Epilogue #2
Dara reached the ground and stood before her father.
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then he took her hands.
“My daughter,” he said.
Dara smiled. “Father.”
He looked at her, then at Valerius, then at the children gathering around him, and his eyes shone. “You came by air.”
“I told you I was not doing three weeks in a carriage.”
Darien coughed into his fist.
Maelin smiled.
Her father laughed. “Yes. You did.”
Darien stepped forward next. “Sister.”
“Governor.”
His mouth twitched. “Princess.”
“Acceptable.”
He embraced her warmly, briefly, then said near her ear, “The southern warehouse road is already under review.”
Dara pulled back and stared. “Soren noticed.”
Darien looked over her shoulder at the boy. “Of course he did.”
Soren straightened, pleased.
Dara narrowed her eyes at her brother. “You should have led with that in your last letter.”
“I did. Page seven.”
“I do not read page seven before tea.”
“That is a personal failing.”
“I am royalty now. My failings are called preferences.”
Maelin laughed. “Oh, I missed you.”
Dara turned to her and accepted the kiss on the cheek. “I missed you too.”
Savio immediately launched into a detailed explanation of the model airship he had built. Veya listened with bright-eyed interest that made Dara instantly suspicious. Sena gave Dara the bouquet with solemn care.
“For you, Aunt Lynara.”
Dara’s expression softened. “Thank you.”
Kiro, still in Regulus’s arms, pointed toward the city. “Snacks?”
Every adult looked at him.
Dara closed her eyes. “That is my child.”
Valerius said, “Undeniably.”
The procession toward the waiting carriages—short carriages, because the landing field was sensibly near the city—began with far less ceremony than planned and far more children moving in unpredictable patterns.
As they traveled toward the estate, Dara looked out at Ambervale.
The city did not look like the place she had first entered years ago.
It had grown.
Not into perfection.
Never that.
But into life.
Roads full of movement. Markets full of sound. Workers in proper uniforms and equipment. Rest stops along the main avenues. Street trees. Public lanterns. Clean water stations. Vendors selling boba in at least six flavors.
Dara spotted a line at one stall and felt a deep, personal satisfaction.
The carriage passed the old council building.
Renovated now.
Less terrible.
Still full of paperwork, unfortunately.
Then the civic square.
The place where she had once given a speech and accidentally behaved like a princess before she officially became one.
There were flowers near the central fountain.
Children playing.
Merchants arguing cheerfully.
A public notice board overflowed with upcoming events: hot spring festival dates, aquarium night viewing, menagerie moonhare week, botanical conservatory seasonal bloom tours, amphitheater concert evenings, and airship observation tours.
Dara stared. “This is excessive.”
Valerius sat beside her, their hands loosely linked. “Do you dislike it?”
“No.”
He smiled.
She looked at him.
Then out again.
“No,” she said more softly. “I don’t.”
The Voss estate came into view at last.
Her father’s home.
Her brother’s base.
Her first soft bed in this world.
The place where she had learned wealth was real, food mattered, staff could become family, and failure could sometimes look suspiciously like success.
The carriage stopped.
Everyone spilled out.
Children first, because children had no respect for arrival order.
Kiro ran toward Brutus’s descendants, who immediately adored him. Veya and Sena linked arms within three minutes, which alarmed Dara because little girls with shared smiles often became political threats. Soren and Savio began discussing airship models and warehouse routes, which was somehow worse.
Regulus offered Dara his arm.
She took it.
For a moment, they stood together at the front of the estate while the others moved ahead.
“You look happy,” he said.
Dara glanced at him.
Then at Valerius, who was calmly preventing Kiro from climbing something structurally decorative.
At Soren.
At Veya.
At the city beyond.
At the airship resting in the distance, gleaming in the afternoon light.
At Ambervale.
Her Ambervale.
“I am,” she said.
The words came easily now.
No fight.
No flinch.
No apology.
Regulus’s hand covered hers briefly. “Good.”
Later, after greetings and tea, after snacks and children and reports she pretended not to enjoy, Dara found herself standing on the upper balcony overlooking the estate gardens.
The sun was beginning to lower.
Ambervale glowed.
The airship caught the light in the distance.
Valerius came to stand beside her. “You disappeared.”
“I am right here.”
“You know what I mean.”
She leaned lightly against him.
He put an arm around her without needing to think about it.
Below, the children ran through the garden paths under the supervision of estate staff who looked calm only because they had clearly been trained for disasters.
Grace had not joined them this time. She had married Leon seven years ago, and they now had two children of their own, both safely back in the capital and already showing alarming signs of inheriting Grace’s patience and Leon’s talent for diplomatic trouble.
Dara suspected Grace was enjoying the rare peace.
Leon was probably not.
Bernard stood nearby with Darien, discussing something undoubtedly important.
Elowra had declined to join them. Now married to a royal auditor who had once called her filing system “excessive” and then proposed six months later, she had remained in the capital with their two children, heavily pregnant with a third and entirely unwilling to board an experimental airship until the safety reports improved.
Dara respected this.
Mostly because Elowra had sent seventeen pages of notes ahead of them.
Dara exhaled.
Once, she had wanted only to go back.
To wake in her old world with a billion dollars and no responsibilities.
She had wanted boba, dramas, soft blankets, sleep, and peace.
Instead, she had gotten roads.
Markets.
Gardens.
A husband.
Children.
A city.
A mountain.
A future.
And, somehow, more money than was emotionally necessary.
The universe had misunderstood her request.
Or perhaps understood it better than she had.
Dara looked down at Ambervale and sighed happily.
Cai stretched along the balcony rail, gold scales gleaming in the sunset.
For once, he did not mock her immediately.
He only watched the city with her.
Then, gleefully, he said, “Welcome home, villainess.”
Dara looked at him.
At Valerius.
At the city.
At the life she had built by accident, then chosen on purpose.
Her smile curved slowly. “Thank you.”
Cai blinked, then stared.
Valerius looked down at her, amused.
Dara lifted her chin. “What?”
Cai recovered first. “You are not supposed to agree.”
“I changed the route.”
Valerius’s thumb brushed her shoulder. “Yes,” he said softly. “You did.”
Below, Ambervale glowed brighter as the lanterns came on.
Dara leaned into her husband’s side and watched the city settle into evening.
Not perfect.
Not quiet.
Not free of problems.
But alive.
Comfortable.
Hers.
Home.