Epilogue
REYLA
One Year Later
Levia Ellyn Evergorne stirred in my arms, her tiny fingers clutching my dress. Sleep had flushed her cheeks pink, and when I kissed her forehead, I breathed in that sweet baby scent that made my heart ache with love.
I sat in a big chair in the corner of the ballroom that buzzed with laughter and music. Guests swirled around dressed in sikeen and velvet, their conversations weaving together with the music. Wine and good food flowed freely, and everywhere I looked, I saw smiling faces.
Outside, dragons wheeled through the clouds. Shadows of wings passed over the glass windows like stories brushing the sky.
“Again. Again,” a small voice shouted, followed by running feet.
Brys, Dorion and Laphira's son, darted between the tables, giggling, his cloak flying behind him like a cape. Laphira chased after him, her face pink. Dorion trailed behind with two goblets and an exhausted grin.
Lore strode over to crouch beside me. He kissed Levia’s cheek. Awakening, she squealed and kicked her feet. His mouth found mine next, and I could sink into that kiss. Sink into him.
He lifted his head. “How’s my pretty little bride?”
He knew just how to heat me up—and bring me back down.
We'd abstained after the birth of our daughter, and then we were delayed finding each other for a short time due to my cursed flow.
But he'd helped me through it, crafting one potion after another, holding me in his arms while stroking my belly.
Those quiet months had been healing in their own way, teaching us that love could be gentle and patient, not just fierce and desperate.
Tonight, we'd finally be together again. I could barely wait to feel his body over mine. The way he looked at me now, like he was already imagining what we'd do later, made heat pool low in my belly.
But for now, surrounded by friends and family celebrating Lore’s birthday, I was content to savor this perfect moment.
“Your pretty little bride is feeling quite well,” I said. “So well that I believe she needs some adoration.”
His eyes heated. “I believe I can oblige.”
“Can or will?”
Leaning close, he cupped my neck with his palm and kissed me harder before easing back. Oh, I will. All night long.
Perfect.
That grin. He’d barely stopped smiling for the past year.
The curse was gone. Prager was dead. Our lovely daughter was ruling the kingdom already—in her sweet little baby mind.
Watching Lore with Levia made me fall in love with him all over again. He sang to her in that deep voice, told her stories about dragons, and melted completely whenever she smiled.
Farris strutted by wearing a spiked gold circlet that tilted off his ears. Brys had also dressed him in a dashing black cape with silver embroidery. Children followed him like he was a furry royal.
My brother leaned against a pillar nearby with Tempest standing beside him. She shot me a grin and patted her distended belly. Their first would be born within two months, and I couldn't wait to hold my niece or nephew.
Vexxion's eyes remained locked on Levia like an overprotective dragon. Any time someone came near her, even just to peek at her tiny face, he stiffened.
“Vexxion, what now?” I asked as he approached with determined strides.
“The baby requires attention.” He reached for Levia with surprising gentleness despite his gruff tone.
“How do you know this? I can't tell.”
He gave me a stiff nod. “Magic.”
Tempest rolled her eyes. “He's been inventing reasons to hold her all evening. Yesterday he insisted she needed magical temperature regulation.”
My laugh rang out.
“Magic? Sure,” I called after him as he strode across the ballroom, Tempest's laughter trilling out.
I laughed and stood. “Our daughter is ruling more than this kingdom.”
Lore smirked. “She’s four months old and already owns her uncle’s soul.”
The music changed, and a faster melody coasted through the room.
Dancers twirled into motion, the women's gowns sweeping the floor, the men holding them dressed in fancy tunics and pants.
Chandeliers cast dancing light across mirrored walls while the orchestra played a lively melody, strings and flutes weaving together.
The door on one wall opened, and Lord Briscalar swept in, leading a train of servants behind him.
At the front of the line, a cake nearly as tall as me wobbled, cradled on a floating magical platform.
Frosting spiraled upward in perfect layers, and candied flowers bloomed in neat rings across the top and sides.
“Chef Dulvade,” Lord Briscalar declared, waving his arm like a herald toward the other man. “Place it in the center of the ballroom, if you please.”
The chef sighed, muttering something I probably shouldn't hear. But he obeyed, guiding the cake to the “correct” place. When his eyes met mine, I grinned, and he did, too.
Lord Briscalar didn’t miss it. “What are the two of you snickering about?”
We pinched our lips together.
“My queen,” he said gravely. “Please remember decorum.”
“I don't believe I could forget,” I said in my most demure voice.
Lore snorted.
Lord Briscalar's sweet smile rose. Talvon nudged his side with an elbow, and Lord Briscalar huffed out a laugh. “The cake is utterly delightful. Don't you agree, my highnesses?”
“It’s incredible. Such amazing work.”
Dulvade preened.
Taking Lore's hand, I urged him over to the cake.
Lightning snapped down my wrist at my command.
I'd gotten…alright, not necessarily better with this, though I was doing as well as I could.
I hadn't burned down the castle yet, now had I?
I flicked my finger, and every single candle lit at once, flames skipping in a perfect line around the base.
The gathering crowd cried out with excitement.
Lore wrapped his arms around my waist from behind, and his chin settled on my shoulder, his lips finding the curve of my ear.
“Another birthday,” I said, turning to face him fully. “Another new beginning.”
Evermore, Wildfire. Evermore.
Ahhh! I’m going to miss Reyla & Lore. But I picture them living a long happy life full of love, and what could be better than that?
What’s next?
A brand new series!
Here’s a sneak peak of Of Fates & Ruin…
I infiltrated a rival fae court to hunt my enemy. I didn’t mean to stab their golden-eyed king.
Disguised as a recruit, I cross into the wasteland swamp, searching for the rebels who murdered my sister.
But instead of a crumbling outpost, I find a glittering court cloaked in illusion, where brutal trials bind warriors to magical beasts.
Unfortunately, the first person my dagger sinks into is their infuriatingly gorgeous king.
Instead of seeking revenge, Trewyn smirks, as if getting stabbed was just flirting.
When he assumes I’m here to enter the Rite of Bonds, I let him believe it.
If I fail the bonding trials, I’ll be exiled before I uncover the truth.
If I succeed, I risk becoming what my kingdom fears most, an untamed magic-wielder dangerously loyal to the wrong side.
My court raised me to see the rebels as traitors.
Now, I worry I’ll willingly bleed for them… especially for him.
King Trewyn goads me, but my body doesn’t care that he’s forbidden. He watches me like he knows what I’m hiding. Like he’s daring me to break. Like he’s already decided I’m his, and he’s just waiting for me to admit it.
But with a darker enemy rising, one that drains magic and leaves only husks behind, I’ll have to choose: avenge my sister or trust the king who’s become my greatest temptation.
Vengeance is a mask. And mine is about to shatter.
Of Fates & Ruin is Book 1 of the Kingdom of Shattered Vows Series.
If The Hunger Games, Fourth Wing, and Quicksilver had a dangerously romantic book baby, this is it.
Perfect for fans of hidden identity heroines who don’t take sh*t from anyone, slow-burn enemies-to-lovers with a side of emotional torment, brutal magical trials, court intrigue, beast bonding, found family, and slow-burn spice.
This romantasy will sink its claws into your heart, and it won’t let go.
Chapter 1
Amarissa
Soon, they’d dress me like a doll for my court’s pageant of death and call it mercy.
The syrup from the lirefruit had pooled at the edge of my plate, congealing around a slice of honeybread I would not be able to eat. Who could on the Day of Mercy?
Bile surged up my throat, and I rushed from my chair, racing to the bathing chamber where I lost what little I’d consumed last night. Water. A few bites of fruit.
Finished, I cleansed my teeth and stared into the mirror.
“This has to end,” I croaked. “No more pretending this is kindness.” I wanted to be brave, but bravery here only got people killed.
Every time I’d tried, I was beaten back so badly I feared there’d be nothing left of me to make a difference. Yet how could I stop?
My hands shook. I could almost feel my dead mother watching, as silent as her grave. I pressed a palm to my belly, half-expecting to feel her steady hand there, the way I used to when I was young.
“I’m sorry, Mama,” I whispered. “I keep failing them.” I dreamed of those I couldn’t save. They haunted me with silent eyes that asked why they were chosen while others lived. Including myself.
I staggered back to my sitting area. Lifted the honeybread and took a bite.
In my adjoining bedroom, servants murmured over lengths of ash-silk. They were nearly finished preparing my ceremonial robes. I’d have to join them and try not to wince as they transformed me into the Lady of Mercy.
When I was little, I’d stand along the wall of Queen Marlane’s room while my mother’s ladies adjusted her costume, dreaming of a time when I’d be old enough to participate in this sacred duty.
“The mask doesn’t change who you are beneath it, Isi. Remember that,” she’d say.
She’d died when I was ten. My father placed her mask in my hands and told me I would now carry out her duties.