Page 117

Remy choked on her tears. They sprung up so abruptly when it hit her again: Heather was gone. The grief washed over her anew.

Hale swiped away the tears that fell down Remy’s cheek with his thumb. She loved that Hale felt unburdened by her tears. He stood there, letting her feel it all, giving her time to use her voice again.

“Heather was my family.” Remy hung her head as her voice shook.

A wave of regret hit her once more. She wished she had been kinder to Heather. Remy wished she hadn’t directed her anger at her guardian all the time. She wished she had called her “Mother” because that is who she truly was. Heather was an unknown brown witch who had steadfastly defended Remy and raised her with all of a mother’s protection and love. Remy set herself a silent intention that once they returned to Yexshire, she would place Heather’s burial stone behind the Castle of Yexshire, along with the rest of the family she lost. And on every Day of the Spirits she would visit both of her mothers.

Resting her hand over his heart, Remy looked to Hale.

“I do not know all that the future will hold, but I know this: I am your Fated, and I am your family.” Remy held her mate’s eyes as she watched her words crack him open.

His throat bobbed as he nodded. She knew he could not speak.

Before Remy could ask what he was doing, he unknotted that red thread around his wrist. With his teeth he ripped it in two. It had survived a poison lake, imprisonment in a dungeon, and a battle. Yet there it was. She had put it on him and told him he was hers.

“I plan on buying a much nicer ring in the East,” Hale said, bending down onto one knee, “but I cannot wait.”

Remy’s mouth dropped in surprise. Hale held up the two equal lengths of thread. He was her soul mate, the person she intended to live the rest of her life with, and somehow this still came as a surprise.

“Remini Maescia Dammacus, Queen of the High Mountain Court . . . will you marry me?” Hale’s smile made Remy want to buckle at the knees. It was a rare smile, so bright and hopeful.

Remy’s chest felt like it might burst open.

“Yes.” She wasn’t sure if it was a laugh or a cry.

Hale leapt to his feet, that beautiful smile widening further as he tied that length of red string around her finger. Remy made quick work of knotting the second length onto his.

Hale pulled her face to him, crashing their mouths together. Remy threaded her fingers through his soft hair, pulling him in closer.

It was a desperate kiss, the horror of all they had seen mixed with the hope of a brighter future. As the chaos of the past collided with what was to come, that kiss was the only thing that mattered.

Hale removed his lips to trail kisses down Remy’s neck and collarbone, shifting his hands to her hips, pulling their lower bodies together.

“How did you know my middle name?” she said, recalling his words.

Hale pulled away a mere inch and smiled at her.

“I looked it up in the private libraries of the Eastern Court the last time we were there.” His grin turned sinful. “I wanted to know your full name before I proposed to you.”

“You were planning on proposing to me even then?” Remy blanched.

Remy remembered that day on the boat, crossing the Crushwold River. She remembered that kiss in that inn in Ruttmore too. She had wanted Hale for a long time as well. But to know he had wanted to marry her for so long . . .

“I have wanted to marry you from the moment you almost crushed me with that pine tree way back in Harbruck,” he said in that delicious, rolling purr that made Remy’s stomach clench.

It was real. It had always been true and inevitable. Her Fated.

Remy broke her hold on Hale and walked to their bedroom door. She snicked the lock as she looked at him.

“What about leaving at once for the East?” He grinned wickedly.

“The East can wait,” Remy said, prowling back to her Fated, her fiancé. The world could wait. The only person that mattered right now was Hale, and she needed him in every way. She needed their bodies as intertwined as their souls.

* * *

The caved-in ceiling opened up to a hazy, gray sky. Hale and Remy walked through the snow-filled corridor, navigating around the rubble. The castle was mostly ruins after the wrath of Baba Morganna. They winded toward the front entryway, where a caravan of carriages waited to ride back to Yexshire. The haunted halls were empty, the aftermath of the battle evident every few paces—splatters of brown dried blood, dented armor, abandoned shoes dusted in snow.

“Remy!” a whooping shout came from behind them just as another echoed, “Hale!”