Epilogue Lucy
How to Accidentally Become Important: join a guild and get adopted without consent.
The Golden Phoenix Guild had been alive for exactly twelve days, and already Lucy was convinced it would one day kill her.
Not metaphorically.
Actually.
Physically.
Emotionally.
Possibly spiritually.
The office she worked in—her office now—was the size of a ballroom, stacked with maps, missions, magical paperwork (which was somehow worse than regular paperwork), and five separate piles labeled DO NOT TOUCH by Basil.
The new guild headquarters on palace grounds was gorgeous in a “this will absolutely burn down once Vorrik tries to cook” sort of way. Its halls were filled with clashing personalities:
Esther: hyperfocused and glowing with newfound leadership energy.
Nythir: calm, quietly sharpening knives in a way Lucy tried not to overthink.
Lyssara: already threatening to eat the nobles who filed incorrect paperwork.
Vorrik: building bunk beds and yelling motivational compliments.
Sylva: Absolutely not here for Lucy (he insisted).
Also, Sylva: literally here because of Lucy (everyone insisted).
Life was good.
Chaotic, exhausting, and constantly on the verge of an accidental explosion—
But good.
Lucy was halfway through rewriting a recruitment form for the fifth time (why did it need three signatures and a magical blood oath? Who made this? Oh, right—Basil) when a knock rattled the open office door.
Lupin burst in—dramatic, wild-haired, sword in hand as if responding to a national emergency.
“Lucy!” he barked. “You’re summoned to the king’s office!”
Summoned.
By the king.
Her brain stopped. Her soul briefly left her body for snacks.
“Did I—did I do something?” she asked.
“Yes,” Lupin said gravely. “You existed within fifty feet of my father.”
“That’s illegal?”
“It is now,” he muttered. “Because he’s in a mood. Come on.”
Before she could fully panic, Esther sprinted into the office like a distraught duckling.
“Lucy! I tried to save you!” she wailed, flinging her arms around her.
“Save me from what!?”
“The king,” Esther sobbed. “He wouldn’t tell us why he summoned you! Nythir thinks it’s paperwork manipulation. Basil thinks it’s arcane punishment. Vorrik thinks you’re finally being offered a duchy—”
“I don’t want a duchy!”
“See?” Esther cried. “She doesn’t want a duchy! Father!”
From behind her, Sylva appeared silently, which she hated.
“Lucy,” he said, tone steady but tail flicking. “If he harms you, I will—”
“Yes?” she asked, hopeful.
“—file a formal complaint.”
“…Really?”
“And then kill him,” Lupin added.
“That too,” Sylva said with a nod.
Esther sniffled loudly. “We’ll wait outside the office door like emotional support gremlins.”
Lucy inhaled sharply, squared her shoulders, and marched toward the king’s study.
She had faced starvation, kidnapping, political warfare, and the Baroness’s etiquette critiques—She could handle one king. Probably.
Lucy pushed open the door—
And froze.
Inside stood the Baroness Irene Levon.
In a simple white dress.
Not elegant. Not glamorous. Simple, pure, and soft.
Beside her stood Basil in a beautifully tailored formal suit.
Behind them sat King Arcturus at his desk, looking like life had defeated him roundly and repeatedly.
Lucy blinked.
“…Did I die?” she asked.
“No,” King Arcturus said bleakly. “But I might have.”
Basil cleared his throat—quiet, dignified, and somehow sounding like an owl swallowing a mouse.
“Lucy,” he said. “We have… news.”
The Baroness beamed. “We got married!”
Lucy’s jaw dropped so fast it nearly cracked against the floor.
“You— You what?”
“Married,” Basil repeated, adjusting his tie awkwardly. “Just now. By the king. Who is… coping.”
King Arcturus groaned softly into his hands.
Lucy pointed at the Baroness. “But— But you— You’re in WHITE!”
“I know!” the Baroness said happily. “I look darling.”
Lucy pointed at Basil. “And YOU—!”
“Yes,” he said with an uncharacteristic smile. “Apparently I do, too.”
Lucy stared between them, trying to understand.
“Wh—why am I here?”
“Oh!” Irene clapped. “Because we’ve adopted you!”
Lucy screamed.
Not loudly.
Not fearfully.
Just a very long, spiraling scream of existential dismay.
King Arcturus winced.
“You’re what?” Lucy shouted.
“Your new parents,” the Baroness said proudly. “Baroness Irene Levon and Sir Basil Levon—oh stars, that sounds so good.”
Basil nodded, looking as though he was analyzing the structural integrity of the moment.
“We thought it appropriate,” he added. “Since Irene can not have children—”
Lucy choked. “Oh—Okay—We’re just dropping more lore like it’s nothing—”
The Baroness nodded graciously. “It’s why I never married before. Well, that and I was hopelessly in love with Basil, and he was busy suffering in the archives.”
Basil blinked. “Accurate.”
King Arcturus looked at Lucy with the dead eyes of a man who had been emotionally overwhelmed for too many consecutive hours.
“So,” he said flatly, “by the authority vested in me, et cetera et cetera—Lucy Levon, you are now Baroness of Rosewick.”
Lucy’s soul re-exited her body.
“I’m a what?” she shrieked.
“Baroness,” her new mother repeated proudly.
“Against my will?”
“That’s how the best titles happen,” the Baroness said.
Lucy pinched the bridge of her nose, inhaling deeply. “But—but what about heirs? Land? Responsibility? Taxes? What if you two have a miracle baby?”
“Oh, sweetheart,” Irene said gently. “Even if that were to happen, you are our daughter. And our heir.”
Basil added, “We’ll be traveling for quite some time during our extended honeymoon. Therefore, you will… manage things.”
Lucy felt dizzy.
“I—I can’t be a Baroness. I’m barely functional. I’ve screamed twice today!”
“Yes,” Basil agreed. “You will improve.”
She staggered backward.
Esther slammed into her the second she exited.
“Lucy! You’re alive!”
Lupin leaned dramatically on his sword. “Blink twice if he harmed you.”
Sylva stood closest, ears angled forward, tail still.
Lucy stared at the group. Then declared: “I’m a Baroness.”
Esther froze.
Lupin screamed.
Sylva blinked very slowly, like trying to confirm reality with his retinas.
Vorrik burst around the corner holding the goat from the wedding. “We celebrate! With goat!”
“No goat,” Lucy whispered weakly. “No more goats.”
Sylva stepped forward, expression unreadable.
Quietly, privately, he said,
“You’re still Lucy.”
“Baroness Lucy Levon,” she corrected faintly.
A pause.
His tail flicked.
“I liked you better before the title,” he said honestly.
She glared. “Well, I didn’t ask for it—!”
“I know.” He hesitated. “But… I’m glad you’re staying with the guild.”
Her heart did something unsanctioned.
“…You are?”
“Yes,” he said simply. “Very much.”
Lucy swallowed.
Then:
“I outrank you now.”
Sylva huffed. “Stars help us all.”
But he smiled—small and real.
And Lucy, new Baroness of Rosewick, accidental noble, secretary to the Golden Phoenix Guild, and chaos incarnate—Smiled back.
Her new life had begun.
Her story, too.
And she had the very distinct feeling that Sylva was going to be an extremely complicated chapter.