Epilogue
T he prince had not agreed to allow the Westrende marshal and magistrate into the palace until Mireille threatened to offer both all the hospitality she might as queen of Rivenwilde.
Because it was true, now that the curse was broken, the lands would be restored and Alder would be raised to his rightful place as king.
He was the one who had married her after all, she reminded him.
Certainly, he could not have thought that she might suddenly grow meek.
The pair from Nordhelle, however, Alder treated with much greater courtesy and respect, which was to say, likely as much as he could offer a human—excluding Mireille, of course.
As her friends observed the interior of the palace awestricken, Mireille realized it had begun to feel comfortable and familiar to her.
She briefly squeezed Thomas’s hand, who had, of course, immediately forgiven her, even if he did seem slightly baffled and overwhelmed by the entire ordeal. Thomas had never been fond of ordeals.
They settled into a large sitting room, Alder, Mireille and her allies from Westrende and Nordhelle, who happened, happily, to be just as well-titled as she and legally able to negotiate on behalf of their kingdoms, plus Thomas, and Nisha.
Noal and Kin stood to the side of the room, proprietary in their duties to their soon-to-be king and queen.
Mireille would need to write a letter to her father. The first of so, so many letters and documents to come.
The magistrate pointed to a line of text on a thick stack of contracts they had brought along and had been marking up for hours. “This section will outline the new border laws. Any fae bargains struck outside the of these marcations”—he gestured to a well-sketched map— “will be null and void.”
“And your council will agree to this?” Alder’s tone was once again that of a royal, sharp and dry and demanding respect.
He shot Mireille a look. “What are you grinning about?”
She only shook her head. It was not very queen-like to be giddy, to be sure. It would take all of them to restore their law, their lands, and bring down the wall without breaking something else. There was much work ahead.
The alliance was necessary, and there would be many compromises on both sides.
“And you truly will not allow the Rive to fall unless I sign this?” He lifted an eyebrow.
Mireille nodded curtly. “Truly.” She loved him, but she would do what was necessary to protect their kingdoms. He was still fae, after all. It was not exactly a balance of power unless Mireille held her ground.
“Take her at her word, Alder,” Nisha said from where she leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “My new sister knows how to get exactly what she wants.”
Her eyes sparkled as she said it and Mireille gave her a smile. Nisha’s first act once she’d learned that the Rive would finally come down, was to announce her plan to roam the twelve kingdoms.
The pair from Nordhelle shared a private smile; Mireille didn’t think she’d seen them stop holding hands.
The marshal said, “And of course we have stipulated the release of every single Westrende prisoner, with recompense.”
“Oh,” said Mireille. “I think I should tell you. I suspect the prince kept those royals and officers prisoner because the queen was going to...” She made a little neck slashing gesture.
The prince stared at her, as if mortally offended.
She said, “And from what Thomas and I saw, they were kept in reasonable comfort. I can’t help but imagine it was an act of kindness, as terrible as that sounds.
” She smiled up at him. “Comfort is not the sort of thing one offers when merely attempting to thwart an enemy queen. He’s really quite soft beneath that stern exterior. ”
He glanced at the marshal, then Noal, before his gaze went back to the contracts. “You have no proof of that.” She thought she heard him mutter ruthless and indefensible under his breath.
“I believe the proof lies with the shadow creatures.” Mireille leaned toward the marshal. “Do you know that the ones in Westrende are not Rivenwilde fae? Evidently, the queen had a legion of them, tied to her magic and her lands.”
The marshal went still. “They were beholden to the queen? The ones that attacked Westrende?” Her focus narrowed on the prince, accusatory. “Not from Rivenwilde?”
“May we please get on with it?” he snapped. “I’ve had valets less difficult to negotiate with.”
Noal took that moment to set a tray onto the table beside the prince. It held a silver dish loaded with sugarplums. “Majesty.”
Nisha snorted a laugh.
The magistrate tapped another line in the contract, seemingly oblivious to the conversational diversion. “This will need signed by Mireille’s father. Given that the king is well and there may be time for future heirs on Mireille’s behalf?—”
“All right. Enough.”
The room went still at Alder’s words, then he shifted, shoving the tray aside and dragging the last pages of the contract toward him. With a heavy sigh, he scanned through the details, lifted a quill, dipped it into an elaborately carved ink pot, then scrawled his name across the page.
Mireille’s chest felt as if a flock of birds might burst free. The queen was defeated. Norcliffe was safe. And she… She was in love with her prince.
She looked to Thomas, and he offered her the steadiest of grins.
He had, of course, agreed to remain in Rivenwilde as her advisor.
He still wore the fine suit tailored for the wedding, but now there was a ribbon tied around his wrist, in exact same shade as Kin’s dress.
Mireille took in the woman and the other occupants of the room, finding that, though she was eager to visit her father and her kingdom, she had already found a new home.
And even though it might prove daunting, for the first time in a long while, she wasn’t scared at all.
“Noal,” the prince said. “Show these guests to the,” he made a shooing gesture, “somewhere with some sort of refreshments.” He turned toward Mireille, his hand finding hers as if he’d done it a thousand times. “I have a desire to take to the gardens with my wife.”
As the others ambled from the room, Mireille turned to face him. “The gardens?”
He made a short, satisfied sort of hum.
“It is nearly sunrise. Are we to visit the wisteria tree?” She laid a hand on his chest. “I find I’ve grown quite fond of Rivenwilde and its heart.”
He placed his hand over hers, expression solemn, and Mireille could feel his magic in a way she had not before. Soon, the land would heal, he would take his throne, and that power would increase by untold measures. He said, “Majesty, the heart of Rivenwilde now beats for you.”
“Truly,” she whispered. “I could ask for nothing more.” And then she kissed him.