EXTENDED EPILOGUE — FIVE YEARS LATER
Five years later, Amara and Alexander still had not decided which of their two worlds was truly home.
Eventually, they stopped trying.
They divided their lives between Azania and America, crossing the ocean often enough that their children considered ships perfectly ordinary.
There were three children now.
Their eldest daughter had inherited Amara’s determination.
Alexander called it stubbornness.
Amara called it leadership.
Their son had inherited Alexander’s confidence and Amara’s talent for trouble.
The youngest had discovered that being adorable was an effective method of avoiding consequences.
King Adisa visited far too often.
At least according to Alexander.
According to Adisa, a grandfather could not possibly visit too often.
Queen Nalia spoiled the children shamelessly and denied doing so.
Amara’s grandmother remained convinced Alexander needed to eat more.
Kellan continued threatening him periodically.
The threats had become affectionate.
Mostly.
The trafficking network that had once captured Amara was gone.
Some of those responsible had received long prison sentences. Others had been convicted in neighboring jurisdictions as evidence revealed the full extent of the organization.
Money and property seized from the network helped support survivors and reunite families.
Amara remained involved.
She refused to allow her own happy ending to become the end of the story for everyone else.
Alexander supported her work, although he occasionally reminded her that sleep was also a legitimate human activity.
She usually ignored him.
Their arguments remained spectacular.
Their marriage remained passionate.
And neither had become particularly skilled at surrender.
One evening, during a visit to Azania, they walked through the palace gardens after putting the children to bed.
Or, more accurately, after attempting to put them to bed.
Their daughter had requested water three times.
Their son had suddenly remembered an urgent question about horses.
The youngest simply refused sleep as a matter of principle.
Alexander looked exhausted.
“Your children are impossible.”
Amara stopped.
“My children?”
“When they behave like that.”
“And when they behave well?”
“Our children.”
“Coward.”
“Experienced husband.”
She laughed.
They reached the old tree where Alexander had proposed.
Five years had changed many things.
Not this place.
Amara touched the ring on her finger.
Alexander noticed.
“Thinking about the proposal?”
“No.”
“What, then?”
“The beginning.”
He smiled.
“That was less romantic.”
“Considerably.”
They sat beneath the tree.
From the palace came the distant sound of their children refusing to remain asleep.
Alexander sighed.
“We should probably go back.”
“In a minute.”
He put his arm around her.
For a while they simply watched the stars.
Amara sometimes wondered about the woman she might have become if she had never taken that forbidden ride toward the coast.
Perhaps she would still have been happy.
Perhaps she would have married someone respectable.
Perhaps she would have lived an easier life.
But she would never wish for the suffering that had happened to her.
And she would never pretend it had been necessary.
What happened had been wrong.
Completely wrong.
The only choice she had possessed was what she would build afterward.
And she had built this.
A husband she loved.
Children she adored.
Two homes.
A family that had somehow grown across continents.
Work that gave meaning to what she had survived.
And freedom.
Especially freedom.
Alexander looked at her.
“What?”
“You're staring.”
“I am allowed to stare at my wife.”
“Within reasonable limits.”
He smiled.
Then he asked, “Do you remember the first thing you ever said to me?”
Amara looked at him.
She knew exactly what he meant.
She let the silence last just long enough.
Then she smiled.
“No.”
Alexander laughed.
“Exactly.”
Amara kissed him.
From an upstairs window came the unmistakable voice of one of their children calling for them.
Alexander closed his eyes.
“We have been discovered.”
“Come on, husband.”
“That sounded like an order.”
Amara started walking toward the palace.
Alexander remained beneath the tree.
She turned.
“Well?”
He smiled.
Then he followed her.
The woman walking ahead of him had once been kidnapped, stripped of her identity, carried across an ocean, and sold as though another human being could own her.
They had been wrong.
She had said no.
She had survived.
She had come home.
And everything surrounding her now—her husband, her children, her family, her work, her future—belonged to the life she had chosen for herself.
Amara waited at the palace doors.
Alexander reached her and took her hand.
Together they went inside.
THE END