Epilogue
Thealina
Rafe’s hand is warm in mine as we follow the path through the forest, his other hand covering my eyes as his sturdy frame keeps me steady.
I’ve come to adore Eklin. There’s a quietness out here that doesn’t feel empty. Birds, wind, branches creaking under their own weight, the scent of cedar and dirt. And Rafe. My Rafe. I breathe it in, deep. This place has a way of undoing knots I didn’t know I carry.
He hasn’t told me where we’re going, only said, “Trust me.”
I do.
I trust him with things I didn’t know were mine to give. My words. My body. My heart and soul.
My mind.
No longer mentally abused or emotionally tortured.
But protected, nurtured. Caressed and empowered.
Thriving. With him I thrive.
He never reached inside of me and demanded things. He just waited. And waited. Steady and certain like love isn’t something you pry out of someone’s grip, but something you earn, piece by piece.
And he’s earnt it, not with just actions and words, but with blunt honesty, never leaving me to wonder the meaning behind things.
Never allows my mind to over-think or over-analyse.
And when he told me about forcing the serum into my mouth once, and the consequences of his actions, he got on his knees and begged for forgiveness, fortunately for him, I recognise the difference between someone who made a mistake and someone who’s an abuser.
Forgiving him was easy, even when he went on to tell me about the echo he left with my tortured ex-husband and mother, something I refuse to visit, but understand why he did it.
Sam too. How can I be angry with him when he spent months with me in Wick practicing my speech ready for Rafe.
When he wasn’t slaying beasts, he spent every spare bit of time with me.
So, learning of my ex-husbands fate in that echo did nothing but give me a sense of peace, and maybe a little vengeance.
I never wish to see that man again. With men like him, closure doesn’t exist, so why sacrifice that energy.
I only worry for the next woman he’ll damage.
Rafe assures me he’s got contacts keeping eyes on him and his mother, trailing movements and dealings in hopes we find something that results in imprisonment.
Dangerous men like my ex-husband should not be walking the streets.
And as I own a large portion of Rafe’s business, I now have the means to help others who were in my position.
Building sanctuaries for the abused. Those who come to us seeking refuge don’t have to worry about shelter, food or coin anymore.
With each soul who walks through the gates of our estates dotted around the Kingdom, my soul heals a fraction more.
Helps that I have Rafe by my side every step of the way as I figure out who I want to be. Certainly not a monarchy maid. Not anymore.
My body is guided by his, pushed around a bend where he stops us, kissing below my ear, a spot so sensitive he knows it makes my toes curl and a shudder race down my spine.
“Ready?”
I nod.
“Words, baby. I need all your words, you know that.”
And he does, he never misses a single thing I say, out of fear one day he’ll never hear me again.
“Yes.” I can’t keep the excitement from my voice. He kisses the spot again. I squirm and he laughs, a beautiful sound I feel deep in my marrow.
I want all his laughs.
“Okay, here it is.”
It takes me a second to understand I’m looking at a wooden structure. Timber walls, sash windows, a wide oak door with a circular roof, a porch with a bench and brass lanterns hanging by the entrance.
My hand flies to my mouth when I see the engraved iron sign.
“Lina’s workshop,” I choke, the air catching in my throat. “You built this?”
Rafe’s arms encircle me, pulling me back into his chest.
“I made a promise in the dead of the night to your sleeping form that I’d build you one.”
I shake my head in disbelief, because whilst he doesn’t know I heard him that night, I didn’t believe he’d build me my own workshop.
He built this. For me.
I take a step forward, then another. My boots crunch softly on the pine needles as I reach the porch and rest my fingers on the doorframe.
It’s solid under my hand, smooth and real.
The scent of cedar swells around me when I open the door. Light spills through the windows and falls across the long table, bookshelves and a pot-bellied stove. Every corner screams freedom.
The kind you stand still in and breathe.
My feet don’t move. I just stand there, trembling.
He steps up behind me, his steps slow and unsure.
“I…” My voice breaks. I try again. “Rafe… this…” I walk to the centre of the space, running a hand across the edge of the table, the sill, the soft wool blanket folded by a chair. Every inch of this place was made for me. Every joint and nail, a reminder I’m not a burden. That I am wanted.
“You built me a workshop.” A sob slips past my lips, and he crosses the space to get to me, one hand sliding along my jaw, his thumb resting beneath my lips. “It’s so big I think I could build a mock-up Kingdom in here.”
“I hope you do,” he chuckles. “Took a bit longer than planned, blame that last storm, but I wanted you to have the perfect space that was only yours. A space no one gets to take from you.”
I reach up and touch his face, tracing the line of his jaw. He moves in, our lips meeting in a kiss so slow and deep it makes my knees tremble. Our tongues dance with each other and I taste the truth of everything he’s yet to say out loud.
“I love it, Rafe.” I pause until his gaze meets mine, relief flickers through them. “And I love you.”
His pupils dilate and his breath hitches. I don’t miss the shimmer in his dark eyes.
“I love you,” he says, his throat bobbing. “I’ve loved you every day, even when you were gone. Especially then. I can’t breathe without you. I want your everything, Lina. Every kiss, every touch, every smile. Every. Fucking. Word.”
When I kiss him, it’s soft, sweet, prolonged as if we have all the time in the world.
“Rafe.”
“Hmm,” he mumbles against my lips, his flesh tickling mine.
“I have a surprise for you too.”
“Yeah?”
I say nothing more, instead I place his large hands on my still flat stomach, the heat of his palms searing through my yellow dress.
He rests his forehead on mine, a breathy chuckle slips past his lips and maybe a little panic flashes his eyes too, but he wastes no time smashing his lips to mine again.
This time, our kiss is desperate.
Once, a man took my voice from me. Cut it out and called it love.
This man gave me a home and his soul and called it mine.
So, this is how my story ends, or rather, begins.
Not with a man saving me.
Not with silence, or survival.
But with love.
Real. Steady. Hand-built.
Just like this workshop.
Just like us.