Chapter 39
Chapter thirty-nine
Dyfri
I’m so groggy. My head is pounding like I’ve been hit by a tree. Everything feels distant and cotton-woolly, as if I’m seeing the world through thick ice. The familiar scent of our flat wraps around me, but it takes a moment for my mind to catch up to where I am.
Our bed. In Downing Street. But how...?
Jack is kneeling by the bed, holding my hand. His face is creased with worry lines that I don’t remember being there before, and there are dark circles under his eyes that speak of a sleepless night.
The events come rushing back in fragments. The park. The rain. The magic building like a living thing, growing larger and more powerful until it felt like I was trying to contain a star within my chest. And then...
“Did it work?” I blurt out, panic flooding through me as I try to sit up.
Jack’s hand on my shoulder keeps me flat against the pillows, his touch gentle but firm. “It worked, Love. You did it. All the portals are closed. The fey are gone.”
The relief hits me like a physical blow. I collapse back against the pillows, my entire body going limp as the tension I’ve been carrying for years finally releases. It’s over. It’s actually over.
We won.
My lungs stutter. My head drops down, and I see how I am dressed.
I’m dry and wearing one of my silk nightgowns instead of the soaked clothes I was wearing in the park. Jack took care of me while I was unconscious, made sure I was warm and comfortable.
“Why are we here?” I ask, still trying to piece together the missing time.
Jack looks worried, his fingers tightening slightly around mine.
“You passed out. Right after the spell completed, you just... collapsed. It was freezing cold and pissing with rain, and you were unconscious in my arms. I didn’t know what else to do.
” He pauses, running his free hand through his hair.
“I figured MI5 were no longer a threat because they wanted to back the winner, and you’re the winner now. So I carried you here.”
I stare at him, processing this information slowly. “You carried me? For a mile?”
Jack grins, and for the first time since I woke up, he looks like himself again. “Got to use these muscles for something.”
The thought of Jack carrying my unconscious body through the streets of London, probably still in chaos from the burning palace, makes something warm unfurl in my chest. He chose to bring me home. He chose to protect me in the most personal way possible.
We stare fondly at each other for a moment, as the implications of everything slowly settle into my heart.
Everything is different now. The constant weight of responsibility, the fear that we might fail, the knowledge that millions of lives hung in the balance…
all of it is gone. The Court is locked in another world, and all of its expectations and judgments with it.
My old enemies are in a different realm, or dead.
For the first time in my life, I’m free.
My heart twinges painfully. Rhydian, Mabon, Llywelyn and Tristan. Jamie and Blake. Ethan, whom I never got to know. Even vicious little Ollie. All gone forever. But great deeds require great sacrifices. I’ll squash the pain down where it belongs and exult in my victory.
“Selwyn and Silas both came to check on you,” Jack continues, settling more comfortably beside the bed.
“Selwyn barged in about an hour after I got you home. He looked like he’d been crying, though he tried to hide it.
And Silas showed up this morning with some sort of magical diagnostic spell to make sure you weren’t damaged by the casting. ”
I’m surprised by the concern my brother and the necromancer have shown. “What did they say?”
“Selwyn said what you did was impossible, and that he was proud of you. Silas said you’re an idiot for channelling that much power alone, but that he was impressed.” Jack’s smile is soft and fond. “They both said you’ll be fine, just magically exhausted.”
The thought that I have people who care about my wellbeing, who would check on me after such an ordeal, still feels foreign. For so long, I’ve been utterly alone. Now I have true family, allies, friends. A husband who carries me home when I collapse from saving worlds.
“What’s happening out there?” I ask, gesturing vaguely toward the windows. “In London, I mean. This world.”
Jack’s expression grows more serious. “Chaos, mostly. The palace is still smouldering. But the fey are just... gone. All of them. Every single one vanished the moment the portals closed.”
He helps me sit up against the pillows, his movements careful and gentle.
“The government is in complete disarray,” he continues. “Half of them don’t understand what happened, and the other half are trying to figure out how to take the credit. Dad’s called an emergency session of Parliament.”
The political implications are staggering. An entire occupying force simply vanishing overnight, leaving behind empty buildings and abandoned posts of power. The humans will need to rebuild everything. Government, infrastructure, society itself.
“And us?” I ask quietly. “What happens to us now?”
Jack is quiet for a moment, and I can see him thinking through the answer.
“I don’t know,” he admits. “Dad will probably want us involved in whatever comes next, helping to rebuild. But...” He looks at me with something approaching wonder.
“We have choices now. Real choices. We could stay and help remake Britain. We could disappear somewhere quiet and live whatever life we want. We could take up Selwyn’s offer and join that wonderful-sounding community of his. ”
The freedom implicit in his words is dizzying. For the first time in my life, I can choose my own path. I can decide what kind of life I want to build. I can discover who I am when I’m not saving worlds or playing political games or desperately trying to survive a vicious court.
“What do you want?” I ask.
Jack’s smile is soft and full of love. “I want whatever makes you happy. I want to wake up next to you every morning without worrying that someone’s going to try to kill us.
I want to have lazy Sunday mornings and arguments about interior design and all the boring, wonderful things that normal people take for granted. ”
The picture he paints is so tempting, so perfectly ordinary, that it makes my chest tight. “I’d like that too,” I whisper.
“But Love, please don’t scare me like that again,” Jack says, his voice taking on a note of genuine worry. “When you collapsed, I thought...” He swallows hard. “I thought I might lose you right when we’d won everything.”
I smile, reaching up to cup his face with my free hand. “I don’t intend to seal any more worlds shut.”
“That’s a relief.”
Jack helps me sit up properly, arranging pillows behind my back with the sort of fussing care that speaks of genuine fear transformed into protective action. He offers me water first, holding the glass while I drink, then fetches a bowl of soup that smells absolutely divine.
I accept gratefully, realising I’m famished. The first spoonful floods my mouth with rich, complex flavours. Beef and herbs and vegetables, all perfectly balanced. Cooked with intention.
“You made this,” I say, not really a question. I can taste the care in every ingredient. The soup is imbued with emotion.
Jack nods, looking pleased with himself. “With love.”
The simple declaration, offered so casually, hits me with unexpected force. He hasn’t simply mastered fey cooking techniques. He made me soup. With love. As if loving me is the most natural thing in the world, as if caring for me when I’m weak is just something he does.
I eat every last spoonful and then set the bowl carefully on the bedside table, my hands trembling slightly.
Not from magical exhaustion this time, but from the overwhelming realisation of how completely this man has changed my life.
Not so long ago, I was alone, bitter and spiteful, convinced I would spend eternity in exile surrounded by people who saw me as a useful tool at best. Now I have someone who makes me soup when I’m sick, who carries me home through the rain, who looks at me like I hung the stars in the sky.
“Marry me,” he says suddenly, the words tumbling out like he can’t contain them anymore.
I raise an eyebrow, confused by the seeming non sequitur. “We are already married? Did you forget?”
“But I never got to propose, and you never said yes,” he explains, his voice taking on an earnest quality that makes my heart skip.
His eyes are bright with something between hope and desperation.
“Everything was arranged for us, decided by other people. I want to choose you properly. I want you to choose me.”
The distinction hits me like lightning. The difference between a political arrangement and a personal commitment. Between duty and choice. Between what we had to do and what we want to do.
I think about our wedding day, how terrified I was, how certain I was that he would eventually grow to hate me.
I think about all the secrets I’ve revealed, all the ways he’s seen me at my worst and most broken.
I think about how he held me when I confessed to poisoning his food, how he punched a duke for touching me without permission, how he stood guard in the rain while I saved two worlds.
He’s seen every part of me. The power, the trauma, the petty vindictiveness, the desperate need for love that I’ve spent a lifetime trying to hide. And he’s still here. Still choosing me.
“Yes,” I say simply, but my voice cracks on the single syllable.
His face transforms, lighting up with such pure joy that it takes my breath away. “You’ll marry me?”
“That’s what I said.”
And then he kisses me.
This isn’t like our first kiss. This is something else entirely. Deeper. No longer the beginning of something, this is roots digging deep. Taking hold. Settling in for eternity.
His lips are soft against mine, warm and perfect and tasting faintly of the tea he must have been drinking while watching over me. I can feel his smile against my mouth, can taste the salt of tears I didn’t realise he was crying.
One of his hands comes up to cup my face, thumb stroking across my cheekbone with infinite gentleness. The other tangles in my hair, careful not to disturb the healing braid I suddenly realise is there, and holding me like I’m something precious he’s afraid to lose.
I kiss him back with everything I have, pouring a lifetime of loneliness and fear and desperate hope into the connection between us. I taste his love, his relief, his absolute certainty that this is what he wants. There’s no hesitation, no reservation, just pure devotion given freely.
When he pulls back slightly to breathe, I can see the tears tracking down his cheeks. Happy tears, the kind that come when something perfect happens after you’ve given up hope of perfect things.
“I love you,” he whispers against my lips, the words soft as prayer.
“I love you so much it terrifies me sometimes. I love your brilliance and your power and your snark. I love how you make the hard choices when no one else can. I love that you saved Earth despite how much it cost you, despite it meaning you can never go home.”
Each declaration hits me like a physical blow, like he’s reaching into my chest and healing parts of me I didn’t know were broken.
“I love that you trust me enough to let me see you vulnerable,” he continues, his voice rough with emotion. “I love that you make me want to be worthy of you every single day. I love that you chose to stay on Earth, that you chose me over everything you’ve ever known.”
I’m crying now too, silent tears that feel like release rather than sorrow.
“I love you too,” I manage, my voice barely audible.
“I love that you see me and you’re not afraid.
I love that you make me soup and braid my hair and punch people who hurt me.
I love that you carried me home. But most of all, I love that you are you.
Kind and good. Honourable and just. Clever and determined to do the right thing. Bright and perfect.”
I snatch in a quick breath. “I love that you laugh while riding a dragon.”
When he kisses me again, it tastes like joy and tears and the promise of a thousand tomorrows. I can feel his heartbeat against my chest, strong and steady and alive. We’re both alive. We won. We have each other.
The kiss deepens even more, becomes something desperate and grateful and overwhelming.
I’m dizzy with it, drunk on the taste of his love and the reality that this is mine to keep.
No one can take this away from us. No political machinations, no family obligations, no wars or invasions or ancient prophecies. This is ours.
When we finally break apart, we’re both breathing hard, foreheads pressed together like we’re sharing the same air, the same heartbeat, the same soul.
“I can’t believe everything is so perfect,” I whisper, echoing my earlier thought but meaning it on an even deeper level now.
Jack smiles, with that warm, wonderful smile that makes me believe I can conquer worlds. “Perfect seems like too small a word for this.”
He’s right. This moment, this feeling, this impossible happy ending we’ve somehow stumbled into… it’s beyond perfect. It’s everything I never dared to dream of.
For the first time in my life, I have everything I never dared to hope for.
And it’s mine to keep.