Epilogue
ISLA
A muted whimper escapes my mother’s lips. One she doesn’t even attempt to stifle as she stands beside my chair, absorbing my reflection in the mirror above my vanity. Izolda has just finished applying my stripes—indigo to match my wedding gown. She’s even dusted my bare shoulders and plunging neckline with iridescent powder that gives my tanned skin— thank you, Shabbin sun —an ethereal glow.
The makeup spruces up my sleek gown. Although I wouldn’t say I was disappointed when Phoeppa unveiled what I was to wear, I was a little surprised by its simplicity. But then I’d donned it, and it stole both my breath and my heart.
“I feel like a fairytale princess,” I say, turning my head this way and that, smoothing my hands over the wide satin straps that hold a gauzy cape dyed the same ombré shade as my dress—an azure that fades into violet, then indigo.
“Enjoy the feeling”—Izolda sets down her makeup brush—“for it’s your last hour being a princess.”
The tears, which have glazed my mother’s lashes like miniature icicles since Naeva helped me into my dress, arrow down her quivering cheeks.
“Technically, she’s already a queen,” my cousin points out, doing up the bow of the carmine cloak that matches her beaded gown.
Like my outfit, Naeva’s, Mádhi’s, and Izolda’s were designed by Phoeppa but assembled and stitched in Glace, then spelled with Shabbin magic to keep us warm in this land of eternal winter.
Izolda extends a little pillow upon which glimmers a tiara composed of radiant snowflakes. “Fallon?”
With a sniffle, my mother inhales a fortifying breath, as though she needs strength to heft the diamond heirloom and settle it on my head. I twist toward her and tip my chin to facilitate her task, my curled locks cascading down my back.
“Like Dádhi said in his speech back when we tied the knot in Luce, you haven’t lost a daughter, you’ve merely expanded our incredible tribe.”
Reminding her of my father’s speech is the wrong thing to do. Her weeping turns into full-blown sobbing.
“Oh, Mádhi.” I stand and hug her. “I’m still yours. I’ll always be yours.”
“I know.” The murmured words creak past her lips.
“I’m going to start crying if you don’t stop, Fal.” Naeva’s voice sounds hoarse, as though Cruaih has been using my cousin’s larynx as a scratching post.
Speaking of Cruaih… The feline meows and paws at the hem of Naeva’s dress.
My cousin crouches and scoops her up, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “I’m going to go lock Little Miss Naughty in my room before Dádhi suffers another syncope.”
“Did he really blackout when he discovered her in your cabin?” Izolda asks.
Though my mother keeps sniffling, the story of Jaytair’s stowaway abates her trembling.
“He didn’t pass out, per se, but he was fuuuuming .” A smirk pulls across my cousin’s face as she travels toward the suite door. “First with me, because he thought I’d brought her, then with Cruaih, when he realized she’d snuck into my luggage of her own free will.”
Before pumping the handle, she gives the feline’s button nose a bop, which earns her a velvety mewl.
“My intrepid little beast. Braving the northern temperatures to be with us.” She pauses on the threshold, her black eyes glossing with emotion like they did back in Shabbe and then again in Luce. “You look gorgeous, Isles.”
As the door shuts, another opens.
“Out!” Izolda says. “You can’t see the bride before?—”
“We’re blood-and-Crow-bound, Iz.” Even though I’ve yet to turn, I can hear the eyeroll in my mate’s eyes. Unless you prefer I leave? he asks me.
When do I ever prefer you leave?
“Sorry to interrupt, but I just wanted a minute alone with my wife before we no longer have a single minute alone.”
His wife… I will never tire of being Konstantin Korol’s wife, the same way I will never tire of hearing him refer to me as such.
“Of course.” My mother slides her cheeks against mine. “I love you, laenath .”
“Love you too, Mádhi.”
She lifts the tiara to my head and hovers it without spearing it through the twisted front strands. “Actually, I think crowning you should be your mate’s privilege.” She sits the beautiful heirloom back on the table, caresses my cheeks with her watery gaze, then takes Izolda’s arm. “Guide me to the festivities, sweetheart?”
Izolda merrily loops her arm through Mádhi’s. Right before stepping out, she says, “If you mess up her hair or stripes, I will…” Her brow scrunches in search of a clever threat. “…have Fallon cast an itching spell on your wardrobe!”
My mother snorts while Konstantin wings up an eyebrow.
“Noted,” he says with subtle amusement.
As the door snicks shut, I hear Izolda whisper, “ Can you cast that sort of spell?”
My mother can cast all the spells, so I’ve no doubt Izolda’s entertaining threat is feasible. I hope Ilya doesn’t get wind of it, for he’d hex his brother’s clothes just for shits and giggles.
I pinch my flowing train and coil to face my mate, whose metallic irises refract the satin shine of my wedding gown. “It was designed to capture our two traditions. Sky-blue for Glace and the darker hue for Crows. Do you like it?”
“I adore it.”
“You don’t find it too simple?”
“I instructed your uncle to keep it that way.”
That boosts my lashes. “ You gave input on my dress?”
“I just asked that he not go overboard with sequins.”
“He must’ve been devastated.”
“Not when I explained the reason behind my request.”
“Color me intrigued. What is the reason behind your request?”
A nerve in his jaw twitches against the stand-up collar of his velour frock coat. He fists his loose hair in his freshly-tattooed palm and shoves it off his shoulder, the hollows in his cheeks dipping before filling and dipping again.
A little late to be having cold feet, Your Highness, I tease him, trying to snap him out of his attack of nerves.
How incongruous that he still becomes nervous around me.
How sweet.
He gives his head a brisk shake, then pounds over my new white rug to eclipse the distance between us. “I am not having cold feet. You, Isla Ríhbiadh, are the single best thing to have ever happened to me.”
“Second best,” I say, smoothing my own inked hand—the same one that glitters with my ring—down the silver motifs printed on the blue velour. “You forget your new power.”
“I forget nothing.” His voice cracks like ice against my rib cage, blazing straight through the curved bones before colliding with the soft organ beneath and inflaming it. “Being your mate will always be my favorite supernatural gift. The reason I’m uneasy is because I positively loathe gift-giving. Especially after the calamitous birthday presents I got you.”
“I loved both.”
Skepticism shadows his expression. “I offered you a dagger that made you think of my niece’s murder?—”
“But which—even you have to admit—came in handy in the train.”
He cants one eyebrow. “I gifted you a blade of death and a ride in a glorified coffin.”
My mood darkens—not from his pitch but from the memory of what we endured at the hands of greedy Fae.
“You gifted me an instrument of justice and a chance at seeing my new kingdom.” I sneak my hand to his tense nape and clasp it. “As soon as the refurbished royal trolley is delivered, we’re going to take that birthday ride—with all our family and all our friends—because we won; they didn’t.”
The reminder relaxes his shoulders, but only for a brief moment. “Let’s hope this present isn’t fated to become a bloodstained relic like the other two.”
He pushes the varnished wooden box into my free hand, his gaze lowering to the toecaps of his cavalier boots and his fingers knotting behind his back.
“Konstantin Korol, can you please stop doubting yourself?” I try to capture his stare.
When he stubbornly keeps it from me, I concentrate on the box, which I flick open. My silence drags on for so long that he finally peeks up.
“It’s not some fancy manacle. Or a leash,” he mumbles.
My cheeks tuck up. “A leash? Why in the world would you assume I’d jump to that conclusion?” I caress the wide silver choker, from which dangles graduated strands of diamonds. There are so many that I could probably wear it as a top.
“Because that’s the conclusion I reached when the jeweler unveiled the piece. I’d asked him for something edgy and unique that hugged your neck—like that sparkly choker you wore at the Lodge the first night we met.”
It takes me a moment to recall the necklace in question.
He sucks in his cheeks, then frees his fingers from behind his back to rake them through his hair—again. “You don’t have to wear it if you don’t like it.”
I delicately lift the work of art out of the box. Like tethered stars, the diamond strands shimmer as they unspool and dance. Their luminous weight makes me blink, then blink again, because on the interior band, I discover an inscription that is far too lengthy and conspicuous to be a shop’s brand.
Not only that, but the recessed etchings are half-filled with black enamel, which makes each letter pop in a way that reminds me of Shoshair’s writing. Well, the writing she uses for me.
I unlatch the barrel clasp and part the choker. And then I begin to read.
“ Till…the…stars …” I stumble on the next word, sounding it out underneath my breath.
I must be sounding it out wrong because Konstantin murmurs, “ Forget .”
My skin warms that I wasn’t able to decrypt it on my own.
“It’s not an easy word.”
I purse my lips, because it isn’t exactly a difficult one either.
“I’m sorry I didn’t have it inscribed in Crow, but I worried the jeweler would botch the job.”
Cheeks still prickling, I remind him, “I speak your tongue fluently.” I jerk my hands upward, attempting to clip my present around my neck, but I can’t see what I’m doing and my hair keeps getting in the way.
Konstantin comes up behind me and steals it from my fingers. Instead of snapping it shut, he holds it out, then cups one of my hands.
“Konstantin…” I sigh. “Everyone’s waiting… I’m not giving up, I’m just—I’ll read it later, when we’re not pressured for time.”
“Unfold your middle finger. I want to try something.”
Stubborn man. “Why my middle finger?”
You don’t use that one to bloodcast. Less callused, he explains, guiding it to the engraving. “What letter do you feel?”
“ T .” I must speak the correct one, because he guides my finger to the next letter, patiently waiting for my brain to untangle the shape. Swifter than my eyes ever would, I twig the letter. “Why is this easier?”
“Because it reduces visual confusion.”
“So, my sight is the problem?”
“No. It’s just the way your brain processes what you’re looking at. I asked Arin to explain it to me so I could understand it better. She mentioned that it was like someone showing you a painting while hopping. I made Ilya do just that—hold up a small painting and jump in order to truly grasp what you see.”
My heart swells, stretching wide with something too vast to name.
“Three more words to go, Moya Yegmenka .” His lips brush along the shell of my ear. “Ready?”
I nod, and we sketch them together.
My throat tightens when we reach the end.
Till the stars forget to shine, be mine.
I whirl in his arms. “We’re mates. I’m already yours.”
“I know, but that doesn’t mean I’ll ever take your presence at my side or your love for granted.”
I frame his jaw. “May the stars never forget to shine.”
As I kiss him, he finally clips the choker around the pulsating column of my throat before fanning the jeweled strands over my shoulders instead of down my front and back. When he’s done arranging his creation, he carries the tiara off my desk on an enchanted gust and carefully threads it through my coiled hair. And then he steps back, and he looks.
Just looks .
As though it were the first time…the last time…and every time in between.
“I must’ve been a fucking saint in my past life,” he says.
“I didn’t know you believed in past lives. You’re just full of surprises.”
Banging rattles my door. My heart skips over several beats, for there are few sounds I dread more than loud knocking.
“It’s me.” Dádhi’s gruff voice cradles my harried organ, gently setting it back on its perch. “The man who made you.”
I grin.
Konstantin leans over and claims my mouth in a kiss as fleeting as a snowflake’s thaw. I’ll see you at the altar, wife.
His solid shape disbands into silvery wisps that coil out of my skylight and into the winter-dark sky.
I take a second to compose myself, smoothing my palms over my dress before readjusting my diamond chains, which have no real need of adjusting. Once certain I won’t add to my father’s turmoil, I make my way to the door and ease it open.
I find him pacing the new hallway runner—a carpet of indigo hemmed in by a motif of silvery snowflakes and feathers. When he looks up, his throat rolls over a swallow that rocks the fragile hold I have over myself.
“Hi, Dádhi.”
His lips and shoulders press into firmer alignment. “You do realize you no longer live in a temperate climate, khráach ?”
His incongruous question catches me off guard, but then he nods to my dress, and I understand it’s his way of asking if I’m warm enough.
I loop my arm through his and begin walking. Then, in the most deadpan tone I can muster, I quip, “Is this some underhanded way of informing me that you’re kicking me out of the nest for good?”
He balks. Until he catches my lips curling.
And then he sighs and tucks me closer. “I never imagined I’d only get twenty-five years…” His voice catches on a hoarse, labored inhale. When he speaks again, it’s with all the aplomb of an elitist king. “At least, it’s a profitable marriage.”
His ridiculous comment startles a laugh from my constricted lungs, which relaxes his tense features. Even his bicep feels softer when I pillow my cheek against it.
“Shoshair’s birthday is next month. What’s the plan?” I can feel him frown. “Did you think there was any chance I wouldn’t be home to celebrate my grandmother?”
“I…I…” His breathing is so deep it stirs the little flyaways that my tiara failed to tame.
To put him out of his emotional misery, I add, “I might stay awhile. Think you can pencil my visit into your busy ruling schedule?”
For a long moment, he’s quiet—but neither the sad sort of quiet, nor the speechless sort. The blissful sort.
With a long-suffering sigh, he drawls, “Has no one ever taught you that it’s impolite to outshine the master?”
As we traverse the drawing room, I pick my head off his arm and grin up at him. “You feel outshined, Dádhi?”
The gold hue of his eyes has never looked so liquid.
“I feel proud. And fucking miserable…but mostly proud.” His throat dips again.
I stop at the bottom of the Great Hall’s stairs to give him a hug. “I wish Glace and Luce were closer.”
“So do I,” he murmurs. “So do I.”
Someone must’ve spotted us, because string music begins to play. My father takes a fortifying breath as he takes hold of my arm again.
As we climb the stairs, I lean over to whisper, “Best not weep, or Jaytair will never let you live it down.”
My father smiles darkly. “Did I ever tell you how he fainted on the day of his nuptials?”
Although I’ve heard the story a hundred times, I say, “Tell me again.”
How I will miss my father’s delight—especially at Jaytair’s expense.
How I will miss Jaytair and Taytah, who are amongst the first of my loved ones we walk past. As well as Bisnonno, Mimi, Shoshair, and Bisnonna, who stand on either side of the torch-lined aisle, all harboring bright smiles and damp cheeks. Yes, all .
How I will miss Naeva—who blows me a kiss—and Lachlano—who shoots me a wink—when both travel home tomorrow. And Elio, although he did promise to stay in Glace for a while longer. I suspect it isn’t only for my sake now that Sofiya has dissolved her betrothal to the glassblower.
As I smile at the wall of rainbow-haired Serpents standing behind my friends, I hold out my palm to stroke Mr. Jingles’s long nose, earning myself an affectionate lick.
How I’ll miss Zia Syb, whose expression is currently wavering between a grimace at the sight of her son’s proximity to Sofiya, a scowl at whatever amusing thing Phoeppa is murmuring inside her heavily-jeweled ear, and misty admiration when her gaze finally settles on me.
“Nice ice.” Phoeppa winks at me, grinning wide.
I grin wider.
We pass by Vance and Imogen next. Both nod respectfully, as do Aoife and Mestyla, whose shoulder Borat has elected as his platform of choice tonight. He stands tall, but not as tall as Pietr, whose gathered tresses help him make up for the lower shoulder he teeters on. One belonging to none other than Glace’s favorite recluse—Countess Alexandra Zubrowa. She dabs at her eyes with a candy-pink tissue while clinging to Mestyla’s arm.
I sweep my gaze over Milana and her parents, then farther, over the dense crowd of Glacins that ripple outward, and finally, upward, over the ultraviolet sky veined with ebony feathers.
Only once I’ve taken in the faces of all those who came to celebrate us do I allow my gaze to wander over the crowning jewel of our wedding revel. Its beauty robs me of breath. I’d heard rumors of Izolda’s creation, but nothing could’ve prepared me for the sheer majesty of it.
Within frozen water that has been cut and chiseled to resemble my betrothal diamond, are trapped thousands of frost roses in full bloom and hundreds of fire orbs no larger than soap bubbles. How I wish the dais had been made of glass, so I could keep it always.
I lock my wet stare on Izolda, who waits for me atop her masterpiece, enveloped in her mate’s arms. A smile lists over her emotion-riddled face.
“ Thank you, ” I mouth, before checking on my mother, who stands bracketed between Ilya—tonight’s officiant—and the other half of my soul.
Where Ilya beams, Mádhi weeps, her arms wrapped snugly around her swollen abdomen. How glad I am that soon she’ll have a babe to keep her busy and hold close.
The crowd gasps when my mate shatters into a cascade of glitter that coalesces into skin at the foot of the dais. For many, this is the first time they witness his prodigious speed and novel magic. How feared and revered it will make him once the rest of the world gets a glimpse of his power.
Just like my father…
Just like Taytah…
Just like the Cauldron…
Konstantin holds out his palm.
Before my father gives me away—for the third time, to the same man—he says, “Remember, Korol, when you make her happy, you make me happy.”
My mate smiles at Dádhi’s cordial menace. Although my father doesn’t return his fellow monarch’s smile, I sense it’s more a battle to maintain his stoicism than a slight against my mate.
“Focus on how profitable this match is, Dádhi,” I jest, to lighten his palpable sorrow.
His lips bend, and then he’s floating toward the dais and sliding an arm around my mother’s waist.
My husband’s sigh draws my stare back to him. “I should’ve known you were only after my crown and coin.”
I laugh, and I cry. But mostly, I laugh.
“There goes one of your roast lines, Ilyusha.” Aodhan’s murmur is so full of snark and delight that my heart takes flight.
“It’s an ode, not a roast,” Ilya grumbles with good-natured exasperation. “Are you two ready? I can no longer feel my balls?—”
“Ilya,” Izolda hisses.
“—the ones in my eye sockets.” The youngest Korol sibling cocks a brow. “Pick your mind out of the gutter, sister.”
Aodhan bursts out laughing while Izolda shakes her head. But at least, her lip-wobbling has transformed into one of her sunny grins.
“Shall we?” Konstantin gestures to the dais.
I nod, and we both swap shapes. Konstantin lands first but only because I take a moment to absorb… everything . Once I’ve committed tonight to memory, I unspool from feathers to shadow to skin and land beside my fearsome god carved from winter’s breath.
He takes my hand, the one inked with our blood-bind, and presses his interlocked circles to mine. Prepared to soar for eternity by my side, my Shadow Queen?
I savor the night’s frost, the abounding power surrounding us, and the promise of endless tomorrows. Yes, my Ice King.
THE END