Page 191 of Winds of Ruin
I didn’t care how.
She could be my advisor, my friend, or my wife. I’d prefer all three if she’d have it.
I wouldn’t scare her off with that talk yet… I’d just be with her. Be there for her. The gift of time granted us that.
“Emmerick,” she whispered between our lips. “I lo—”
Cutting off her statement, I took her mouth, groaning at how she tasted and how right it felt when her fingers laced through the curls at my nape.
I saw my future laid before me—quiet moments with her on plush furs in front of the parlor fire and times saving her from any eight-legged foe that entered her estate. Taking her to my parents’ cottage each week for dinner and building the type of life I’d only ever dreamed possible.
When we surfaced for air, I shook my head. “I won’t let you say that under these circumstances either.”
She stifled a laugh. “But I want to profess my lo—”
I placed my hand over her mouth and tsked. “No, no. That can wait. We have time.”
She smiled beneath my palm, looking up at me like I was worthy of so much more than I felt I deserved. It lit my heart aflame.
I removed my hand and brushed a strand of hair behind her ear before reaching for the bell to ring for Wyeth.
“Fine,” she agreed. “But I’ll hold you to your commitments. I’m starving. What’s for dinner, my King?”
THE END
Epilogue
Elsedora
Ayear had passed since we defended the realms from Caym’s final strike. We’d only begun to heal, and the scars would never leave us.
None of us had believed it was over.
We’d waited for the wail of Morai, or for a new envoy to surface.
None had.
With no divine place for Caym to cling to, he could not rise again. The Source power in our veins hummed on, an eternal gift from the Origins, but they did not interfere again.
I supposed we deserved an era of peace after so much war, blood, and turmoil. We’d kept busy—rebuilding the Corridors, with cooperative leadership from all rulers.
“Pass the potatoes, dear,” Angeline said, interrupting my thought.
The cottage’s kitchen table barely accommodated the four of us, but Emmerick’s mother insisted on hosting us here every week, anyway. The tension in Em’s shoulders always melted away at the doorstep.
Emmerick lifted the bowl and handed it to his mother.
“Is there room for one more?” A soft voice carried from the doorway. Amara stood there with a basket of wine and cheese.
“My dear, yes! Come sit.” Angeline waved her into the room.
“I’ll take the stool,” Emmerick said, offering up his chair to Amara and taking the basket to the butcher block so she could settle in.
“How is our grandson?” Angeline asked. She was always eager to hear the latest palace gossip, and I knew she really meantHas King Darvanda killed Dritan yet? Is there news of great-grandbabies?
While Sybilla had warmed to the idea of Lark’s marriage, Krait still regularly shot daggers at the boy with his stare. Krait could do nothing about it—his daughter was over the moon in love, and together the young lovebirds would inherit two kingdoms. So my dear, grumpy friend had no choice but to accept it.
I stifled a laugh. “He lives another day.”
