Epilogue
One Month Later
It’s icy on America’s first-ever Coronation Day, but with the wall of fuel-burning heaters, we could be on the beach in July.
Still, I grip my stole around my shoulders, the real fur soft against my throat. It’s white. I can’t be sure where it’s from,
but Callum has taken to calling it Marcy.
He smiles at me, even as he addresses the crowd, puffs of steam slipping from his lips. In front of the Washington Monument,
now recapped in blue—to better match Callum’s eyes, and to literally cover over his father’s legacy—he looks at home. Callum
has always looked larger than life, a statue or a god. He seems like he was made to be America’s first forever president.
“With courage and conviction, we will continue to try and fix the world we broke,” he says.
I keep my face stoic as I look out over the crowd. My mother and father sit in the front row, hands clasped as they stare up at me. It turns out that they weren’t fine with me being essentially kidnapped and betrothed without their knowledge. The second they realized I didn’t come home, they
fought to make their way to New Washington. They were arrested at the border to South Texas and kept in holding until Graves’s
assassination.
They aren’t thrilled with what I’m doing now, of course.
“. . . funding for public libraries and initiatives for literacy,” Callum continues.
Nef sits with Uriah and the rest of Lyceum—which now includes Ettie. They are now technically a new branch of government and
have been instrumental in helping formulate Callum’s educational plan. Nef adjusts her fluffy earmuffs and gives me a little
thumbs-up. We haven’t been the same since everything went down, and I miss her terribly. But ever since she moved to New Washington,
we’ve been able to set up weekly coffee dates. I don’t know if the first lady is allowed best friends, but I think we’ll get
there.
Callum continues his speech, and I find my body angling to Hux, who stands on the other side of the stage.
He has his earpiece in, blade strapped to his belt.
Callum made him head of the Hammers after everything, and Hux cleaned house.
He brought in all new guards, and I’m starting to believe they are all former Machs.
Lyceum controls the government. The Machs control the military.
And somehow, I’m the link between the two of them.
Callum looks at me from the podium. “Thanks to my fiancée and your first lady, Ripley Hart, we will get started on all these
changes right away.”
I smile back at him, and nod encouragingly. He turns back to the speech I wrote, eager, as always, to follow where I steer.
Because Callum might be president for life, but I’m going to be his wife. “And together, we’ll build something. We’ll build
hope. We’ll build trust. The one I love most in this world once told me a story about bravery, about conviction, about how
the end of the world can become a new beginning. And together, we’re going to write an amazing beginning.”
Callum looks at me, and I don’t have to fake the small smile that pulls on my lips. I do love him. If only I could trust him.
I walk over stiffly, pretending to be cold, and press a chaste kiss to his lips.
The crowd erupts in applause. We step forward for some photos, holding hands and waving. Then, security ushers us off the
stage. Callum goes first, and I follow. Hux is close behind me as we make our way to the motorcade that will take us to our
next destination: the Presidential Ball.
“Your car is ready, Ms. Hart,” Hux says, his voice a rumble from behind me.
Callum is far ahead of us, disappearing into the crowd.
With one quick movement, I step back into the shadow of the stage with Hux, who doesn’t waste a moment before pressing his lips to mine. I kiss him feverishly, hungrily, like I don’t know when I’ll get the chance to again. Because Callum doesn’t know. He can never know.
We give ourselves thirty seconds. No more than that. It’s torture, and every time it feels like it goes far too fast, but
it will have to be enough.
“You ready?” he asks. His hand snakes up to my lip, fixing my lipstick, and I playfully bite on the pad of his thumb. “Alba,
set a timer for thirty seconds.”
“Don’t you dare,” I tease, and then Hux is following me to the car, the heat between us like an electrical current.
We could both leave. I know that. Callum isn’t keeping us prisoner. If we wanted to, we could disappear into the night.
But we both know we can’t leave—not until democracy is restored. That’s the part Callum doesn’t know yet. We are going to
find a way to put everything right. Including our country.
Hux holds his hand out, helping me slip into the waiting car.
When he pulls back, he winks. I feel something in my palm, and I smirk up at him as he closes my door.
Callum wanted me to tell our story. To craft us a fairy tale. I flip the poker chip, the scars silvery where Hux mended it.
It settles in my palm as Callum comes into the car from the other side.
“Ready?” he asks, smiling softly at me.
I smile back and nod, tucking the poker chip into my glove as we glide away from the curb. “Of course.”
I might be a princess now, but as long as I’m writing this story, it isn’t a fairy tale.
And it sure as hell isn’t over. I’m just getting started.