Page 83 of Wicked Prince of Shadows

Osric grabbed her hand. “I will tell you everything that happened, Your Highness. Thank you for having your warriors ready. Mahlda said you’re very organized.”

Her startled expression brought me to laughter.

We had to explain the story more than once. First to Enola, then to her parents and their council members. Not all were pleased to hear what had happened with Tanith, but they didn’t have to be. Enola, for her part, advocated for us—for Vetle and his people.

It was agreed that Enola's kingdom would help Vetle’s rebuild and restore them in the empty land beyond the valley where they had once lived centuries ago. No one went there anyway because they feared the curse of the Hollow King. And Vetle's people were eager to return and work their magic against those stones and peaks.

Within a few hours, all the survivors were bandaged, medicined, bathed, fed, and put into guest quarters. It was atestament to Enola’s kingdom’s organization and infrastructure, though it certainly helped that huge batches of food were being prepared to close out the final day of the festival. Even before they understood what had happened precisely, her people were helping. By that time, the blood moon was setting, and soon the indigo night sky would meld into the softer vibrant warmth of daylight.

While everyone was put up in the palace, I asked Enola to borrow a small wagon and mule to go to my home. She agreed but made me promise to take some food and return, and I, in turn, asked her to keep an eye on Osric as he slept. If he woke, she was to tell him we’d be back in a few hours, and then we’d get paints and canvas. Enola and I embraced once more, and I had never been so grateful for her friendship as I was then.

Vetle and I traveled by the back paths to the outer city wall and down that bumpy road until we neared the forest and the little clay-walled house and gardens I called home for so many years. The wagon creaked and swayed beneath us as the cream and golden furred mule plodded along the familiar rutted path, the air now rich with the sweet green scents of the forest and brambles. I held the reins with my left hand, the right still bandaged and wrapped as the magic salves finished healing me.

Vetle sat beside me on the narrow bench, his wings tight over his back and a heavy cloak over his shoulders. Without the spiked crown on his head, he almost looked…ordinary. Like me. Like we belonged together. His eels trailed along beside, swimming through the shadows and darting among the wheels.

He hadn't said much since we left the palace, content to let me guide us through the darkened streets and out beyond the walls. His shadows drifted lazily around us, no longer the fierce defensive weapon they'd been in the Witheringlands, but something softer. Peaceful. Occasionally they curled against me.

The flat-roofed cottage came into view as we rounded the last bend, its familiar outline silhouetted against the pre-dawn sky. My heart squeezed at the sight.

I pulled the mule to a stop near the garden gate, my hands trembling slightly as I secured the reins, then unhitched the mule and took it to feast in the back grazing garden. My week long absence had left it full of waist high weeds and greens.

The relative silence here was profound and soothing after the chaos of the Witheringlands—no howling wind, no grinding stone, no desperate wails from trapped eidons. Just the gentle rustle of leaves and the distant chirp of early morning insects and rippling songs of wrens and larks.

Basket of food in hand, I led Vetle around the side of the cottage where rough-hewn stone steps climbed up the exterior wall. My feet knew every uneven edge, every place where moss made the surface slick. He followed close behind, his boots scraping softly against the stone, one hand hovering near my back as if ready to catch me should I stumble.

The roof opened up before us as we crested the final step—my sanctuary, the place I came when the world felt too heavy. Soft water-resistant cushions in faded blues and greens were scattered across woven mats. Clay pots overflowed with herbs and flowers along the edges, their scents mingling in the gentle pre-dawn breeze. Lavender, rosemary, chamomile, and sweet basil perfumed the air with layers of comfort and offered shelter for the hand sculpted bird houses.

Small birds flitted about, their wings flashing jewel-bright—sapphire, emerald, ruby—as they darted between the flowering vines that climbed the low walls. A hummingbird paused mid-flight near a cluster of honeysuckle, its iridescent throat catching the first pale hints of dawn.

I set the basket down and gestured toward the cushions situated on a bench built into the wall. "Behold my kingdom."

Vetle moved to the bench, settling onto it with a grace that seemed at odds with his towering frame and fearsome appearance. His wings spread slightly, adjusting for comfort before folding against his back once again, the cloak slipping away. Then his clawed hand reached for me, amber eyes steady on mine. Smiling, I placed my hand in his as if we were about to dance again.

His lips curled in a knowing smirk. Then with gentle firmness, he pulled me onto his lap, arranging me so I could curl against his chest, my head tucking beneath his chin. His arms came around me, secure despite the coolness of his skin. One hand pressed between my shoulders while the other rested on my hip, his thumb tracing lazy circles through the purple dress Enola had given me.

"My little thorn’s garden home," he murmured against my hair. “My sweet.”

“Just an herbalist. A gardener.” I closed my eyes, breathing in the cool scent of him mixed with the warm perfume of my rooftop garden. The contrast was surreal.

His chest rumbled with a low chuckle. “Far more than that. My darling. My queen. Mywife.”

It was that last one that made my chest tighten and tears surge against my eyes. My head dropped against his chest as we both watched the sun rise. I threaded my left hand through his, shivering with pleasure as his claws grazed my wrist.

The sun peeked up above the horizon as the darkness retreated like a curtain being drawn back. In the span of a breath, the horizon blazed with molten gold that spilled upward into shades of coral and rose, bleeding into soft lavender that deepened to the deep indigo clinging to the western sky. As the wind blew gently, the clouds caught fire, their edges limned in brilliant amber and crimson.

Light spilled across the landscape like liquid honey, touching the treetops first and setting them aglow with emerald and jade. The forest canopy shimmered as individual leaves caught the sun's rays with drops of dew, turning each into a thousand tiny prisms. My garden below transformed, colors intensifying as shadows danced back—the deep purple of the lavender, the bright yellow of the marigolds, the rich green of the herbs.

He breathed a long, slow sigh. “I’d forgotten how beautiful it was to watch the sun greet the day with such gentle love,” he murmured against my ear. “The only thing that compares is you.” His lips found the delicate, ticklish point beneath my ear, and though I was exhausted, I giggled and curled closer.

“If I am like the sunrise, then you are as wondrous as the sunset, and I am glad for them both.” I kissed his jaw. The blood had been wiped away, but the stitches remained. Sliding back, I slipped a little until my head was against his chest as I reclined on him, my feet brushing the cool cushions. “Now that you’re no longer in the Witheringlands, do you think the legends are true and you and your people will heal?”

“We shall see,” he responded. “Whatever happens, we will rebuild, and we will grow stronger. Though you should be warned, I will always have my claws and fangs.” He reached down into the basket and retrieved the food.

A smile curved along his lips as his clawed fingers undid the string. The pomegranate fell open in his palm, revealing the jeweled seeds within, each one glistening like a tiny ruby in the growing light. “Well…how thoughtful of your friend. It seems Inowhave pomegranates.”

A laugh bubbled up from my chest, part exhaustion, part joy. "I told you she was a good friend."

“Now I can fulfill all of my promises to you.” He plucked one of the seeds from its bed and brought it to my lips. I opened my mouth, letting him place it on my tongue. The seed burstbetween my teeth, tart and sweet at once, the juice coating my mouth with flavor so vibrant it made my eyes water.

His smile spread wider. He leaned forward then and placed a tender kiss on my forehead, his breath wisping across my cheek. “I love you, Sabine.”

I reached up, my hand cupping his jaw as I stared into his eyes. “And I love you, Vetle.”

His thumb traced the line of my jaw, and his claws light in touch and deliberate. What we were together now. A king and a queen. A husband and wife. Two people who had walked through darkness and somehow found light on the other side with a life to make and a kingdom to rebuild. My heart swelled as I thanked the Maker for bringing us back, and as my gaze shifted once more to the billowing columns clouds, it seemed for a moment I saw Chaori and Aerithyn embracing among them.