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Sartaq laughed, and pressed a kiss to her temple. “It means,” he said against her skin, “that we are going home. That you are coming home—with me.”
Aelin only looked at her people, smiling broadly and freely, as she entered Orynth, and they began to cheer, welcoming her home at long last.
On shaking legs, Dorian yanked Damaris from the stones. The blade had turned black as onyx. A swipe of his fingers down the fuller revealed it was a stain that would not be cleansed.
“I miss them,” she whispered, shuddering. Dorian only held her tighter, and let Manon lean on him for as long as she needed, Abraxos staring toward that blasted bit of earth on the plain, toward the mate who would never return, while the city below celebrated.
The entire hall grew silent as she hurtled for Aedion, and flung herself onto him so hard they rocked back a step. Home at last; home together.
“Let the world know,” Aelin said, voice breaking, “that you are a male of honor. That you stood by your son, and this kingdom, and helped to save it.”
Elide’s vision stung and blurred, and Manon wiped away the tear that escaped. “Live, Elide,” was all the witch said to her before striding out of the hall once more. “Live.”
He kissed her, gently and lovingly. “And when we are wed,” he whispered, “I will bind my life to yours. So we will never know a day apart. Never be alone, ever again.” Elide covered her face with her hands and sobbed, at the heart he offered, at the immortality he was willing to part with for her. For them.
Fenrys smirked, the movement stretching his scars. “Vaughan is still out there. And now free.”
Rowan slid his arm around her shoulders. “Need I remind you that since you beheaded Maeve, I am a Prince of Doranelle once again, with access to my assets and estates? And that with Maeve outed as an imposter, half of her wealth goes to you … and the other to the Whitethorns?”
Shining brighter than the snow outside, Aelin lifted her chin and began her final walk home.
Aelin picked up the crown they had laid at her feet, gaping toward the small gathering who clustered in the shadows beyond the pews, their dark, wide eyes blinking. “The Faerie Queen of the West,” Elide said softly, though all heard. Aelin’s fingers trembled, her heart filling to the point of pain, as she surveyed the ancient, glimmering crown. Then looked to the Little Folk. “Yes,” she said to them. “I will serve you, too. Until the end of my days.”
“You could just marry each other,” Yrene said, and Dorian whipped his head to her, incredulous. “It’d make it easier for you both, so you don’t need to pretend.” Chaol gaped at his wife. Yrene shrugged. “And be a strong alliance for our two kingdoms.” Dorian knew his face was red when he turned to Manon, apologies and denials on his lips.
“I love you both,” she whispered. “And no matter what may happen, no matter how far we may be, that will never change.” “We will see you again,” Chaol said, but even his voice was thick with tears. “Together,” Dorian breathed, shaking. “We’ll rebuild this world together.”
