Epilogue
Friedrich was drunk, though he hadn’t had a drop of ale or liquor. Gazing down into his wife’s chocolate-dark eyes beneath the tiers of candelabras stacked along the low branches of the black oak trees, he was utterly, completely intoxicated. Her snow-white skin glowed, contrasting to the glossy, ebony waves falling loose over the cream lace on her slim shoulders.
“What are you grinning at, husband?”
“I believe I’ve married the fairy queen of night. You’ve put me under your spell.”
She flashed him the brightest of smiles. “And here I’d thought you’d lost all your charm.”
He slid his fingers around her nape, brushing his thumb along her jaw. “I’m wooing you.”
“You don’t have to woo me. It’s our wedding night. It’s kind of required to consummate the event.”
With a heavy groan, he hissed in a breath, trying to hold back the punch of arousal. “How long do we have to stay here?”
“It’s our reception. I’d say at least a half an hour.”
“We’ve been here ten minutes already. So only twenty more.”
She rolled her eyes as a howl of laughter erupted where the Bloodguard were carousing. “Let us try and be sociable for those twenty.” She took his hand and led him in their direction.
He smiled at Beatrice arranging the tiny cakes and pastries with Olog next to her. She gave him a smile then went right back to organizing their sweet feast on a table draped with white lace. She’d been using the Bloodguard as her personal servants to organize and set up for the wedding reception in this black oak grove near their new cottage. It appeared even lethal mercenaries obeyed the commands of Brenna’s strong-willed, young daughter. And Olog, too, from the looks of it.
“No, not there.” She pointed at a silver tier. “There.”
Olog agreed and obeyed her instructions. She’d be formidable when she grew from girl to woman. He shivered, for she was his daughter now. He’d be forced to deal with wooing suitors.
“Izzy, use a napkin,” she commanded.
Izzy, Denny, and Jack each grabbed another cake, probably their fifth apiece, and scampered off in a sugar-induced fit of giggles.
Helena sidled up to Brenna’s other side as they walked on. Brenna looped her free arm around her eldest daughter’s waist. The two shared a quiet smile.
Friedrich hadn’t asked about their reunion when the two of them had spent hours behind closed doors at the new cottage. Helena had fallen into captivity after disobeying her mother, putting all their lives in danger. They’d poured out their regret and sorrow and relief in tears and long embraces. Brenna did relay to Friedrich that the young man Helena had loved, the courier named Reggie, was one of the men staked as a traitor in the middle of the encampment.
Helena’s body had been violated for blood but not in any other way. For that, he and Brenna breathed a small sigh of relief. She had come back hurt and wounded, but not broken. That’s what was important. And she grew stronger by the day. The two shared an even closer bond than before, since they’d returned from their nightmare and had found some semblance of normalcy here in Silvane Forest.
As normal as one’s life could be living in an enchanted forest surrounded by mercenary vampires, human warriors, hart wolf shifters, a denounced prince, and for that matter, a denounced duke.
They joined the circle near Marius and Arabelle, who watched with fascination the strange game the Bloodguard played. Caden and Emmett stood alongside Grant leaning against the trunk of a thick black oak.
“So how does it feel to be a married man?” Marius nudged Friedrich with his elbow.
“Right.” He kissed Brenna’s crown. “It feels right.”
Marius pulled Arabelle close against him while she watched the games. “I know that feeling quite well.”
Friedrich lowered his voice to a near whisper, for he hadn’t been able to speak to Marius since yesterday. “Though the honeymoon won’t last long enough.”
“Afraid not.” Marius sobered.
“They’ll be returning in under a fortnight, if our calculations are correct. Mikhail and his men will be arriving at Briar Rose within the week.”
Shortly after their arrival from the north, it was decided they needed to send a party swiftly to Briar Rose to save Princess Vilhelmina. Mikhail volunteered to go along with Dmitri, Gregorovich, Aleksei, and Gavril. Mikhail determined this kind of mission required stealth, so less numbers. A large party of unknown vampires would set off the alarm before they’d even crossed over the castle walls.
Friedrich then asked, “Has Dane spoken to his clansmen yet?”
“Yes. Nikolai says they’ll allow safe passage when they reach the borderlands of the forest. But only if Dane escorts their party. The hart wolves distrust vampires.”
Friedrich nodded. “We just need to remember. Dominik will be looking for retribution.”
“Yes,” agreed Marius. “I know my brother well. One step at a time, Cousin. And then we’ll remap our family legacy.”
Friedrich smiled at that. Marius had already envisioned the world they’d rebuild when this was all over. Good. They needed visionaries as well as warriors. It seemed they had an abundance of both. He hugged his favorite visionary closer, now his wife, brushing his lips against her hair.
“So what is this game?” she asked, bringing them both back to the raucous display before them.
Arabelle finally seemed to notice their presence. “Oh, Brenna. It’s completely barbaric. Two men face each other with a tankard of ale balanced on their palm. They each take a turn tossing their finger-daggers. If you get your dagger in your opponent’s cup, then he drinks. Each round, both players take a step back till someone finally misses.”
“But”—Brenna frowned—“when they miss, won’t they likely slice open a hand or worse if the dagger hits his opponent’s body?”
“Yes,” said Marius. “That’s the fun, especially after you’ve downed a few ales.”
“The fun?” Brenna arched a condescending brow. “How is that possibly fun? The winner gets stabbed!”
“They’re cavemen,” said Arabelle. “As I said, completely barbaric. Only a game a man would find entertaining.”
Friedrich stifled a chuckle, sliding a look to Marius, who merely shrugged with a roll of his eyes. Then they were all riveted to the circle as one of the Bloodguard, Yuri, faced off one of Marius’s warriors Ivan, taking another step back. Friedrich had never met the burly man, but he was a trusted soldier in the ranks of the Black Lily. One of their most loyal. He and their band of warriors had gotten along quite well with the Bloodguard these past two weeks.
“That’s the farthest anyone has made it tonight,” said Nikolai, leaning with his back to a trunk, his arms about Sienna’s waist in front of him. Sienna whispered something up at him, which prompted his mouth to curl into a secret smile as he wrapped her tighter against him.
They all fell silent as Yuri took his aim, some of his hair falling from its queue. He looked as if he’d had one too many ales already, but then his eyes narrowed in focused concentration. One, two, three, he let the slim finger-dagger fly. It plopped into the tankard. Another roar of applause as Ivan slugged back the ale, gulping it all down, pounding a fist to his chest. When he removed the tankard from his lips, he grinned with the shiny dagger between his teeth.
Arabelle and Brenna shared a look of shock before chiming in unison, “Barbaric.”
Then all grew quiet again while Ivan took aim, weaving on unsteady feet.
“This might not be good,” muttered Marius.
Ivan loosed the blade. It skimmed and clanked the top of the tankard then pierced Yuri in the upper thigh right near his—
“Bloody hell!” the vampire bellowed, dropping his tankard to the ground and reaching for the sunken blade.
The Bloodguard and Black Lily warriors howled in laughter.
Friedrich winced. Marius, too.
“Oh, dear,” said Brenna.
Arabelle crossed her arms with an approving nod. “See what you get when you act like savages?”
“Sorry, Yuri. Aimed a bit too low,” said Ivan as he crossed the small playing field.
“Good thing you didn’t aim a little more to the left.” Grant laughed.
Ivan met his opponent, who’d ripped open his leather pants, revealing a thick thigh, dripping blood. Ivan raised his arm as the champion. “Yuri! The winner!”
They all hailed a loud hoorah with more laughter. Ivan helped him hobble off to tend to his injury.
“Who’s next?” shouted Grant.
“For heaven’s sake.” Brenna tsked.
Arabelle shook her head. “Only the damn Bloodguard would devise a drinking game where the winner leaves the field more wounded than the loser.”
“Say what you will,” Brenna added defensively. “But I owe my life to this horde of mercenaries. And Helena’s.” She glanced to a smiling Helena on her other side. “As far as I’m concerned, they can damage each other all they like in the quest for simple pleasures.”
Friedrich leaned down to her ear, “Speaking of simple pleasures.”
He was rewarded with that pretty blush of hers crawling up her chest and neck.
“I’d never play such a reckless game,” added Arabelle with a toss of her blond braid. “It’s hard enough recovering from wounds in battle, much less those from foolish games.”
“You know, darling. If you would finally consent to become a vampire, like Brennalyn, then you wouldn’t worry so much about battle wounds. Your vampire blood would heal you in an instant.”
Arabelle turned in his arms, one hand on her hip. “Brenna did not consent to become a vampire. Friedrich had no choice. That’s completely different.”
Brenna smiled up at Friedrich, once more assuring him she was fine with his decision that night.
“No, it’s not.” Marius sighed. “You’re stalling. You promised you would.”
“I promised I would when the war was over.”
“No. You said you needed to remain human so that the Black Lily followers would respect their leader since they feared vampires.” He gestured to the grove. “Look around, darling. Your human soldiers don’t seem at all troubled by the addition of vampires to our resistance.”
Arabelle’s brow pinched together in a fierce scowl. Marius chuckled and pulled her against him, whispering intimately at her ear, though it was easy enough for nearby vampires to hear. “You won’t go into the final battle as a human.”
“What will you do if I refuse?” Arabelle whispered back.
“I’ll not return to your bed till it’s done.”
She gasped. “You wouldn’t.”
“Try me, love.”
On that mention of the bedroom, Friedrich swept his wife into his arms. “Forgive us,” he announced to them all, “but we’re going to make it an early night.”
“Doubt that,” said Grant to a rumble of laughter.
He ignored them and stole away with his bride. Lightning fast, he zipped through the dark forest, night birds cooing, insects chirping. He didn’t stop until he stood on the doorstep of the new cottage he and the Bloodguard had built for Brenna and her children. And now for him.
“You can set me down now.” Though she kept her hands clasped around his neck.
“Not on your life. It’s tradition for the groom to carry his bride over the threshold.”
She blushed again. “Oh.” She twisted the doorknob and shoved the door open.
He didn’t move, staring down at this lovely woman, pure of heart and deep of soul. The woman who now made him whole, having chased away the ghosts of his tragic past.
“What is it?” she asked, cupping his cheek.
“One day, I’ll carry you across the threshold of Winter Hill. When we’ve won this bloody war, and I can reclaim my title, and my home.”
She smiled, her fingers twirling in the hair at the nape of his neck. “None of that matters. I’ll be content wherever we are.”
“It matters to me, my love.” He leaned in and swept a feathery kiss across her lips, breathing in the beauty of her. “You are my duchess. My queen. Mistress of my heart. And I will give you all that you deserve.”
Her smile faltered, dark eyes glassy under the starlight. “All I need is you, darling.” She kissed him back, whispering against his lips, “Master of my heart.”
Then he crossed the threshold, carrying his beautiful bride, and closed the door on the world and the war yet to come. Tonight, there would only be the peace and passion and love they found in one another’s arms.
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