53. Epilogue 1
Owain
Faced with an avalanche of concerns from the council, I resolved, at least temporarily, to think about none of them.
The corridors were quiet at this hour, only men shifting in armor and the sound of the winter breeze moving through the castle’s eaves. I’d been king for less than a month, married less than a week, so the sound of my father’s and brother’s titles assigned to me continued to be a shock.
A kingdom preparing for war had a distinct cadence.
The melody was punctuated by the clang of hammer on steel, the bark of orders in the courtyard below, and the heavy, rhythmic tread of men preparing for a future thrust upon them by greed.
The din filled the spaces between thoughts until it was hard to remember what silence had ever felt like.
It had already settled into the stones of the keep.
The situation was moving fast. Darreth had barred the Assembly from its borders without drawing a sword. No official envoys would be admitted. Emrys and Isca had stopped just short of declaring war—exactly the position Larethia found herself in. And Gelida was in disarray.
It was a topic on everyone’s lips most days and nights. Yet, as I approached our rooms, the sounds of war lost the battle to beauty and peace.
Lunette was singing to herself. I didn’t know the tune, but its beautiful, flowing notes conjured images of a languid early autumn river in my mind.
With her soft lilac eyes and fiery auburn hair, she was still the woman I couldn’t look away from.
Seeing her now took me back to that cozy cabin where we first met—and the vibrant explosion of yellows, reds, and oranges bleeding through the open windows.
I eased the door open, trying to make as little noise as possible.
Through the gap, I could see her at the writing desk.
Here, in private, she was my Luna, not Queen Lunette.
Her gown’s sleeves were rolled up to her elbows, and an ink smudge marked her wrist from her writing.
She sat sideways in the chair, one leg tucked under her, feathertop of her quill waving in the air as she sang softly.
The simple tiara Anne and Reina had finally convinced her was now a daily necessity rested on the corner of the desk. She’d removed it and placed it beside her, treating it as if it were a simple bonnet, completely free from the self-consciousness I’d expected her to show during these early weeks.
But she looked completely, utterly at home.
Mine.
My wife, my mate, my everything. I still didn’t know why Fate had blessed me with her, but I thanked the goddess with my every breath.
Behind her Muffin was attempting to climb the curtain beside the balcony door. A ribbon of green silk trailed from his mouth. I looked from the ribbon to the open drawer beside Lunette’s desk, then back to him.
Muffin froze.
I narrowed my eyes.
He narrowed his right back then resumed climbing as if kings were beneath his concern.
Lunette sanded the page, and the melody shifted. I must’ve made a sound, or the bond must’ve carried my attention to her senses, because she finally noticed me staring at her.
“You’re lurking in the shadows,” she said, pointing the quill at me, lips curved.
“Just…standing in the doorway of my own castle.”
“Mmm.” She returned to her correspondence. “Have you resolved anything productive in the doorway, or were you planning to stand there until I undress for bed?”
“The way you say undress…” I crossed the room and gently used two fingers to lift her chin.
I kissed her once then pressed another to her temple and forehead.
She made a small, satisfied sound and leaned into it.
I’d faced down battles with less self-control than I needed to resist the urge to lift her from that chair and carry her to the bed.
“You were singing,” I said.
“I do that occasionally…poorly.” She scowled.
“Not poorly. I’ve always loved it.” I pulled up a chair and sat beside her, close enough that our knees touched.
She caught my eye, telling me without words that she appreciated my sincerity. Then she set down her quill and turned to face me fully, red curls disheveled.
“I was writing to Anwen,” she added, almost offhand. “If she won’t ask for allies, I will.”
As our hands met on the chair’s arm, her fingers wove into mine, a motion as natural as if we’d known each other for a lifetime, though we were barely beginning.
Behind us, Muffin lost his battle with the curtain and dropped into a heap of offended fur.
Lunette glanced over my shoulder. “I can’t figure out how to keep him off those.”
“He’s committing a series of escalating crimes,” I said, pointing at the delinquent in question.
“Maybe he needs a lady veska to keep him busy?” she suggested. “That worked out pretty well for you.”
Visions of my room being torn apart by two little demons flickered through my mind. But she was smiling, so I said, “I’ll arrange it.”
“That was too easy,” she said. She narrowed her eyes at me. “You have a look. Did something happen during the council?”
I didn’t want to cause her any anxiety, yet I was unwilling to deceive her. “My bannermen aren’t optimistic about Anwen’s success in Gelida.”
“They’re never optimistic. Especially not about women. It’s a character defect of most men.” She set the quill aside. “Except for you, Camrick, Richart, and Nisien…” She scowled again. “I’ve ruined my point, haven’t I?”
I shrugged, avoiding the trap. “Actually,” I said, “I think Nisien may be the one to surprise us all.”
She tilted her head. “If you don’t expect to be surprised by him, you haven’t been paying attention.”
It was my turn to scowl. Reina had said nearly the exact same thing.
Lunette scoffed. “You surround yourself with smart people.”
“We both know that includes you.”
“It absolutely includes me,” she said pleasantly, and held out her hand. “So stop being surprised when they prove it.”
I pulled the letter from my doublet. Darreth’s blood-red seal had been pressed beside Gelida’s royal blue one, the wax edges touching as if someone had done it deliberately—and with a truly unbearable amount of confidence.
I passed it over.
Luna read the first page. Then the second. Her eyes widened, the small surprised exhalation turning into a gradual curve of her mouth. “Well,” she said at last, setting it on the desk beside the forgotten tiara.
Nisien, who’d spent the last fifteen years leading every party in Darreth, who’d charmed every person in every room and left without a single enemy and approximately zero consequences, had apparently been paying very close political attention the whole time.
I knew he was clever. He’d saved my reputation. But this was on a different scale. He’d been underestimated his entire life. It was only just occurring to me that he’d been counting on everyone doing exactly that.
Lunette was quiet for a moment. Then soft, genuine laughter bubbled up as she raised the letter, her hand giving it a little shake. “Anwen might kill him before this happens. But if she doesn’t…”
She didn’t finish the thought, but I heard it anyway: they were two stubborn people circling something inevitable and calling it everything but what it was. I knew that story rather well. And just like it had for us, their union might be the thing to save Gelida.
I took the letter back, folded it, and slid it into my coat. Outside the window, snow was dusting the bare branches again. Selmont would be nearly unreachable by now, its roads buried and its people shut inside their homes until the thaw.
But winter didn’t last forever. I’d already begun making secret arrangements for spring.
We’d have a modest escort that would bring us to Selmont before rumor could catch up to us leaving the Tir.
Lunette could see that her former home was thriving and more importantly see how far beyond their judgment she’d grown.
It would also give us an opportunity to meet our allies. Anwen was a princess without enough of them, with a throne already being circled by men who wanted to steal it out from underneath her.
And yet Nisien was already in motion to help her prevent that future.
The game board was larger than I’d thought. The pieces more carefully placed. I let it all rest—Darreth, Gelida, the Assembly, all of it—and turned back to her.
This is what they almost took away from me, I thought, with an almost painful lucidity.
Not the crown, or Larethia.
Her. Just her—sitting sideways in a chair with ink on her wrist, singing to herself like the world wasn’t on fire.
She gave me the look that meant she’d already read my mind and was just waiting for me to confess.
“Luna.”
“Owain.”
“I’m very glad you were in that cabin.”
The smile that broke across her face was a beam of moonlight piercing a midnight sky. She leaned forward and pressed her lips to mine with such tenderness I almost wept.
When she pulled back, her lilac eyes were soft. “So am I.”
My crown joined hers on the corner of the desk.
Muffin immediately abandoned the curtain to harass us.
“No,” Lunette and I said together.
He scurried out onto the balcony, deeply wounded by our tyranny.
Somewhere below, a door opened and closed. I heard the distant sound of rapid boots on stone—a messenger or a guard moving with purpose through the quiet of the evening. The world was still out there, still demanding, still dangerous.
But when I looked at her, none of it mattered. The council could have the king in the morning. The world could have the queen soon enough.
Tonight, she was Luna. I was only Owain. And the crowns could stay on the desk.