Page 35

LILLITH

T he fitting room at Madrine’s Boutique was an explosion of pinned lace, spilled spells, and at least three pairs of enchanted scissors buzzing like drunken bees in the air.

Lillith stood on the raised pedestal at the center of the chaos, hands fidgeting at her sides while Twyla circled her with the intensity of a general preparing for war.

“You’re holding your shoulders like you’re bracing for an attack,” Twyla muttered, mouth full of pins.

Lillith exhaled. “I am.”

“No, you’re not.” Twyla pulled a pin free and adjusted the hem with an expert flick of her wrist. “Not anymore. You’re getting married, not walking into a duel.”

“Could be both,” Lillith murmured under her breath.

But Twyla just snorted. “Please. Dominic would take a bolt to the chest if it meant you didn’t get dirt on your shoes. You’ve already fought the hard battle. This? This is just your moment.”

Lillith looked down at the dress. It was black, of course—deep, velvety midnight that shimmered when the light hit it right, like the sky just before a storm broke.

The bodice curved with understated elegance, stitched with faint, silvery threadwork that hinted at moonlight. It wasn’t flashy. It wasn’t trendy.

It was her.

Twyla stepped back, her hands on her hips, eyes gleaming with a quiet pride that cracked right through Lillith’s composure.

“You look like yourself,” she said simply.

And that was the moment it hit her.

The sob came from nowhere. Or maybe it came from everywhere—her ribs, her heart, the years she’d spent learning how to hold herself together with grit and magic and little else.

Twyla blinked, startled. “Oh no, what did I say? Is it too tight? Did I jab you?”

Lillith shook her head, lips trembling. “No. It’s perfect. It’s just?—”

The second sob slipped free. Then a third. She pressed a hand to her mouth as her eyes flooded, tears slipping past her fingers before she could stop them.

Twyla didn’t say anything. Just moved forward and gently, carefully, set a hand on her shoulder.

“I didn’t think I’d ever feel this safe,” Lillith whispered. “Not just… in a dress. But in anything. In someone. In myself.”

Twyla’s face softened. She guided Lillith to the little velvet stool beside the pedestal, careful not to crush the layers of the gown. “Well, damn,” she said, pulling a handkerchief from her pocket and pressing it into Lillith’s hand. “That was better than any review I’ve ever gotten.”

Lillith laughed through her tears, crumpling the handkerchief in her palm. “You know I used to come in here just to look. Pretend I might one day want one of these things.”

“And now?” Twyla asked, crouching beside her.

“Now I want the whole thing,” she whispered. “I want the vows, the rings, the dancing and the terrible speeches. I want to look at him across a crowded room and know—really know—that it’s all real. That I’m not holding my breath anymore.”

Twyla’s hand covered hers. “It is real. And you’ve earned every damn second of it.”

The door creaked open behind them, and a small, excited gasp followed.

“Well don’t stop on our account!” Madrine, the owner and an absolute menace with glitter spells, peeked in with wide eyes. “Is she crying? She’s crying! Oh gods, it’s happening!”

Lillith groaned, wiping her eyes. “I’m fine.”

“You’re radiant,” Mdrine declared, hands clasped. “Like a shadow queen rising from the mist.”

Twyla gave her a look. “Can you please get the veil?”

Madrine scurried out, but not before mouthing “shadow queen” again like it was a title.

Lillith sighed, leaning her head against Twyla’s shoulder for a beat. “I thought I’d be terrified.”

“And you’re not?”

“I’m everything. But mostly… I’m just ready.”

Twyla grinned. “Then let’s get you married, sweetheart.”

Later, as the dress was packed away in lavender-scented warding silk and the veil tucked into its own enchanted case, Lillith stepped out into the cobbled alley behind the boutique for some air.

The town was quieter today. A kind of hush had settled after the battle, the kind that came not from fear, but from reverence.

There were new wards etched into corners, new protections embedded in doorframes.

But there was laughter again too. And life.

People tending gardens, sweeping stoops, stringing lanterns.

She turned at the sound of approaching footsteps.

Dominic.

He looked at her as if she hung the stars—broad-shouldered and windswept, his shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows and the hint of sawdust on his boots from helping Rowan reinforce the stage for the reception.

“You alright?” he asked.

She nodded, smiling. “I cried over a dress.”

“Good tears or ‘cancel everything, I’m running away to live with the crows’ tears?”

“Good ones.” She reached for him, and he stepped in without hesitation, wrapping her up in his arms.

They stood like that a while. Her head tucked beneath his chin. His heart steady against her cheek.

“I never thought I’d get this,” she murmured.

“This?” he asked, voice rough.

“A tomorrow that wasn’t about surviving.” She met his eyes. “Now it’s about choosing.”

He ran his thumb along her jaw. “Then keep choosing me.”

“I do.”

He grinned. “Not yet you don’t.”

She snorted. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, Kane.”

“Too late,” he murmured, kissing her forehead. “Way too late.”

Back at the cottage that night, she couldn’t stop touching the dress bag as it sat propped in the corner of their room like a promise. Dominic lit the fire, and she curled up beside him on the couch with one of their mismatched mugs and an enchanted blanket that hummed lullabies.

“You sure you’re ready for the chaos?” she asked.

He grunted. “I’ve already survived Twyla’s seating chart interrogation. I can do anything.”

She smiled. “Some of the town still can’t believe you’re serious.”

“They’re in denial,” he said. “Especially Hazel.”

“Oh, Hazel’s placing bets.”

“On what?”

“When you’ll mark me.”

He stiffened, then glanced at her. “You know I’m waiting.”

“I know. And I’m glad.” She touched his chest, where her rune still pulsed faintly. “You didn’t have to wait. But you wanted to.”

“Felt right,” he said simply. “I was always the guy who didn’t think things through. But with you? I don’t want to skip any part.”

She smiled, brushing a kiss to his shoulder.

“Shadow queen, huh?” he teased, tugging her closer.

She laughed against his collarbone. “Don’t tell Madrine she’s catching on.”

“I like it,” he murmured. “Queen of my damn heart.”

And as the fire crackled and the moonlight streamed through the curtains, Lillith felt it again—that impossible, quiet thing.

Peace. Wrapped in warmth and woven with love.