by Anne Wheeler
I looked up at him, and his eyes were dark, even though the sun was still hanging above the horizon. He had hurt me, and I had hurt him, but somehow, we’d survived it all. And the future? It drew me toward it like the map in Lochfeld did, and the idea of it had ceased to be frightening.
“I think I’d like to watch a bit longer, if you don’t mind,” I said. “It’s beautiful, in an odd way.”
Laurent pulled me close, and I leaned my head on his shoulder.
“For as long as you want,” he replied.
And so we stood there on top of that hill, arm in arm, as the sun set and embers danced into the sky.
Epilogue
Laurent
The smile on Riette’s face flickered unevenly as Laurent knelt before her in the throne room at Lochfeld. Whether she was thinking of the apple blossoms in the orchard outside or the hundred pairs of eyes on her, he didn’t know, and he didn’t care. She had agreed to this ceremony, and that meant more than he had words for. He would have avoided it of course, had she wished it, but agreeing meant so much.
He smiled at her, perched uncomfortably on her throne, and her eyes grew solemn with duty and love as he knelt before her. She stretched out her hand without his prompting, and he kissed the back of it, wishing he could kiss so much more of her. He contained himself though and reached for the crown on the small table next to him. Riette’s lips parted as he stood and placed the crown on her head, and his heart skipped a beat. Had it hurt her again?
But she gave him the slightest nod, the agreed upon sign that the magic was cooperating, at least for tonight. Like a wave, it was, retreating and advancing—at least, that was how she’d tried to describe it. He doubted he could ever fully understand the gift she’d been blessed with, and maybe that was for the best. The guilt would fill him forever . . . already did, to some extent. He didn’t deserve her, not the crownkeeper, not the wife.
Giving her one last bow, he helped her to her feet and watched her waver on unsteady feet before catching herself and smiling at him. Laurent could tell she was pretending the applauding crowd didn’t exist, and that was just fine with him, too. He would never complain that she was focused on him and no one else.
“We walked like this once before,” she whispered as he took her hand, and they strode toward the doors at the back of the throne room. “Do you remember?”
Laurent raised her hand to his mouth and kissed it again, a violation of protocol that he couldn’t bring himself to care about. What would his courtiers do? Talk? They’d been doing that for years, and now that rumors of the occurrence in Windersay had almost certainly reached Meirdre, he doubted Riette’s part in it was much of a secret any longer.
“I remember how nervous you were to dance with me,” he replied. “And how much I wanted an excuse to put my hands on you.”
“I was.” Her cheeks flushed, and he looked away for an instant to gather emotions more proper for a public event. “And I suspected as much of you.”
“And now?”
She lowered her voice even further. “I wish all these people would go away so we could dance all night without having to stop for politeness’s sake.”
His smile split his face, even though it wasn’t dancing that first was on his mind. As a consolation prize, yes, it was that. “Duty first, my darling.” His mouth met her ear. “But I suspect we can still fit some dancing in. Who am I to deny you what you want on a night like this? But first—”
Her nose wrinkled. “But first what?”
“Captain Erstad!” he called. Riette’s eyes widened as the captain approached, and Laurent both loved and hated what he was about to do. “I believe my wife has something she’d like to say to you.”
Riette glanced backward, as though escape was possible, then forced a smile. “Captain. It’s so very nice to see you again. Are you enjoying the evening?”
“I am, Your Majesty.” Erstad forced his own smile. “Especially at Lochfeld.”
Laurent squeezed her hand. He’d already reprimanded Erstad for losing her, but part of that accountability fell to her as well.
“About that—” Her smile became more natural. “I am sorry about the position I put you in. I was reckless and foolish and not becoming of one chosen to lead Lochfeld in the king’s place. I should have trusted you.”
“Never mind that.” He cocked his head to the side. “It was a learning experience—enemy armies, I can handle, but queens are something altogether different, I have learned. And for my part, I am sorry I failed you. If will not happen again, Your Majesty.”
“Then we are even?” Riette asked. “For now?” she added with a glint in her eyes.
“We are indeed.” Erstad gave her a short bow before disappearing once more—for more wine, Laurent was certain.
“Your Majesties!” The crowd gathering in the ballroom parted as Juliana scurried toward them. His sister curtsied before taking Riette’s hands in hers and kissing each of her cheeks. “I’m so happy for you.”
Riette brushed her palms over her skirt, a heavy gold velvet embroidered with red silk. “King Marius,” she replied, “returned some of your mother’s dowry. A fraction of it went to the dress. The rest—”
“Yes, yes.” Juliana tossed her hair. “To the treasury, to allow my dear brother to suspend taxes for five years. I wonder who could have possibly convinced him to do that?”
“At least you used your time in Iraela wisely,” Laurent cut in, “though I suspect I’ll be hearing about how you convinced Marius to return the dowry money for much longer than those five years.”
It was a polite lie. He didn’t only suspect—he knew, because he knew Juliana. But if that was what it had taken to solidify the union with Marius and gain some of his own coin back, he would consider it an even exchange and then some.
“Perhaps.” Juliana grinned at him, then curtsied again and vanished into the crowd.
Laurent brushed his fingers against Riette’s, an apology and promise. The musicians departed, but he scarcely noticed. And once the courtiers drifted out of the ballroom, Juliana and her husband disappeared to whatever room upstairs they’d appropriated this time, and the map became visible under his feet, he wound a hand around Riette’s waist and drew her against him.
“You can see the map now,” he said, tugging her backward into a casual waltz. “Not so many feet.”
“I could see it before.” She leaned her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes, as though the power of the place was overwhelming. “It made sure of that.”
“Does it ever leave you alone?” His fingers alighted on her hair.
“Well—” Riette missed a step, and he gripped her hand while she caught her balance. “Yes. Most of the time, at least. But it seems to know I’m here now, and it’s leaving me alone for the most part—though it’s letting me know that there’s so much more I need to learn.”
“Father Gerritt will help you with that.” The priest had cornered him earlier that morning and all but ordered him to send Riette to his library every day next week to pore over whatever texts he could find. “Though something tells me you know more than you think.”
“I’m learning. But I’m afraid I’m not very good at interpreting the magic yet—and using it is something completely different. Maybe I’ll never figure it out. The water—I scarcely knew what I was doing in Windersay. Even worse, the sword.” Her voice grew quiet. “I’m afraid of letting the map work through me like that again.”
“Hmm.” He let his lips drift down her jawline as he hummed a folk song, a traditional Elternow melody. “Somehow I think you will learn.”
“Laurent!” Riette pulled away, her eyes wide with delight. “Where did you learn that?”
“Your parents,” he admitted. They’d appeared at Lochfeld last week when summoned, then fled back to Elternow immediately after. Their new farm needed managing, they’d claimed, and Laurent had let them go, realizing that accepting their daughter as their new queen wouldn’t be an immediate h
appening. “Though I wasn’t able to convince them to attend tonight, I convinced your mother to teach me the melody.”
“I wouldn’t imagine even you could convince them to celebrate a coronation. The very idea would intimidate anyone from Elternow—including me.” Her face fell for a fraction of a second, but then she recovered. “I will pay them a visit as soon as the farm work allows, and until then, I will satisfy myself with you.”
“Shameless.” He drew her against him once more. “And yet I shall do the same.”
Riette closed her eyes and laid her head against his chest. He hummed the rest of the melody as he led her around the ballroom, over the map that would protect Meirdre for the rest of his reign.
All thanks to her.
Acknowledgments
Writing a trilogy is something I hadn’t done until I realized Riette’s story hadn’t ended with Treason’s Crown—and writing the last book in a trilogy is more complicated than I’d expected, as it turns out. Thanks to the readers who cheered me on, Meghan, who read the entire thing and gasped in the appropriate places, and Cathy, who found all those embarrassing missing words in my sentences. I’m so grateful for your support in closing in out this series.
About the Author
Anne Wheeler grew up with her nose in a book but earned two degrees in aviation before it occurred to her she was allowed to write her own. When not working, moving, or writing her next novel, she can be found planning her next escape to the desert—camera gear included. She currently lives in Georgia with her husband, son, and herd of cats.
For more information:
www.anne-wheeler.com
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Also by Anne Wheeler
Crownkeeper
Treason's Crown
War's Crown
Queen's Crown (Coming Soon)
The Star Realm Saga
The Stars Wait Not
Standalone
Leaving Humanity: A Short Story
