Epilogue
Brok
One Year Later
The wedding cake was a masterpiece.
Hazel had outdone herself. Five tiers that defied traditional symmetry, each layer a different shape.
The whole thing spiraled upward like it was caught mid-transformation.
Dark chocolate ganache flowed into white buttercream, shifted into gold leaf, and dissolved into deep red velvet.
All of it was decorated with sugar flowers that were somehow both delicate roses and sharp-edged geometric crystals.
It was elegant and wild at the same time, refusing to be pinned down to a single aesthetic.
Exactly what you’d expect for someone who refused to be labeled: Hazel’s best friend.
The happy couple was supposed to be cutting it.
Instead, Reynard—wearing a stunning suit that was part tuxedo, part ball gown, all custom-tailored—was jabbing one perfectly manicured claw at a very flustered Barnaby. “The Andersons are in Stockholm for Easter this year. Stockholm is surprise territory. Therefore, they’re mine.”
“But the Andersons have three children under five!” Barnaby’s ears were doing that panicked vibration thing. “They need comfort! Familiar traditions! You can’t just surprise small children with… with whatever chaos you’re planning!”
Reynard shrugged, already dismissing Barnaby’s concerns. “I was planning a treasure hunt through the Royal Palace gardens, actually. Very age-appropriate.”
“That’s in a different country! They don’t speak Swedish!”
“Then it will be an adventure.” Reynard smiled with a serene confidence even Oberon would have envied. “Character-building.”
Hazel stood between them, a hand on each of their shoulders.
Her red curls were starting to escape from whatever elaborate updo she’d attempted.
She’d thrown off her stilettos hours ago, and her light-up sneakers, a gift from Barnaby, were barely visible from under her green dress.
She looked frazzled, infuriated, and absolutely beautiful.
“Can we please,” she said tightly, “discuss the Andersons after you cut your wedding cake? People are starting to stare.”
“Let them stare.” Reynard waved one paw dismissively. “This is important. Spring coverage doesn’t manage itself.”
“Neither does your wedding reception!” Hazel’s voice climbed half an octave. “You’re supposed to be having your first dance! Throwing the bouquet! Stealing a private moment with your new spouse! Not arguing about territorial jurisdiction with a rabbit!”
I leaned against one of the reception hall columns and watched the chaos unfold. Beside me, Isengrim looked equally entertained by his spouse’s priorities.
“Your wedding,” I said, “and they’re arguing about work.”
“Our first wedding.” Isengrim’s yellow eyes gleamed with predatory amusement.
“I’m sure there will be others. Reynard does enjoy a good celebration.
” He adjusted his perfectly tailored charcoal suit.
Today, he’d chosen a deep crimson tie that matched the red velvet layer of the cake.
“Though I admit, I expected the route dispute to wait until at least the reception dinner.”
“Barnaby showed up early to congratulate them.” I watched Hazel physically step between the two Heralds as their argument intensified. “Reynard saw an opportunity.”
“Efficiency.” Isengrim’s smile showed just a hint of fang. “I do appreciate that quality.”
We stood in comfortable silence while Hazel made increasingly desperate attempts to redirect the conversation.
The reception hall around us was packed with supernatural beings.
Fae and forest spirits swayed gently on the dance floor.
Several minor nature deities clustered around the open bar.
No one seemed that surprised by the arguing Heralds.
If anything, the guests were enjoying the sight.
“How is Mrs. Roth?” Isengrim suddenly asked. “Still warming up to you after the gala incident?”
A few months ago, that might have made me tense. I could have taken it as a dig, especially considering Isengrim’s history with both Beatrice Roth and Hazel. But now, I understood the comment for what it was. A subtle offer of assistance.
“Hazel’s grandmother is… processing,” I replied. “Hazel says she appreciated that I was trying to protect her. Even if my methods were, quote, ‘catastrophically misinformed’.”
“Ah.” Isengrim’s smile widened, his snout twitching with amusement. “She’ll come around, then. Beatrice respects strength, even when it’s misdirected. Give it time. She’ll adjust to everything in the end.”
Once we figured out how to tell her I was an orc, he meant. That would happen, too. I’d created countless strategies, most of which Grix had approved. I just needed to settle on one.
“Stop overthinking it,” Isengrim advised me. “Beatrice will welcome you once she sees you truly appreciate her granddaughter. Perhaps a celebration at The Cocoa Bean? I understand it has become quite popular with the supernatural community.”
He wasn’t wrong. After the challenge, word had spread through the supernatural world about the human chocolatier who’d helped fix the Herald of Spring crisis.
Suddenly, Hazel’s clientele had expanded to include beings who’d been alive for centuries.
Hazel had, of course, embraced it. Now, she treated fae dietary restrictions and werewolf metabolism needs with the same professionalism she’d once given to gluten-free wedding cakes.
“Santa’s a regular now,” I said, unable to keep myself from bragging. “Comes in every Tuesday for his standing order. And Hazel trades recipes with Mrs. Claus.”
In front of me, Hazel finally threw her hands up in defeat. Barnaby and Reynard’s argument reached new heights. Isengrim eyed his spouse with obvious affection, then turned toward me. “And you’re terrified of adding Beatrice into the mix?”
“Maybe a little,” I admitted. Hazel’s grandmother was formidable. Knowing her, she’d try to recruit Santa for her Rescue Paws Gala. She'd probably succeed.
Isengrim’s tail swayed, and he opened his mouth to respond. Before he could say a word, a flash of rainbow light exploded over the wedding cake. Barnaby yelped and dove under the nearest table. Reynard stumbled backward into Hazel, nearly tripping over their own heels.
Grix materialized in front of the cake, his kobold form crackling with residual magical energy. His suit was even more expensive than Isengrim’s, if that was possible. He was holding what looked like a remote control covered in glowing runes.
“Attention!” His voice carried across the entire reception hall with supernatural amplification. “The ceremonial cake cutting will now commence! Clear the area! This is not a drill!”
The assembled guests immediately gave the cake a wide berth. Grix’s reputation preceded him.
Isengrim moved with the fluid grace of a predator who’d spotted his prey. He crossed the distance to Reynard in three smooth strides and offered his paw. “Come, beloved. Let’s give them their show.”
Reynard’s entire demeanor shifted. The sharp-edged Herald of Spring dissolved into someone who looked almost soft.
Their amber eyes turned bright with something deep, unique, and profound.
It was the same feeling that bubbled in my chest whenever I looked at Hazel. Happiness, love, and utter… rightness.
Isengrim and Reynard didn’t bother with a knife, because why would they?
Instead, they entwined their clawed paws, Isengrim’s larger, darker grip covering Reynard’s more delicate one.
Together, they cut into all five layers of Hazel’s masterpiece, far more smoothly than any blade could have.
Herald of Spring or not, Reynard was still a predator.
The crowd applauded. Grix’s light show exploded into another rainbow cascade. Somewhere in the back, a string quartet started playing a joyful melody, though it was quickly drowned out by enthusiastic cheering.
Isengrim leaned down and nuzzled his spouse. Reynard melted into the touch, their free paw coming up to cup Isengrim’s face. The whole thing was so private and intimate that I looked away on instinct.
Hazel made her way to my side, finally free of the entire production. “That went well,” she said, leaning against my shoulder.
“You stopped them from destroying their own wedding reception.” I pulled her against my side, needing the contact now more than ever. “That’s more than well.”
“It was a close call.” Hazel reached to rub her eyes. She stopped herself just in time, remembering she was wearing makeup. “I half-expected the cake to melt before they even cut it.”
“Your cake is perfect,” I said into her hair, breathing in her familiar scent. “They’re going to remember this wedding because of what you made.”
“They’re going to remember this wedding because the Heralds of Spring decided to turn it into a negotiation.” She huffed, half-exasperated, half-fond. “But thank you.”
Across the room, Isengrim was leading Reynard toward the exit. Stealing his spouse away, as Hazel had somehow foretold. Reynard was laughing at something Isengrim had said, their whole face bright with joy. Isengrim looked at them as if they were the only thing in the universe worth his attention.
At the last moment, Reynard yelped. “Wait!” They pulled away from Isengrim just long enough to grab the bouquet from the side table. “The bouquet! Can’t leave without the bouquet toss!”
The bouquet was an elaborate arrangement of red roses, white lilies, and something magical Oberon himself had provided. Reynard turned, scanned the crowd with predatory focus, and threw it directly at Hazel.
Not in Hazel’s general direction. Not toward the gathered crowd of eligible guests. Directly at Hazel’s face with absolutely zero subtlety.
Hazel caught it on pure reflex, and her expression shifted from surprise to exasperation in the space of a heartbeat.
“They totally planned that,” she said, staring at the bouquet in her hands as if it might explode. “Didn’t they?”
“Totally.” I watched Reynard blow Hazel a kiss before Isengrim swept them through the exit and out of sight. The assembled guests erupted into cheers and knowing laughter. “Not even trying to hide the favoritism.”
“I’m going to kill them.” But she was smiling when she said it, her fingers tight around the bouquet stems. “After they get back from their honeymoon. Murder is rude during honeymoons.”
The string quartet shifted into something slower, more intimate. Other couples were moving onto the dance floor, and the whole reception was settling into the comfortable celebration phase now that the dramatic cake cutting was over.
I held out my hand. “Dance with me.”
“Here?” She looked around at the crowd of supernatural beings, most of whom could probably hear our conversation from across the room. “Now?”
“You caught the bouquet. It’s traditional.” I kept my hand extended, patient.
Laughing, she placed her bouquet on a nearby table. Then, she took my hand, and we moved onto the dance floor together. I pulled her close, one hand at her waist, the other wrapped around hers. She fit against me the way she always did—perfectly, as if we’d been designed to move together.
We swayed to the music, and I felt the last of her stress drain away as she relaxed into the rhythm.
A year ago, I’d entered a magical competition I didn’t want to win—just so I could prove a point about joy not being competitive.
I’d restructured an ancient system because Hazel had taught me what it should have meant from the beginning.
But the real victory was this. Hazel in my arms, her friends happy, a community that accepted us both. A life that was messy and chaotic and absolutely nothing like the controlled environment I’d spent years perfecting.
The music swelled around us, and we moved together alongside the countless other dancers.
Around us, the reception continued. The faeries had already finished distributing all the pieces of Hazel’s cake.
We were surrounded by laughter, music, and the happy chaos of celebration. I only cared about Hazel.
I leaned forward, wanting nothing more than to kiss my beautiful lover. Hazel closed her eyes, leaning in to meet me.
And then it happened. The sound of a familiar wail echoed through the hall, freezing everyone, myself included, in place. “Hazel! We’re out of cake!”
It was Barnaby. Clearly, he’d emerged from his hiding spot and decided to drown his sorrows in Hazel’s delicious craftsmanship. But, sadly, he was too late. The faeries had been a little too efficient.
I couldn’t bring myself to blame him for the interruption. Hazel giggled, clearly not angry either. “I made him a separate cake without any magical surprises,” she whispered. “It’s in the kitchen. He’ll be fine.”
Of course he would be. Hazel planned for everything and anticipated needs before anyone asked. I loved her more than I’d thought possible. And I looked forward to spending my entire life showing her that.