts, as if the words are physically painful.
Amelia steps forward, holding her child close. King Ilbert tries to pull her back, but she pushes his hand away. “Please, Your Majesty, we mean no insult by coming. It is only that with the expansion of the fae borders, we have lost many.”
Stella knows this better than any of them, and if it was me on that throne, I likely would be offended. But she doesn’t take insult. She softens, her gaze warming at the little boy her sister carries.
“I will do what I can to restore the borders,” Stella announces, only the slightest hint of emotion in her voice. “It will take time, and it may not be safe for humans immediately. But you have my word that I will begin the process.”
And so, Stella dismissed the party, only to request a temporary recess a few moments later.
“You’re High Queen,” I remind her. “You don’t make requests. You order.”
She looks at me, eyes bright, her hands shaking just a smidge. “I forget sometimes.”
I continue hearing her subjects’ requests while she sneaks off to have a few private moments with her beloved sister before they are parted once more.
It takes tremendous effort to keep my composure together as I hurry down the hallway after my sister. My hands won’t stop shaking. I didn’t believe I would ever see her again!
Once, I traversed these hallways in fear. Now, the only thing I fear is that things will be different between my sister and I after all that has happened.
I round a corner, and there she is. Walking with King Ilbert, her son on her hip, as my guards escort them out of the palace. My throat tightens with emotion, but my voice doesn’t waver as I call out: “Stop!”
Amelia’s head whips back to me.
She’s not the same girl I left behind in Aursailles. She’s older. Matured. Her form isn’t twiglike like when she was eighteen. Her face has changed too, the glow of youth replaced by a sense of gravity and responsibility.
But her eyes still shine with warmth and heart, and if anything, she is only more beautiful.
Those eyes light with hope when I break into a run. She shoves her son to King Ilbert’s chest, and he takes the child as she bursts into a full sprint.
We collide in an explosion of tears and laughter. The lilac scent of her curls takes me back to the home we once shared. Our embrace is almost violent in its force, and I wouldn’t have it any other way as I press kisses to her forehead, her cheek, her hair.
“I never thought I’d see you again!” I cry.
“I cried for months after you left!” she replies, wiping more tears off her cheek. “And then word came that the High King had been dethroned—you wouldn’t believe the conflicting reports we heard! Some said the High King had stepped off his throne. Others claimed Prince Trenian murdered him in cold blood to take it. But then the reports began converging on something I didn’t believe could be possible. I didn’t truly believe it until I walked into that throne room!”
“I still have my days of disbelief myself,” I say, laughing.
Her cheeks, pink as a raspberry, stretch wide as her enthusiasm takes over. “You haven’t aged a day since I last saw you! I wish we brought Ilbert’s portrait painter with us so he could have captured Father’s face when he walked into that throne room!” Her words dissolve into giggles. Amelia hasn’t changed nearly as much as I believed. “He was shocked to see how magnificent you are!”
The praise makes me uncomfortable, but I would be lying if I said I hadn’t enjoyed making Father squirm just a little bit. “Well, look at you! Look at your son!”
“Isn’t he the most perfect thing you’ve ever seen?” she says, grinning back at the boy sleeping contentedly in Ilbert’s arms. “And you’re expecting your own!”
My hand falls to my stomach as warmth fills me. I open my mouth to reply, but Amelia keeps prattling on.
“I doubt you’ve heard, so I’ll tell you now! But Yvonne—you know how she was betrothed to that horrible man? Well, it was literally during their wedding banquet, after he’d made himself unbelievably drunk, that he just dropped dead! They say it was heart problems, but I think she might have killed him. Which, if she did, I applaud!”
“What?” I say, the only thing I can say in my shock.
“And then she ran off with one of his knights! A dashingly handsome one, apparently. No one has seen them since! It was the scandal of the century! As for Vivienne, she married that old king and had his heir before he died. She’s somehow made herself regent until her son comes of age. Can you believe it? As far as I know, Jacquelle is doing just fine in her marriage. Who knew she and I would be the only normal ones of the five of us?”
“Who knew, indeed,” I say. “I wish them all the best. Please tell them hello for me, if you see them.”
King Ilbert quietly approaches until he stands behind Amelia. There is fondness in the gaze he turns upon her, and respect in the one he turns upon me. “We will tell them.”
Amelia and I look at each other once more. She blinks hard to keep the tears at bay, and I chew my lip to do the same.
“This won’t be the last time we see each other,” I say. “I cannot allow you to come and go from Faerieland whenever you please, but I will find a way for us to see each other. Regularly.”
“I need to meet that baby of yours,” she says, smiling as her tears slip free. “And I need to meet him before he’s an adult, for heaven’s sakes!”
“You will,” I promise.
When we have said our last goodbyes, I return to the throne room with wet cheeks but firm shoulders. Ash’s penetrating gaze runs over my face. I smile at him. “I missed her.”
And then I get back to work.
At last, the sun declines, casting the throne room in alternations of shadow and brilliant golden beams. The doors are shut, the crowds dispersed, and I am finally left alone with my wife. Her head swivels to me, her long hair falling over her shoulder.
“You were somewhere else most of today,” she accuses, pointing one dainty finger at me.
“Guilty as charged,” I reply, unable to stop my grin. I’m much too excited for her surprise.
She stands, comes to a stop in front of my wide-spread knees. “You must tell me why. I’m agog to know. You’ve had a glint in your eye all day.”
“Probably because I’ve been looking at you,” I say, and pull her into my lap.
She squirms, attempting to get back on her feet, but I wrap both arms around her and keep her firmly where I want her. “Ash!” she hisses, her face turning my favorite shade of pink. “A guard could walk in here at any moment. This is hardly a dignified position for a queen!”
I pull her closer, savoring the feel of her swollen belly under my hand, and whisper: “I have a surprise for you.”
She stops struggling immediately and whips her attention to me. “A surprise? What is it?”
“It’s back in our quarters. It was delivered today.”
“Delivered? Did you get me new clothes because these are starting to be too tight? I cannot believe how big I’m getting already!”
“It has nothing to do with that.”
“Then what? I cannot imagine what you would have had delivered! New poisons? No, no, you would never trust someone to handle those for you. Hmm, let me—”
I place a finger over her lips, stopping her as my grin widens. “Why don’t we go see what it is? Instead of sitting here and risking a guard entering and seeing how undignified their queen is?”
“Don’t throw my words back at me,” she huffs, but she can’t hide her smile either.
When we get back to our quarters, I tell Stella to sit down and wait. She insists she’s been sitting all day and would rather stand. I shrug and agree, only on the condition that she closes her eyes. She frowns but obliges.
“Milton!” I call.
He comes at once from the back rooms of our quarters, a carrier under one arm that jolts at random intervals. “At last! It’s been whining all day.”
“Whining?” Stella asks, puckering her brow. “It sounds like five sets of nails scraping against something!” Then both eyebrows rise nearly to her hairline. “Did . . . did you get me a pet?”
“Keep your eyes closed!” I say by way of answer, taking the carrier from Milton and setting it on the ground. “Are you ready? Three, two, one—”
I turn the latch for the carrier, and the idalpuff shoots out like a squirrel with a jay on its tail. Stella opens her eyes. She only catches a glimpse of the creature’s shiny, luminescent shell before it launches itself straight into her arms.
Her mouth and eyes go wide at the same time, and she lets out a terrified shriek. “It’s a giant bug!”
The idalpuff has grabbed its front legs onto her dress, and begins crawling up in its overenthusiastic attempt to make friends. Stella lets out another scream, falls back on the couch, and tries to shove the creature off her.
I scoop it up quickly, holding the cool, wriggling body in my arms. “I’m so sorry! I thought—these are common pets of ours! I thought you’d like the color of its shell—”
Stella’s shrieks have turned to tears of laughter. “It looks like a massive rainbow cockroach!”
“Cockroach?” I cock my head to one side, glance down at the adorable little face, the way it has wrapped all sixteen of its legs around my arm and elbow. “What is that?”
She covers her face with one hand, presses the other to her heart. She’s still laughing, wiping away tears, and squints at the creature in my arms. “A cockroach is a pest humans hate. What—forgive my reaction, I was only startled—what is that?”
Relief warms my belly. So maybe I didn’t completely misjudge her. I kneel in front of her, holding up my arm where the idalpuff hangs, its antenna twitching, reaching for Stella. “It’s an idalpuff. It has a smooth shell, and each one is different. This one reminded me of you, with all the many colors.”
“People like crunchy pets?”
“Crunchy?” I ask in horror. “You don’t eat them!”
The idalpuff rears back, affronted.
“No, no! I don’t mean that. I mean that our pets are usually, you know—they’re soft! Fluffy! Like a fluffy little lap dog or a cat.” Still, she reaches out a tentative hand toward the creature, and when it doesn’t react, slides one finger across its beautiful shell. It responds by letting go of my arm with one of its legs and curling it around her finger.
She’s going to be in love with it in no time.
“Well, it does have some fluff,” I tell her, lifting it a little more. “See? It’s got a fluffy tail.”
At that, Stella bursts out in full-blown laughter. “It is a fluffy tail! What a strange creature! You’re like a giant, beautiful cockroach with a lamb’s tail!”
“It’s friendly,” I say, holding it out.
She gives me a dubious expression, then carefully takes the creature by the sides of its shell and sets it in her lap. Immediately, it rolls over on its back, exposing its belly and wriggling all its legs at her. It lets out a happy chirp. “Do I scratch it?”
“It’ll love you forever if you do.”
She starts to reach toward it, pulls back slightly, gives me a grimace. “It’s so buggy.” Then she overcomes her qualms and gently starts scratching. The creature lets out a chorus of chirps, rolling and wriggling under Stella’s attentions. She’s laughing before she can help it, and I am once again restored to confidence that I know my wife well.
“There’s one more surprise,” I tell her with a wink.
She looks up from her new pet. “There’s more?”
“Oh yes. Come along, now!”
She skips after me out the door—the idalpuff at her heels—unable to hold back her grin as I take her outside. Through the garden she loves so much, out the gate. Glowing paths curve through the forest, but she carefully steps past each until I find the right one. The one I created just for this.
“I still can’t believe these were right in front of my face,” she grumbles, making me smirk.
It’s only a few minutes’ walk on the path. To a blank plot of land, freshly tilled, beside a quiet pool. Her mouth drops even before I say the words. “Is this what I think it is?”
“If you are thinking it’s your own secret garden, ready to be planted with whatever you’d like—including those herbs you’ve got overgrowing their pots—then yes.”
She lets out a scream of excitement, barrels into me with a forceful kiss, and immediately begins surveying the spot I picked out for her. “I’m going to grow vegetables!” she declares. “Because while I love all the beautiful flowers, there is a criminal lack of potatoes in this place!”
I spend the evening in deep amusement as Stella and the creature she decided to name Richard—I assume because it’s sort of close to roach—get to know each other while she plans her garden. There are many stern warnings to behave from Stella, and even more ecstatic burbling replies from Richard that are often paired with aggressive attempts at affection.
There’s still plenty we’re figuring out about each other. Vastly more to figure out about ruling all of Faerieland together. In a few months, there will be yet more to learn when our first child enters our world.
I’m not afraid of any of it. Where once the future was perpetually dark clouds and a crimson sky, now it is bright stars and a shining sun. Every day is a new beginning, one full of fresh hope and ever-growing love.
For the first time in ages, I am truly excited about tomorrow.