49. The Last Wedding
I t doesn’t take long for Selene—with Cassie’s help—to throw a few things in a couple of trunks and make arrangements for the rest of her things to be sent on later.
Cassie will come in a few days’ time, with Elspeth, Mistress Stripe and the rest of Selene’s belongings.
She can take all or nothing with her now. She knows what really matters.
Dorian appears below her window way ahead of midnight, throwing pebbles against the panes.
“Sorry,” he says. “I couldn’t wait any longer.”
Neither can Selene. She climbs halfway down the trellis and throws herself into his arms. They run, giggling, across the lawn, where a carriage waits for them.
“No cat this time?” Dorian asks, as the door closes behind them.
Selene slides onto his lap. “I wasn’t going to subject you to that torture again. ”
“You are worth torture.”
“No,” says Selene, grabbing his face. “No more torture, no more danger, no more death. No more suffering for my sake. Please. ”
Dorian kisses her fingers, and then her mouth. “If my lady insists.”
She slides her hand against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart. It thunders against her palm. She takes off his glasses, pulls out his hair. He looks wonderful. Bright and healthy and here and hers.
“I love you,” she tells him.
“I love you, too.”
Their lips draw together again, and they spend several minutes kissing quite thoroughly, making up for lost time.
“Your last words to me in the temple,” Selene asks him, leaning against his shoulder, her lips numb, “what did you mean by them? When you said that it was always me—”
Dorian smiles against her temple. “Double meaning,” he explains.
“Firstly, I realised that I was wrong. All these timelines, I’ve been certain that I was missing something, that the fate of the world rested on me and me alone, and then I realised I’d been mistaken the entire time.
See, in the first loop, it was you who found the temple, and in the loop where I didn’t interfere, you found it again.
The goddess didn’t need me to go back, it was always supposed to be you. ”
Selene isn’t sure what to say to that. “Why do you think she sent my mother back?”
“I don’t think she has much of a choice,” Dorian continues.
“She needs someone to die, clearly, but the rest of it… her power has clearly frayed over the numerous cycles. She was at her limit. One more person entering into the afterlife or wherever it is she plucks us from was too much for her. Too confusing. Hence why we all came back at different, very confusing times… but she made sure you were in the right place. You were always her best chance.”
Selene supposes she ought to feel honoured, but instead she feels overwhelmed and exceedingly grateful that she’ll never be saddled with such a responsibility again. “The second meaning?” she whispers. “You said there were two.”
Dorian grins. “That should be obvious,” he says, kissing her lips. “Because it’s you, Selene. It’s always been you. In any lifetime, but especially this one. What else would my last words be?”
They kiss until they’re exhausted, and sleep all the way to Thornmere.
“You sure you want to do this?” Dorian asks as Selene readies herself inside the carriage with Ariella’s help. “You don’t want to do things properly this time around?”
“I want to be your wife again as soon as feasibly possible. I’ve already had a fancy wedding. Two. I’ve had enough of that. I’ve yet to have enough of you. ”
“And if I want a fancy wedding?”
“You would make a radiant bride.”
Dorian laughs.
“We can do whatever you like, once we’re home,” she says. “But let’s get home, first.”
She steps out of the carriage in the gown she wore for her wedding to Ashvold—with some hastily added embellishments.
She stitched in a blue underskirt and studded it with silver constellations.
It’s invisible to anyone but her, but two of the patterns are in the shape of flowers—an iris and a rose.
Dorian is silent for a moment, struck dumb by her appearance. “You kept the dress?”
“If you looked this spectacular in a dress, you’d keep it too.”
“Fair point.” His hands trace the blue touches. “You added these quickly.”
“I needed something to do whilst I was waiting for you. ”
Dorian grins, and brings in her for a kiss.
The temple doors open, candlelight flickering against the high stone walls. The same priest as before stands waiting, his expression just as baffled. Selene wonders what story Dorian has spun this time. At least he’s not asking him to commit forgery.
Ariella hands her a bouquet of wildflowers. Soren appears at her elbow, offering it to her.
“I wrestled Rookwood for the privilege,” he says.
“We flipped a coin!”
“You don’t have to walk with an escort,” Soren tells her. “You can go alone.”
But Selene finds she’s had enough of being alone. She tucks her arm into Soren’s and squeezes.
Dorian heads inside.
She remembers the last time she stood here, bound in vows she never meant to honour. This time, there is no weight of duty pressing on her, no kingdom watching, no alliance to uphold.
Just Dorian.
She exhales slowly, adjusting the wildflowers in her hands. Dorian waits at the altar, looking entirely at ease, the pink of his pocket square a splash of colour against the dark lines of his coat. His smile softens when he sees her, and she grips Soren’s arm a little tighter.
“You’re nervous,” Soren murmurs.
“I’m not,” she says.
But her hands tremble slightly as they reach the altar. Dorian takes them in his own, warm and steady, brushing his thumb over her knuckles.
The ceremony is brief. Their names spoken, their hands bound together with silk, vows exchanged. Words she’s said before but never like this, never meant them so truly, so completely.
“I vow, beneath the lantern of Aurelis, to seek the truth of you each day anew, and to be your compass when you feel lost. I vow, in the flowing grace of Liriel, to meet you with gentleness and to wash away hurt with forgiveness.
I vow, by the forge of Vannor, to shape a life of strength and purpose at your side, and to fight for what we build together.
I vow, in the embrace of Veridia, to nourish what we plant, to tend it with care, and to walk beside you through every season.
“You are my home, my heart, my chosen path. I am yours, from this hour to the last.”
When the priest bids them kiss, Dorian cups her face, his lips gentle against hers, and for a moment, the past falls away.
The future rolls ahead of them.
Somehow, with help from the villagers no doubt, Rookwood has prepared a wedding feast, and the dining room has been decorated with banners and flowers. A small band of musicians has materialised, together with Aunt Elizabeth.
“I have no idea what’s going on,” the old woman says, “or why my nephew is getting married without consulting me, but welcome to the family, my dear.”
Selene can’t help it. She hugs her, eyes misty. She knows that Aunt Elizabeth doesn’t remember her, but she will be friends again soon. For certain.
She and Dorian dance long into the night.
“You’ll have to renovate everything again,” he tells her.
“I’m prepared for the challenge,” she tells him. “I ought to include the nursery, this time.”
Dorian’s smile is radiant. She could bathe in it.
Soren butts in for a dance. Dorian spins Aunt Elizabeth around, and then Ariella, before thrusting her towards Rookwood.
“I—” Ariella falters, like she doesn’t know where to put herself.
“Oh my bleeding gods, you two!” Dorian rages. “Do you know the most frustrating thing about coming back in time, again and again? ”
“Having to die each time?” Soren suggests.
“Watching the people you love get hurt?” adds Selene.
“Apart from that! It’s watching you two dance around each other in the exact same way you have danced around each other every day since you were teenagers. It. Has. Been. Decades. You love her. She loves you. So can one of you please, please do something about that?”
Ariella stares at Dorian like he’s just uttered some ghastly family secret. She immediately bursts into tears and runs off. Rookwood glares at Dorian, and hobbles off after her.
“I’m sorry,” says Elizabeth, “what was that about going back in time?”
“That’s not important right now,” Dorian replies.
“I really feel like it might be—”
“I need you to explain something first,” he says.
Elizabeth purses her lips. “What, precisely, am I supposed to be explaining?”
“Why your daughter is the way she is,” he tells her. “Why she finds it so hard to let herself love someone who adores her.”
Aunt Elizabeth is quiet for a moment. “The truth is…” she says, looking briefly at Selene, like this might be too big of a scandal for a newcomer to handle.
Oh, Elizabeth, you have no idea.
“Ariella’s father didn’t die,” she says eventually.
“He was… not good to us. I told him to leave several times, but it wasn’t until your father threatened him that he finally disappeared for good.
If that’s how you’d grown up, if that’s what you think love is like…
you’d be hesitant to open your heart to it too. ”
Selene knows that feeling all too well, but she also knows how glad she is that she risked it again, and how worthy Rookwood is of risking it for.
She turns towards the door, walking out onto the terrace.
The others trail behind her. Ariella has stopped a short distance away. Rookwood hobbles after her.
“Don’t run, Ariella,” he huffs. “You know I can’t follow you.”
“Why?” she returns. “ Why do you always follow me?”
“You know why,” he tells her .
“Don’t say it. If you say it, there’s no going back.”
He steps closer. “I don’t want to go back.”
“It’ll reignite everything, all over again.”
“Reignite what?” Rookwood asks. “It’s never burnt out.”
Tears stream down Ariella’s face. Her resolve crumbles, inch by inch. “What if… what if it changes?”
“Everything changes,” Rookwood insists. “But it’ll transform. It won’t fade .”
“But—”
“Ariella,” he says softly. “What are you really afraid of?”
“Honestly?” She swallows. “I think I’m afraid of loving you anymore than I already do.”
Rookwood exhales, a rough, unsteady sound. “Then we're both afraid of the same thing.”
Ariella laughs, sharp and wet, scrubbing at her face with her sleeve. “You make it sound so simple.”
“It is,” he says. “It is simple, Ariella. You love me. I love you. And I think we've wasted enough time pretending that isn’t true.”
She stares at him, her breath uneven. Then, finally, she closes the distance between them. Her hands curl into the fabric of his coat as she presses her forehead to his. “You are an infuriating man, Rookwood.”
“I’m yours, though,” he murmurs. “If you’ll have me.”
She kisses him, fierce and desperate, and he holds onto her like he never intends to let go. Behind them, Selene turns back towards the house, catching Dorian’s eye as he watches from the doorway. The others slip inside, leaving the two of them to the moment.
When Rookwood and Ariella return, her eyes are red-rimmed, but she’s glowing, and Rookwood is grinning like a man who has just won the greatest battle of his life. He clears his throat.
“She’s agreed to marry me.”
A beat of silence. Then the room erupts into cheers.
Dorian claps him on the back. Soren raises a glass. Selene catches Ariella’s hand and squeezes it. The celebrations swell again, laughter and warmth filling the house .
Selene finds herself beside Dorian once more, his fingers brushing over hers. He leans in, voice low and warm. “Do you think we should warn them about what happens when you marry someone you can’t live without?”
She smiles, tilting her face up to his. “No,” she says. “They’ll find out soon enough.”
Selene gasps as Dorian lifts her effortlessly into his arms. “Dorian—”
He only grins, holding her close as he strides through the house, ignoring the cheers and knowing glances cast their way. She wraps her arms around his neck, her laughter breathless.
“Is this necessary?” she teases, though she doesn’t really want him to put her down.
“Yes,” he says simply.
His bedroom is dimly lit, the fire casting golden light over the walls. The door swings shut behind them, muffling the sounds of celebration outside. For the first time in what feels like forever, they are alone.
Dorian sets her down gently, but his hands remain at her waist, holding her steady. His gaze roams over her face, reverent, as if memorising every detail.
Selene reaches up, undoing the first button of his coat, then the next. Her fingers tremble slightly, but not from nerves.
She pulls the handkerchief from his pocket and holds it up to the light. “Pink isn’t your colour.”
Dorian chuckles, but there’s a softness to it. “I’ll wear whatever colour you like, as long as you keep looking at me like that.”
She presses her hands to his chest, feeling the steady, reassuring beat of his heart. “I intend to.”
He exhales, as though letting go of something heavy, something that has kept him from fully believing this moment was real.
Then, slowly, he leans in. Their lips meet.
His hands slide to the laces of her gown, working them loose with careful fingers.
Fabric pools at her feet, and his coat soon joins it.
There is no rush, only quiet reverence, only the sound of their breathing, the occasional quiet laugh when one of them fumbles with a button .
Dorian presses a kiss to her shoulder, then another just beneath her jaw. “I love you,” he murmurs against her skin.
Selene shivers, not from cold, but from the weight of those words, from how freely he says them now, without hesitation, without fear. Knowing she will say them back.
She cups his face, tilting it up so he meets her gaze. “I love you, too.”
And this time, she knows he believes her.