Epilogue
(Almost) Three Years Later
I’m attaching the last of my papers in an email to my Classics professor when I hear a metallic scratching at the door.
Poppy looks up from the sofa in my off-campus flat, her fur glossy and soft thanks to Tibby’s militant grooming schedule.
Snickers, who lies asleep beside her, continues to snore louder than my alarm clock, oblivious to the potential mayhem in the hallway, where my PPOs should be keeping watch.
It’s a deal that’s worked well between us for the past three years—they don’t bust into my Oxford flat unannounced, and I don’t scream and pretend I’m being kidnapped in order to sneak away without them noticing.
The scratching sounds again, and I frown, hitting send on my email and slowly closing my laptop.
If someone’s out there, either both of tonight’s PPOs have taken a break at the same time or they’re unconscious.
My pulse quickens, and I stand, reaching for the crowbar I keep beside my desk for special occasions.
Ben’s been on house arrest for nearly three years now, locked up in a prison of his own making in Scotland, far from any royal residence—or anything fun at all—as he no doubt waits for a chance to exact his revenge, even though he has no power anymore.
No power, no friends, no allowance, and nothing to his name but the humiliation of being known as the illegitimate son of the former Duchess of York.
Even Nicholas, who married Helene two years ago and is now father to a baby daughter named Birdie, cementing Ben’s expulsion from the line of succession, barely acknowledges him in private.
But because Ben is still alive, I’m always waiting for him to strike again. I’m always on guard, and I always will be to some degree, because if there’s one thing royal life has taught me, it’s to never underestimate anyone. Especially not someone who wants me dead.
And so, as I hear the metallic scraping sound once more, I grip the end of the crowbar in both hands, ready to strike.
I take slow, cautious steps toward the door, even though my PPOs have drilled into me over and over that my best chance is to run and hide, but I refuse.
If Ben is coming for me again—if he’s finally slipped his gilded handcuffs—then I’ll be ready for him. And this time, I won’t offer him mercy.
As I raise the crowbar, the door finally swings open, revealing a dark figure on the other side. But as I aim directly for his skull, the low light from the kitchen catches his brown eyes, and icy shock cuts through me.
“Whoa!” cries Kit, ducking and throwing his hand out. “Ev! It’s me! It’s just me!”
I curse and use what little momentum I built up to throw my weapon into the carpeted seating area, where both dogs startle at the clank. “Kit? What are you doing? Where are—”
I poke my head through the door, and sure enough, my PPOs are standing on either side, stoic as can be.
Kit holds up two thin metal instruments in his right hand, while his left grips a pizza box. “I’ve been practicing,” he explains. “Thought I’d surprise you. In hindsight, maybe I should’ve rung you first.”
The lockpicks I gave him for his birthday. I exhale, both relieved and a little dizzy from the tension. “You scared the shit out of me,” I say, pulling him in for a hug, careful not to knock the pizza away. “But you really cracked that lock on your own? In under thirty seconds?”
“Twenty-four,” he says proudly. “I timed myself.”
“Knew you had it in you,” I say, giving him a quick kiss before letting him go. “Maisie and Gia went to the pub tonight, so I’m on Snickers duty. I thought you weren’t coming this weekend.”
“And miss your last two days of privacy? Never,” he teases, and he sets the pizza down on the kitchen counter before pulling me into another hug. “This might be our last chance to walk the streets without photographers stalking us relentlessly.”
I rest my head against his chest, and Poppy watches us from the sofa, while Snickers once again begins to snore. “I can’t believe the media gave us three whole years of privacy.”
“Out of the goodness of their hearts, I’m sure, and not because your father threatened to pull their reporters from the Royal Rota if they didn’t behave,” says Kit, running his fingers through my hair. “I missed you.”
“You saw me three days ago,” I say, but I kiss him again anyway, lingering this time. “I missed you, too. How’s your mum?”
“Good. She says hello,” he says, nuzzling the top of my head. “She’s been begging me to invite you to dinner as soon as term is finished.”
“Just as long as she’s not the one cooking again,” I say, and Kit laughs.
“She was trying to impress you. She’s never tried to cook for me, you know. Which is one of the many reasons why I consider myself exceptionally lucky.”
I grin into his shirt. “Yeah, of course I’ll come. Will your dad be there?”
Kit’s laughter quiets. “Unlikely,” he admits.
Even three years can’t fully heal the rift between him and his father, but at least Kit can stomach a meal with him now, if the occasion calls for it.
Which, considering his father is typically away on business, isn’t often. “Another reason I’m lucky, I suppose.”
“Very.” I kiss his cheek and wrap my arm around his waist, content to watch Poppy breathe for a beat.
These are the moments—the quiet ones, the ones without any pomp or circumstance, without an audience, the ones that will never make headlines—where I feel like I’m home.
Even when uncomfortable subjects come up.
Even when we don’t have all the answers.
“I love you,” I say, as if that’s enough of a consolation prize to make up for the difficulties between him and his father. Kit presses another kiss to my forehead.
“I know,” he teases, and I swat his backside gently, startling Poppy. He laughs again, the sound of it natural and unforced, and he reaches into the pocket of his blazer. “Before we eat, I have something for you.”
“You do?” I say, releasing him from my grip. Even Poppy’s ears perk up, and we both watch as Kit pulls something small from his pocket.
A black velvet box.
My heart starts to pound again, and my palms begin to sweat.
No—this is a graduation present, that’s all.
Kit isn’t exactly stingy when it comes to jewelry, and the silver bracelet I wear every single day is now filled with a classy number of charms, each one representing a milestone in our relationship, or a moment together that shifted our story in a small but seismic way.
The tiara he first gave me when we started dating.
The compass he left under my pillow shortly after my parents’ wedding.
A book, a guitar, a key, a dog—representing Poppy, of course.
Each one a memory. Each one special to both of us.
But none of them came in a velvet box like this.
“Evangeline,” he says, and he lowers himself onto one knee.
The world around me tilts, and for a beat, I think I might end up joining him on the floor.
“I could spend the rest of my life telling you how much I love you and why. Why you’re my best friend, my partner, the person who brings color to my world, the choice I would—and will—make again and again, without hesitation or fear.
How you and I are both whole on our own, but together, we’re three-dimensional, something far greater than the sum of our parts—”
“Kit,” I say, his name coming out as more of a squeak. “Are you—wait, are you really—”
He chuckles. “I will if you give me a chance,” he says, and he slowly opens the box, revealing a simple, beautiful pear-shaped diamond big enough to need its own security guard.
“I know you wanted to wait until after graduation, and I thought about taking you out to a flashy restaurant, or on a trip to Paris, or the Maldives, or anywhere you’d like to go.
But this…this is one of our last few moments of privacy, and more than anything, I wanted this to be for us.
Just you and me. Here, in our living room, with our fur child—”
Poppy raises her head again.
“—and every memory, both the good and the bad, that we’ve made together so far.
You already know how much I love you, and how I always will, no matter what your answer is.
So while I could spend the rest of my life telling you that you’re my world, I’d rather spend the rest of our lives together showing you I’m yours.
Endlessly and for eternity. Always on the good days—”
“But especially the bad,” I finish for him in a whisper, my eyes filling with tears. I wipe my cheeks. “You already know what I’m going to say.”
“I hope so,” he says with such sincerity that my heart breaks and heals all in an instant. “But I still have to ask. Evangeline Florence Phillipa Constance Bright, will you do me the enormous privilege and honor of marrying me?”
I would go to war for this man. I would tear apart the world for him and put it back together again, just to give him a single moment of happiness. But we’ve already done that, and now we’re here, facing the rest of our lives together, and there’s nothing I want more.
“I told you I’d say yes, when the time came and you asked,” I say, and despite the way the room spins, my voice is steady. I know what I want. I’ve known all along, from the moment I accepted that Kit was permanent. And even years later, nothing has changed. “This is it. This is my yes.”
He bursts out into a wide smile, and as he plucks the ring from the box, I hold out my trembling hand. He slips it onto my finger, cold and heavier than I expect, and it feels—right. Not the diamond. Not the ring itself, even—not yet. But that Kit is the one putting it there.
As he rises, he catches me in his arms and lifts me up, crushing his mouth to mine in a messy, awkward, perfect kiss.
I slide down his body slowly until my feet touch the ground once more, and only then do I open my eyes, gazing up at him.
Despite the twists and turns and darkest hours we’ve had to face, I’m grateful for every road that brought us here—even Ben and all he put us through.
Because if it hadn’t been for him, our story wouldn’t have been the same.
And I can’t stand the thought of our life together being anything but what it is now.
“I love you,” I murmur, the tips of our noses touching.
“Mm. The biggest reason I’m exceptionally lucky.” Kit kisses me again, softly this time. “I love you, too. More than anything in the entire bloody universe.”
“Lucky me,” I whisper, and we stay like that for the space of several heartbeats, caught in the warmth and perfection of the moment as the world moves on around us.
Until my stomach growls, and our little love bubble pops. I grin sheepishly. “Pizza?” I suggest, a hopeful note in my voice.
“Pizza,” he agrees. We move toward each other at the same time, meeting in the middle for one more kiss before striding hand in hand into the kitchen.
And while my life hasn’t always been a fairy tale—unless we’re counting Grimms’—this ending, this beginning is the happiest ever-after I could possibly imagine for a real-life princess.
And the best part is, it’s mine.