CH. 77 And They Lived, Chaotically Ever After
The palace feels different now.
Not because Sorien is King.
Not because the Trials are over.
But because—for the first time—
everyone finally knows the truth.
About Drew.
About the curse.
About mirrors, and fire, and witchcraft.
About love potions and the dead King.
About the lengths people go to—to be loved, to be seen, to be chosen.
The scandal fades slowly, like smoke peeling away from old walls.
The Queen retreats into self-imposed solitude, her shame echoing behind her.
Gavin and Farro fight at least twice a day but now do it affectionately, which is only slightly alarming.
The kingdom stabilizes.
The curses settle.
The witches return to their forests.
Drew heals—fully, completely.
No more shifting at dawn.
No more hiding behind masks, real or emotional.
She is simply herself—
beautiful at night, beautiful in the day,
beautiful because she survived
and because she chose to.
---
Sorien finds her in the royal gardens at twilight, sitting cross-legged on a marble bench.
Leonardo lounges in a silver bowl beside her.
Five tarantulas perch on the hem of her gown like murderous sequins.
Sorien stops a moment just to look at them—
this strange little family
that somehow became his, too.
“You’re staring,” Drew says without looking up.
“Only a little.”
She pats the space beside her.
He sits.
They watch the sky shift from gold to lavender.
Drew exhales.
“No more curses. No more trials. No more witches trying to turn me into soup.”
“Not if I can help it,” Sorien says quietly.
Drew hides her smile.
“I was a mess.”
“You still are,” Sorien says.
“But you’re my mess.”
She snorts.
“Terrible flirting. Zero points.”
“Then let me try again.”
He turns to her fully, hands warm around hers.
“You changed my life,” he says simply.
“You fought beside me. You argued with me. You held my brothers together.
You survived every hell we were thrown into.
And you did it while insulting me at least three times a day.”
“…two, on weekends,” she corrects.
He laughs softly.
“Drew,” he says,
“I love you.”
Her heart thuds.
She doesn’t blush—she combusts.
Internally.
“Say it again,” she whispers.
He leans closer.
“Drew. I love you.”
She exhales shakily.
“Good. Because I love you back.
Slightly. Tiny bit. In a reluctant sort of way.”
“I’ll take it.”
~~~
Their wedding is… loud.
There are witches in the rafters.
There are nobles fainting when Drew’s tarantulas act as flower girls.
There is a hellhound lurking near the buffet.
There is the Warden pretending he isn’t crying.
Gavin gives a dignified toast.
Farro gives a ridiculous one.
Hegar tries to sit in the corner unnoticed
but is dragged into ten dances.
The Supreme Witch “blesses” the union by turning the fountain water pink.
And when Sorien kisses Drew—
really kisses her—
the entire court cheers like they’re starved for affection.
Later, in the quiet of the garden where everything began, Drew rests her head on Sorien’s shoulder.
“So,” she says softly.
“No more trials?”
“Only one.”
She sits up.
“What?!”
He smiles, cupping her cheek.
“The trial of being Queen.”
Drew groans.
“Terrible. I’m going to fail spectacularly.”
“You’ve already passed,” he murmurs.
She grins, kisses him again, and whispers:
“Then let’s rule this kingdom…
with chaos.”