Chapter 47
Chapter Forty-Seven
The coin
blythe
The simple coin was warm in my palm. I’d been staring at it for a good thirty seconds, the weight of it settling heavier than expected.
I wasn’t choosing a kingdom—or a man—because everyone told me I should. No. I was choosing myself. A life beside the man I loved with my whole heart, living in a kingdom that I let save me because I wanted it.
The past had carved something ugly, something dark. But in that darkness, I found hope. I found a light in me that had been there all along. I just needed some help navigating it.
I glanced across the room and found Abby beside Lily—brown hair, hazel eyes, whole in a way I hadn’t dared hope for.
I’d searched for her in the Book of Names, fingers trembling as I turned each page until her name finally stared back at me, followed by the place she lived now.
I’d gone to her the moment I could. We didn’t say much at first, just sat there, holding the weight of everything we’d lost. We cried more than we spoke.
But somewhere in that grief . . . the ache in my chest eased.
She smiled at me, and it gave me the courage to move.
A gentle hush fell over the royal temple room as I took a step towards the well. All eyes were on me, but I didn’t mind. This was my moment.
I released a breath the same time the coin slipped from my fingers. It fell down into the crystal waters with an echoing splash. Time froze as I watched the water ripple, slapping against the sides of the white, stone well.
Then the bell sounded throughout the kingdom of Lucius and every voice in the room erupted into a united cheer.
A warm, firm hand slipped into mine, and I looked up to meet my favourite emerald gaze.
“Welcome home, Blythe,” Nik whispered.
I didn’t care if the king, Nik’s family, or Lightners were watching. I threw my arms around his neck and pulled his lips down to meet mine in a fervent kiss. His lips moved against mine with equal passion. And for a breath of time, we lost ourselves in each other's arms.
When the bell stopped tolling, I pulled back, wiping the tears from the corners of my eyes. Nik offered me a grin and we turned to face the crowd.
The king with the kind brown eyes greeted me. “Welcome home, Blythe.”
I’d been in Lucius for a few months now, and most folk who were close to Nik knew my real name. But hearing it over and over hadn’t quenched the surprise in me each time someone said it.
“Thank you,” I replied. My fingers tangled in the fabric of my dress as I struggled to find the right words. “Is she . . .”
He chuckled warmly. “She’s waiting in the gardens for you.”
I swallowed down the fear and thrill that rushed through me. Once the threat of Oscuro had dissolved and my body finally realised I was safe, I’d asked Nik to reach out to the king.
The moment was here and the thought of seeing her again was hard to comprehend.
Nik’s arm came around my waist, and his warmth enveloped me, anchoring me into his side. “Would you like me to come with you?”
I looked up at him and nodded. “Yes please.”
We both thanked the king and headed for his private gardens.
My heart picked up pace with every step. I wanted this, but I also had no clue what to expect. It had been fifteen years since I’d known her presence.
The gardens were quiet in a way that felt intentional, as if Lucius itself were holding its breath.
Sunlight filtered through the high boughs of flowering trees, dappling the stone path beneath my feet. Somewhere nearby, water trickled, the sound gentle and constant. I barely noticed it; my heart beat too loudly in my ears.
Nik walked beside me, his warm hand in mine, but when we reached the seating area in the garden, he slowed. “This is your moment. I’ll be right here when you need me.”
I nodded, then he kissed me on the forehead and stepped away.
I stood there alone, my finger once again curling into the fabric of my dress. I took a deep breath in and let it out slowly. Then I walked.
As I stepped through an arched gateway into a circular garden, I saw her.
She sat on a stone bench beneath a flowering tree, hands folded neatly in her lap, back straight despite the years etched into her posture. There was something achingly familiar in the way she held herself—still, composed, as if she had learned long ago that the world did not reward softness.
My breath caught.
A strange, hollow sensation bloomed in my chest, spreading fast and sharp. I knew that posture. I had carried it myself for most of my life.
My feet moved before I told them to.
She turned at the sound, lifting her head slowly.
She was exactly how I remembered her. Eyes the colour of a sunset over a forest. Browns, greens and oranges.
Hair the colour of golden wheat. The only change was the addition of pale, rose pink wings arching over her head like the sweeping boughs of a blossom tree.
The world tilted.
For a heartbeat, neither of us spoke. Her eyes widened as recognition crashed through them. Her mouth parted, a soundless gasp escaping her lips.
“Blythe,” she breathed.
The sound of my name shattered whatever fragile barrier I had left.
Tears spilled without warning, hot and sudden, blurring everything as my legs gave way beneath me. I didn’t remember crossing the space between us—only the force of her arms wrapping around me, pulling me close as if she were afraid I might vanish if she let go.
I clutched at her, fingers digging into familiar fabric, into warmth and solidity and her. She smelled like the wildflowers we used to run through together when I was small and something softer beneath, something that pulled memories from places I hadn’t opened in years.
“Mother,” I whispered through the tears pouring down my face.
She pulled me closer. “My precious daughter.”
Her voice broke, and so did I.
I pressed my face into her shoulder and cried like I hadn’t allowed myself to cry in a lifetime—deep, shaking sobs that tore from my chest as years of grief and longing spilled free.
Her hands cradled the back of my head, fingers stroking through my hair the way they used to when nightmares found me as a child.
When I finally pulled back, my vision was still swimming. I searched her face, memorising every line, every familiar curve, terrified that if I blinked too long she might disappear.
“You told me—” I said, the words wavering as they left me. “You told me to never sell myself.” My chest tightened painfully. “But when things got bad . . . you let them come to our door. As I grew, I didn’t know how else to survive.”
Her hands stilled.
“I know,” she whispered. Her gaze dropped to her lap, fingers twisting together.
“You were a child. And I was so tired.” She swallowed hard.
“I told myself it was controlled. Tasteful. That I was protecting you.” Her voice cracked.
“But I was wrong. What I allowed—what I failed to stop—I am so deeply sorry.”
There was no defence in her tone. No excuses. Just grief.
Something inside me folded in on itself.
I sank back into her arms, the fight draining from me all at once. She held me tightly, rocking us both as if I were small again, as if time could be coaxed backward.
“The world was cruel to you,” she murmured, pressing a kiss to my temple. “Crueller than it ever should have been.” Her hand smoothed down my hair, slow and soothing. “And I’m so sorry that I wasn’t there to protect you from it.”
I reached into my dress pocket and pulled free the ribbon I had kept with me all this time—faded, frayed, but whole. I placed it in her palm, my fingers trembling.
“I never let it go,” I said softly.
Her breath hitched as she closed her fingers around it. “My ribbon?”
I nodded once. “It was the only thing I had left of you.”
Mother reached for me again, pulling me tight against her chest. Finally, I truly felt home. Whole. Peaceful.
A moment later I pulled back. “I went to the ocean. Nikolas took me there,” I said, a small, fragile smile breaking through my tears. “And I thought . . . now that we have each other again . . . we could go together. Like we always dreamed.”
She smiled through her tears, nodding. “I would like that very much.”
Relief washed through me as tears threatened to spill again.
Then, at the garden arch, someone cleared their throat. I looked up to see Nik standing with the male I’d seen at the book of names. My brow pinched as my gaze darted between them both, recognition stirring uneasily.
“There’s someone I’d like you to meet,” Mother said gently. “His name is Blue.”
My breath caught as the pieces fell into place. Sapphire hair, and the same strange pull last time I saw him.
Mother squeezed my hand. “He’s . . .” she hesitated as I turned my head to face her. “He’s your brother.”
The word landed softly, but its weight knocked the air from my lungs.
My brother?
Blue took a small step forwards, hands clasped loosely in front of him, as if he wasn’t quite sure he had the right to be here yet. Seeing him again, the resemblance was impossible to ignore—the same colouring, the same familiar tilt of the head when he was thinking.
“We share the same father,” he said gently. “Not the same mother.” He paused, eyes flicking briefly to mine before dropping again. “I only found out a few days ago.”
“A few days . . .” I echoed faintly.
He nodded. “The king told me.” A small, self-conscious smile touched his mouth. “But if I’m honest? From the moment I saw you at the gates with Nik, I wondered. You looked like someone I’d been missing my whole life.”
My legs felt unsteady. I rose slowly from the bench, my mother standing with me, her hand never leaving my arm. Blue mirrored the movement, stopping a respectful distance away, as if afraid of crowding me.
“I didn’t want to say anything,” he continued quietly. “I didn’t want to be wrong. Or worse—intrusive.” His gaze lifted again, steady this time. “But I couldn’t shake the feeling.”