Flowers hung in drapes of color from the window, spilling down the tower and landing in a pile of orchids at the ground. Aisling leaned out the opening and eyed the ridiculous show Underhill was putting on for all the Seelie faeries who were coming to visit them.

Aisling had insisted the Seelie King and Queen have the coronation somewhere else. There were hundreds of other options, far better than Underhill, far more appropriate to crown the new prince of the Seelie Fae. They had continually batted aside her arguments, insisting they wanted their son to be crowned in the new land that would soon become an ally all courts could consider friend.

It wasn’t fair, and it certainly wasn’t good for her nerves.

She again smoothed a hand down her now white hair. The strands stuck to her fingers and seemed to glow with an otherworldly light that was entirely embarrassing. It gave away her emotions far better than her face.

Glowering at the strands, she dropped them with a disgusting sound. “You could try to behave, you know.”

A few of the flowers tilted their heads up and down in agreement. Underhill knew it could behave, but it also wanted to do its mother proud.

Aisling hadn’t ever thought she’d consider herself mother to what was essentially a section of earth. Even when the power first blossomed in her chest, she’d thought it would be a little easier. Plant some seeds, watch them grow, convince the land with a little green magic that it should do what she wanted. She even knew a few green spells from her time helping farmers. It should have been easy.

Nothing in Underhill was that easy. The land was a being all its own, and as stubborn as a child.

The sluagh had tried to explain it to her. Each Raven Queen was supposed to teach the land to do what she wanted. It was a child. Nothing more than a baby who needed someone to teach it how to live, what was appropriate, and how to act. Aisling wasn’t doing a great job at that.

“Mistress?” a voice asked from the doorway, “are you ready to go to the great hall?”

“No.” She glowered. “I don’t want to entertain the Seelie Fae when I have far more important things to do.” Like teach those flowers that they couldn’t grow so ridiculously large just because they had visitors.

The sluagh coughed behind its feathered hand. Now that Carman was no longer siphoning off their magic, they were much better looking. They’d all filled out, leathery wings changing to feathered, midnight wings that spread out from them in graceful arches. She’d never seen anything like them in nature, but was proud to see that her people, though still intimidatingly ugly, were far healthier than they were before.

“Mistress,” the sluagh said, clearly trying to hide its laughter, “they’re here for you.”

“They’re here for the crowned prince,” she corrected. “They care little if I’m here, only that Underhill is pretty enough for the ceremony.”

Another voice joined the other, dark and feathered with power. Bran stepped out of the shadows of the corridor and into the room. A grin split his face, sharpened teeth gleaming in the light. “I can take it from here. Thank you, sluagh.”

“As you wish, Highness.”

They waited until the door closed behind their bird-like subject before they raced to each other’s side. Aisling didn’t know who moved first. She only knew she was in his arms and the taste of honeyed wine filled her mouth once more.

“I missed you,” she whispered against him. “Why did you have to leave for such a long time?”

“There were a few things I wanted to do before I returned.”

“The Seelie Fae are already here. They’re all waiting for us in the great hall, and I don’t know what to say to them. What they’ll think of me.”

He tucked a strand of white hair behind her ear. “They’ll think you’re the most beautiful woman they’ve ever seen. They’ll be thankful you saved one of their own. Elva’s still waiting to speak with you, you know.”

She bit her lip. There were a lot of things unsaid between Aisling and her sister, but she didn’t know where to begin. You left me was perhaps the right place to start, but it somehow felt so meaningless when there was a world between them.

Elva had been her idol growing up, and now there was simply a lot of growth between them. Aisling didn’t know how to bridge the gap that had spread into a chasm after years of discontent between them.

Could she love her sister? Maybe someday. But that wasn’t necessary, not anymore.

She had a family again. This place was filled with people who not only needed her, or loved her, but that knew her innermost thoughts and didn’t judge her for them. She wasn’t a cast-off, a family member who was too odd or uncomfortable to understand.

She was simply Aisling. A witch sometimes. A woman most times. And always the Raven Queen who loved her subjects more than the air she breathed.

Bran let out a soft chuckle, the grin on his face burning into her like the sun.

“What?” she asked.

“You’re happy,” he said. And she saw the same emotion reflected in his own eyes.

“How do you know that?” Of course, she was. He was always right when he observed something like that. How could she be anything else? Aisling finally had everything that she wanted, minus a few lingering curses that took her husband away from her during the day. But the nights… Oh, the nights were well worth the wait.

He reached behind her. A soft snapping sound surprised her, and then he pulled a lily between them. “Because Underhill always blooms when you’re happy.”

She snorted at the white flower. “And apparently whenever I’m nervous. It blooms at every emotion it can. The entire place is like an unruly teenager that just found color. I swear, Underhill is insistent on painting every surface it can with color.”

“Then let it,” he said, hooking a leg behind hers to pull her off balance. “I don’t mind the color after so much time in the dark.”

“But I like the dark.”

Bran leaned down to kiss her, then growled against her lips, “So do I.”

Her cheeks burned in a blush. They’d spent far too much time in the darkness lately, and she refused to complain in the slightest.

“We have to go to the great hall,” she murmured. “They’ll miss us.”

With a groan, he helped her straighten then let out a sigh that could have shaken the rafters. “Ridiculous Seelie Fae. Why are they in our home again?”

“Coronation.”

“It’s not even one of ours.”

“Oh, suddenly you agree with me there’s something else we could be doing.”

Bran winked. “Something far more pleasurable than entertaining a bunch of stuffy Seelie Fae who are only here to see what gift we give to the boy.”

“How about a tail?” Aisling wiggled her eyebrows, stepping away so she could finish getting ready. “Or perhaps ears. I think a little redheaded boy with mouse ears would be rather cute, don’t you think so?”

Bran’s laughter sounded like music. She had heard few symphonies in her life, but she was certain this was what poets waxed on about. No one could make a song so beautiful, a sound so lovely, as the man who had stolen her heart.

She made her way to the small mirrored table where the sluagh kept her brushes. They were supposed to have put her hair up in some pretty style that would make the other Seelie faeries think she was like them. But her new hair refused to be braided or twisted into an updo at all.

Instead, the strands liked to make a scene. They slipped out of every bun. They tangled in braids until she had to take them out. They even flicked her ears if she put them up in a simple tail.

So she’d given up. Aisling let them have their own way, and the strands were much happier. Strangely, her hair didn’t seem so much to be part of her body anymore. Every strand was as much part of Underhill as was the rest of her.

On the table sat a crown made of thorns. Slightly smaller than Bran’s, it was no less intimidating.

He strode up behind her, appearing in the reflection of the mirror as a dark shadow that hovered behind her. His feathers scraped against her back, the warmth of his body heated her spine, and that yellow raven eye whirled in its socket.

He reached around her, took hold of the crown, and slowly lifted it to her head. Individual strands of her hair reached up and looped around the metal. The glowing white strands would hold it against her head, and they certainly wouldn’t let it fall.

With a happy sigh, Bran leaned down and pressed his chin to her shoulder. He wrapped his arms around her waist, fingers tightening on the simple black silk of her gown. “You look every inch a queen.”

She looked at their reflection in the mirror, how perfect a pair they were. He, the raven, and she, the swan. The night and moon were who they were, and she’d never seen it before this second. Together, they were the universe and all the stars together in one beautiful, infinite moment.

Aisling breathed out a sigh that mimicked his. “And for the first time, I feel it.”

He grinned, all feral smile and wild abandon, and she fell in love with him all over again.

“Ready to go give a Seelie prince a tail?”

“Are we finally agreeing to that?”

With laughter bubbling at their heels, they chased each other down the halls of their castle. Aisling caught the grins of sluagh as they ran by and the sound of laughter as a dullahan tossed his head up in glee.

They were finally in a place where all these misfits could be happy, and she was so proud.

Lorcan had settled on staying with the hanging tree as a guide of sorts. Aisling missed him, but he visited whenever he could. That usually meant at inopportune times, mostly whenever she wanted to be alone with Bran, but at the very least, she saw her dear friend.

Life had changed drastically since she’d taken on the full powers of the Raven Queen, but she wouldn’t change it for the world, no matter how uncomfortable it made her.

She skidded to a halt in front of the great hall doors, taller than a person and ominously high over their heads. Aisling blew out a breath and stared at the worn wood, knowing this wasn’t something she could step back from. Through those doors were the people who had rejected her all those years ago. The faeries who hadn’t wanted her, but now somehow wanted to make amends.

Could she do it? Suddenly, happiness drained from her, replaced by a sense of dread so profound she could hardly think. What if they did it again? What if she trusted them, let them back into her life, and then they threw her away again?

Warm hands curved around her waist and drew her against a chest that was sturdy and strong. “Together,” Bran murmured in her ear. “As always.”

And all her worries disappeared. No matter what, he’d be with her. He always was.

She took a deep breath, nodded, and the doors before them opened. The great hall was filled with faeries from all walks of life. Golden beings with dragonfly wings. Tall, strong women with equally powerful men standing side by side, swords strapped to their waists. Brownies, pixies, Tuatha de Danann all gathered together, awaiting their hosts.

All eyes turned to them. They drank in the sight of the Raven King and Queen, how they stood wrapped around each other even when decorum should have been recognized.

She didn’t care. After all this time worrying that she would say something or do something embarrassing, Aisling realized she didn’t care. It didn’t matter what they thought of her as long as Bran was beside her, the kingdom prospered, and those she valued above all else were happy and whole.

The amount of relief she felt from the realization nearly sent her to her knees. Who cared what the Seelie Fae thought with all their rules and opinions? She had a kingdom of people who saw those rules and discarded them. A kingdom of people who had renounced the ways of Seelie and Unseelie forever more.

Together, they would continue to strengthen this kingdom that valued them when all others didn’t. That was her life now, the Seelie Fae be damned.

“Ready?” Bran asked.

“More than ready. I’ve never seen a faerie baby before.”

He let go of her waist and stepped up to her side, holding out his arm for her to take. The smile on his face nearly blinded her. “They look very much like every other baby you’ve seen.”

“Human?”

“In a way.”

Aisling wrinkled her nose and stepped forward into the great hall with him. “Maybe I really will give him a tail then. Poor thing, he’s a faerie and no one would even know it.”

The crowd parted like a wave in front of them, revealing the Seelie King and Queen at the center of the great hall. They’d set up a makeshift stage, although only a step up from the ground. She appreciated they at least abstained from using her and Bran’s throne. They were welcome to it, of course, but she noticed the olive branch they extended.

Of all people, she hadn’t thought to find peace with the king and queen of the faeries who’d found her lacking. But Sorcha and Eamonn were kindhearted and far more amiable than she ever expected.

Sorcha beamed at them from her place beside Eamonn. A golden dress spilled down her sides like liquid, pooling at her feet and reflecting bits and pieces of the room. She could see the Seelie faerie’s faces in the dress, and wondered at the design. It was as if the Seelie Queen had absorbed her people. Of course, that was what Sorcha had done with her own, the druids, and was trying to do with the faeries.

Eamonn was dressed entirely in white silk edged in gold. Aisling noted it was unusually simple for a king. That seemed to fit the Seelie faerie, though. He wasn’t one for pomp and circumstance and much preferred to blend into the crowd.

In that, they matched. Aisling felt their eyes on her like a physical touch and might have turned around if Bran’s hand wasn’t warm against her lower back.

Between the two Seelie faeries was a cradle that rocked back and forth under a magical touch. Inside, she knew she would see their new baby. The sluagh had spoken of the birth in great lengths. It was the first Seelie prince born in over three centuries, and they were certain this was a great omen that must be heeded.

Aisling wasn’t so sure of that. She stepped up onto the stage and walked toward the cradle. She rested a hand against the edge and stopped the rocking.

The baby lay underneath a cream woolen blanket. He looked up at her with bright green eyes that were far too aware for a human child of only a few days old. Freckles dusted his cheeks, so many she couldn’t count them. He smiled a toothless grin and reached up a hand for her.

“Sorcha,” she said with a smile, holding out her finger for the baby to take. “He’s lovely. No red hair?”

His mother scowled. “No, it does appear that he might take after his father in that aspect.”

Difficult as it was, Eamonn somehow managed to puff his chest out even farther. “I don’t see what’s wrong with that.”

“I wanted him to have red hair like me,” his wife grumbled. “There are far too many blondes in the Seelie kingdom. I think a little color would do you all good.”

“He’s got your freckles.”

“And your stubborn jaw.”

As they continued arguing, Aisling leaned down to get a good look in the prince’s eyes. He was a remarkably beautiful child, although she’d expected no less from good-looking parents, but there was something else in his gaze, something she recognized deep in the belly of her being.

Mischief already flickered there. Mischief that wasn’t quite Seelie fae at all.

“You’re going to cause so much trouble, aren’t you?” she asked the child. “Maybe I won’t give you a tail after all.”

Bran’s hand settled next to hers, tilting the crib further so he could peek in as well. “Handsome boy.”

“Bigger than I thought.”

“Hearty.”

“Likely to follow in his mother’s footsteps.”

Bran snorted. “No, he’ll follow in his father’s footsteps. Look at the set of his jaw, the look in his eye. That’s clearly a lust for adventure, just like Eamonn had when he was first born. He’ll be quite the Seelie prince.”

“Look closer,” Aisling said with a raised brow.

The Raven King leaned close to the child then reared back in surprise. Wide-eyed, he looked back at her. “Is that?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Oh no.” He glanced over at Sorcha and Eamonn who were still arguing about who was more reflected in their son’s features. “Do you think they have any idea?”

“Let’s just not tell them. We’ll get the boy later.” She reached forward and touched a finger to his forehead. “I gift you with luck, little prince. For the rest of your life, lady luck will follow in your footsteps and keep you safe from all harm.”

The entire crowd fell silent at her words, holding their breath as if they had sucked the gift into themselves. Aisling looked up, afraid she’d done something irreversible. Faerie gifts were permanent. Once given, they would forever remain with the child. Luck seemed like a good gift, but in hindsight…

Sorcha cleared her throat, and tears glimmered in her eyes. “That’s quite the gift,” she said with thick words. “You can only give that to one child you know.”

“Then it will be my greatest accomplishment to give it to your son.” She didn’t add that she thought it likely he’d need it. The boy had a strand of Unseelie in his blood, and he’d have to tread carefully. She’d never heard of a Seelie prince who varied from the throne. Perhaps he was the future.

She looked down at the bright child with all his freckles and green summer eyes. Maybe he was the future after all. Maybe, just maybe, the courts would disappear forever with one boy who could bring them together for good.

How would she know? Aisling refused to peek into the future, no matter how much Underhill wanted her to.

Sorcha stepped up and took her hand. She pressed it tight against her ribs, as close as two queens could get in front of their subjects. “It’s an honor, Raven Queen.”

With a smile, Aisling squeezed the Seelie Queen’s hand. She looked over at Bran and felt her heart warm with the love reflected in his eyes. Finally, this was what family felt like.

“The honor is all mine, Seelie Queen.”

As the crowd cheered behind them, thankful for the gift Underhill had given, Bran mouthed the words, I love you.

This was what immortality felt like. Not the weight of centuries passing. Just the love of one man who had given her his forever.