Epilogue
Vaelin
One Year Later
It’s winter once again, and we’re finally heading back to Hearthwynd.
Snow falls in a gentle hush over the clearing, covering the world in a fresh, soft blanket of white. The smell of roasting meat and spiced cider lingers in the crisp air, carried by the faint sound of Theo’s deep, easy laughter. Lanterns hang from the low branches of the surrounding pines, their warm glow flickering against the snowy backdrop like the memory of hearthfires left behind.
We’ve made this clearing ours for the evening, anticipating the holiday cheer that I’m sure will be waiting for us at my parents’ bakery.
I glance over at Theo, who’s crouched near the fire, his hands deftly adjusting the skewers of vegetables and meat that he insists are “perfectly balanced for even cooking.” His braided beard catches the snowflakes that tumble down from the canopy above, the tiny droplets disappearing almost instantly against his warm skin. He doesn’t let me touch the cooking–that’s firmly his purview.
He looks radiant. Happy in a way that makes me want to memorize the sight of him like this—alive, free, mine .
“How’s it coming?” I ask, stepping closer to the fire and slipping my hands into my pockets.
“Almost ready,” he replies, glancing up at me with a grin that could light the darkest dungeon. “But you’re on cider duty. I’m not burning my fingers again.”
I snort, crouching down beside him. “You’re supposed to be the one with the brute strength, remember?”
“Brute strength doesn’t make boiling water less hot, Vaelin,” he says, deadpan.
I roll my eyes, but I can’t hide the grin tugging at my lips.
He’s actually starting to get humor.
It’s been a year since that morning in the snow, the morning we left Hearthwynd behind and set out into the unknown together. A year of late nights under unfamiliar stars, of stolen kisses by campfires, of fights and triumphs and moments where we weren’t sure we’d make it.
We’ve faced more than I ever thought we could handle. Bandits, beasts, and yes–the answers Theo was so desperate to find.
Torin the Terrible turned out to be very real—and not nearly as terrible as the stories made him out to be. An orcish warlord turned healer in a quiet village far south of here, Torin welcomed Theo with open arms, offering the kind of warmth and acceptance Theo had long given up hoping for.
And through it all, we’ve found something even more remarkable.
Us .
I look at Theo now, the firelight casting golden hues across his olive-green skin, and wonder if he knows just how much of my world he’s become.
“You’re staring,” he says without looking up, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.
“Am not,” I lie.
“You totally are.”
“Shut up and focus on the food,” I mutter, but my grin gives me away.
Dinner is simple, but it’s perfect in a way that feels impossible to recreate. The roasted vegetables are crisp, the meat tender, and the cider—the one thing I actually managed to contribute—is warm and sweet with just the right amount of spice.
We sit side by side near the fire, our shoulders brushing as we eat. The clearing feels almost enchanted, the lanterns above swaying gently in the breeze while stars scatter the night sky like spilled diamonds.
“This is nice,” Theo says softly, his voice carrying just over the crackling fire.
“It is,” I agree.
He glances at me, his amber eyes bright in the firelight. “Did you ever think we’d end up here?”
“Not a chance,” I admit, shaking my head. “But I’m glad we did.”
His smile softens, and for a moment, the rest of the world disappears, leaving just the two of us and the quiet rhythm of the night. Then Theo reaches into his pack and pulls out something wrapped in thick cloth.
“What’s that?” I ask, eyeing it curiously.
“A gift,” he says, holding it out to me.
I take it carefully, unwrapping the cloth to reveal a dagger. It’s beautiful—elegant in its simplicity, the blade sharp and well-balanced, the hilt carved from dark wood and inlaid with intricate silver designs. It catches the firelight like it was made to be admired.
“It’s perfect,” I breathe.
Theo shrugs. “You’ve needed a new one for months. Thought I’d finally do something about it.”
I run my fingers over the hilt, the craftsmanship unmistakably orcish—practical, precise, but with a touch of artistry. “Thank you,” I say, looking up at him.
He grins, the kind of grin that makes his eyes crinkle at the corners. “Merry Yuletide, Vaelin.”
My chest swirls with joy and hope. It always does when he looks at me like that–like I’m something good.
“Merry Yuletide, Theo,” I say, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his lips.
And I know that, no matter what, we’ll have many more happy Yuletides to come.
Thank you so much for reading GARLANDS & GAUNTLETS! Looking for more holiday romance? Check out my viking alien Yuletide novella, THE HOLLY KING'S SACRIFICE. It’s perfect if you’re looking for more size difference, opposites attract, and fantasy vibes.