Epilogue
What’s a “wedding cutscene”?
Samson
Citrus wanted snow. On an island.
I just want her.
The past few weeks have been little more than a series of yes, dears.
Shoulders, can we have the fifteen-layer cake? Chrysa convinced me.
Samson, is it okay if I wear my sword with my wedding dress?
Darling, do we have to invite Austin?
To be fair, my response to that last question was only if we have to invite Lazul.
Apparently, he has to marry us.
Which is why he’s currently standing beside me, beneath a holly arch, holding a golden cup.
Sunset paints the sky in blooms of color while bonfires chase shadows and melt falling snow.
The cold would be near unbearable in this suit without all the fire around, and even with it, clouds puff from my lips in white breaths.
“Nervous?” Lazul asks, tracing a design on the goblet in his hands.
I, articulately, grunt. Of course I’m not nervous. I’m cold. Everyone waiting for Citrus and her bridesmaids to appear is cold. The only thing that concerns me right now is the possibility that Citrus overestimated her love of snow after spending her other life in what sounds like a humid desert.
What if she’s an icicle in the tent she’s getting ready in?
What if Pyro’s rounds to make sure this island was clear of monsters weren’t good enough? What if he missed some crazy boss monster? Citrus once mentioned that there’s a certain music that plays when a boss monster is nearby. Do I hear boss music?
No.
No, who cares if I do? My Lemonade has accessorized today with her sword. So she’s fine, unless she’s frozen, and she might be frozen. She might be some unholy creature’s popsicle by now.
I shift my weight, clench my fists, glare down the aisle, toward where the palm trees and fronds obscure the rest of this place—and the tent my bride is in—from view.
“She’s fine,” Lazul murmurs, uninvited to my worry party. “Any moment now…”
Loosening my fingers, I take a step forward, away from the haughty noble. “I’m gonna check on her.”
“No.” His fingers latch onto my shoulder. “You aren’t.”
Before I can twist on him and growl that he release me, movement catches my eye.
Muskov and his daughter Peggy lift their violins, and a haunting melody whispers into the quiet, snow-padded beach. The shush of the waves accompany the shush of Citrus’s steps as she breaks from the treeline. In what must be near twenty layers of fabric, she floats…toward me.
Lazul’s grip disappears from my shoulder, and my legs push me to meet her in the aisle. Surrounded by our town, we stand together, hesitant.
Awed.
She is…so beautiful.
Wisps of sparkling sunshine yellow dapple her gown, threading hundreds of lemons across the fabric. Her grip on a yellow bouquet of paper flowers and glass lemons tightens as her eyes meet mine.
Glitter adorns the skin beyond her glasses. Her lips sparkle, glazed.
She shivers as my cold finger tilts up her chin so I can take in every freckle kissing her nose and cheeks.
Sunlight and sugar.
She is everything I love.
Careful of her billowing gown, I guide her up to Lazul and wait—entranced—while he goes through the ceremony.
“Traditionally, the person who didn’t present the circlet is meant to present the cup…but…well…the two of you have done things a little differently than is entirely traditional.”
I cut a brief glare toward Lazul’s smug face as a harmony of laughter skates beneath the violin music.
“He beat me to it,” Citrus whispers, heat blossoming in her cheeks.
“Ah. Wonderful.” Lazul offers the cup to her, and before taking it, she passes her bouquet off to Aurelia who seems to be standing behind her with Chrysa—I hadn’t noticed them.
“With this cup,” Lazul begins, and my bride echoes the words.
“I present a vow to you.”
Lazul’s voice fades until all I can hear is Citrus—my Citrus—promising to love me.
“A vow to be yours, as you are mine. A vow to honor and preserve our friendship. A vow to keep emotions that would fuel resentment far from my mind.” She trembles when an icy breeze coasts across her neck, and my heart can barely handle how she steps nearer to me for protection.
“I shall spend my life blessing you and appreciating the gifts you bestow, that when time has run short and we return to the dust of this world, our love may become the magic of the future generations.” She lifts the gold to my lips.
“Will you drink of this fate, and accept me as I seek to accept you?”
My hand closes over hers, and I smile. “Yes, dear.” I tilt the sweet liquid back while Citrus blushes. Once I’ve had my sip, she draws the cup to her own lips and turns the rim so they frame the place mine grazed.
Eyes lowered, she says, “I will protect you. With you…” Her eyes close, and a tear cuts a trail through the golden sparkle painting her face. “…I am never alone.”
She drinks, and my heart swells.
As the ceremony concludes with Yami and Tsuki bringing our circlets, Lazul announces us as husband and wife. Before I can kiss my bride, however, she grips my shoulders, pulls herself up to my ear, and whispers, “And with me, you’re never alone, either. I love you so much, Samson.”
My heart thuds, and I can’t gather my thoughts before candied lips meet mine and saccharine nectar flows against my tongue.
Heat flushes through my body as cheers fill the burgeoning night.
They lift me higher than the Sky Dungeon, and it doesn’t even piss me off that Lazul clapping a hand to my back and saying, “Congratulations,” is what breaks our first kiss as husband and wife.
Possibly because before I can glare at him, Citrus has thrown her arms around me, squeezing me tighter than I have ever been held.
It wipes ages of pain out of my bloodstream.
As I gather her up in my arms, I know.
Just as I was made for her, she was sent to me.
And that’s the greatest gift I could have ever been blessed with.