Page 40 of Bewitched By the Djinn (The Bewitching Hour #8)

The castle is brighter than it used to be.

Maybe it’s the weather, the spring sun pouring through the arched windows, or the fact that it’s no longer full of secrets and ifrit and traitorous uncles. Or maybe it’s just me, finally exhaling after months of holding my breath and years of trying to stay afloat.

I walk through the east wing with a basket tucked under one arm, the corridor warm with light and the scent of blooming jasmine from the gardens below.

Bennet’s voice echoes distantly from the council chamber.

He’s in there with Helen and two advisors, probably debating trade routes or ceremonial titles.

He’s good at it. Charming and diplomatic when he wants to be. Dangerous when he has to be. And underneath it all, still mine.

We’re not married yet. Bennet’s been pressing me for a date, but I don’t even want to think about it until after Helen and Delores tie the knot in a few days.

Delores has been overseeing flower arrangements and security with equal levels of intensity. Helen, for her part, won’t stop smiling, and it’s the good happy kind, not the baring of teeth before she throws herself into combat kind.

I round the corner and duck into a quiet, dusty chamber off the main library. My basket lands with a soft thump on a table, and I pull out scrolls and half-crumbling volumes, brushing the edges delicately.

This is what I do now. Mostly. I spend my early mornings training with Bennet and the guards and learning to fight and use my increased levels of magic. Not that we’re expecting any battles, but it’s good to be prepared and it’s fun. Especially when Bennet pins me down.

The Aetherians have started calling me “the prince’s betrothed,” which is weird.

I mean, I have a name. But I’ve found a more comfortable title for myself: curator .

I’m piecing together the kingdom’s lost art history, tracking ancient artifacts, decoding forgotten stories etched in broken mosaics and fractured murals.

I’ve even found evidence of early magical tools that may predate the Ring of Solomon.

That discovery nearly gave Bennet an aneurysm. He now checks in on me whenever I’ve been “too quiet.”

I love it here. Not just the magic or the castles or the endless skies, but the sense that my life is mine now. That I’m building something new, instead of merely surviving day by day. That I’m not alone.

The door creaks open behind me and I don’t have to turn to know who it is.

“I brought lunch,” Bennet says, his voice warm. “Also, Helen says if you don’t show up for dress fittings soon, she’s going to portal into your room and personally zip you into something sparkly.”

I chuckle. “Terrifying.”

“She means it.”

I look over my shoulder at him, leaning in the doorway, holding a basket of food, hair tousled, eyes bright. His sleeves are rolled up and his tie is loose.

“You good?” I ask.

“Better now.” He crosses the room and drops a kiss to the top of my head, setting lunch on the table, then peers over my shoulder at the dusty scroll I’m unfurling. “That looks cursed.”

“It’s a map.” I reach into the basket, pulling out a square item wrapped in linen. Mmm. Sandwich. “To a vault of lost sculptures, probably. Maybe cursed and valuable.”

“Perfect.”

I take a bite of food and chew. “You sure you’re okay with me being the weird history geek in the tower while you help run the kingdom?”

“As long as the weird history geek marries me eventually, I don’t care where she lives.”

I grin. “Deal.”

Outside, bells chime, signaling the hour. In a few days, we’ll be celebrating Helen and Delores with firelight and feasts. In a few months, maybe it’ll be our turn. But right now, I have a dusty scroll, a castle to explore, and a prince who feeds me.

Turns out, happily ever afters aren’t so bad after all.

Especially when he kisses me like this.

Bennet brushes a crumb from the corner of my mouth with his thumb, his touch lingering. “You’ve got ink on your face.”

“Occupational hazard.”

He leans closer. “I like you like this, smelling of parchment and ham.”

“You’re such a nerd.” My breath catches as his mouth finds the hollow beneath my ear. I set the food on the table away from the scrolls.

“And you’re mine,” he says against my skin. His hands slide around my waist, pulling me into his lap as I laugh, startled and breathless.

The table creaks behind us, scrolls and sandwich forgotten as his lips find mine, the kiss starting slow but deepening quickly, like he’s trying to memorize every inch of me all over again. My fingers tangle in his shirt, tugging him closer.

“I thought you had meetings,” I murmur between kisses.

“I canceled them,” he says, voice rough with affection. “For research purposes.”

I arch an eyebrow. “Oh? What kind of research?”

His grin is wicked. “Extensive. Hands-on. Involves a very thorough exploration of my fiancée.”

“Well, as a scholar,” I feign seriousness even as he lifts me onto the table, “I feel obligated to assist.”

Outside, the bells keep chiming, and the sun slants golden through the windows. Somewhere down the hall, Helen is probably barking orders about seating arrangements.

But here, in this moment, it’s only us.

No rituals. No war. No looming shadows.

Just magic. And love. And a future that is full of promise, humor, and each other.

The End