18. Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Eighteen

More than once after Sabrina's defeat, Gray felt the urge to duck away, behind a convenient gold-fringed curtain or into a shadowy alcove, and when he was certain nobody could see, pinch himself. In the month since Sabrina died and her forces had been defeated, there were so many moments when he could scarcely believe that this was truly his life. Before he'd met Rory, he'd come to terms with his jaded loneliness, with seeing only those who needed help as they passed through the valley, and with the final, inescapable thought that there would never be anyone special to wake up next to in the morning.

But now every single morning, he woke up to Rory's auburn curls in his mouth and his slender body pressed insistently against Gray's own.

He'd never again be alone, unless he chose to be.

It was hard to trust his sudden, blinding happiness, but at the same time, impossible not to.

Gray could still remember what the sword felt like, flaming in his hands, and he'd understood then why he'd been the one who needed to wield it. He was Rory's sworn protector, his consort, and even though they'd said no true vows to each other, every moment together since they'd first met had felt like a vow. The sword must have agreed, and as Evrard had said, adopted him as an honorary member of the Fontaine royal house, as it had responded to Gray's extreme need when it had truly meant death for both of them otherwise.

"It was not a revered artifact of many generations of Fontaine royalty for nothing," Evrard had told him dryly after he and Rory had emerged from Beaulieu to find Marthe and the unicorn holding their own with Sabrina's small army. After seeing her charred body, the general had lain down his own sword and surrendered.

It had, as Rory put it afterwards, been surprisingly easy.

The nobles of Fontaine had welcomed the Crown Prince back as if he'd never left, and even accepted his taller, darker shadow as his consort. Of course, knowing that Gray was, in actuality, Prince Graham likely had something to do with their effortless acceptance of him.

Of course, who would have the nerve to deny Gray his place when he'd demonstrated Lion's Breath's rather astonishing hidden talent?

Nobody dared, and as Rory had said, it went easily.

Anya had ridden the fastest horse they could find and had reported back three days later with the news that the King was surprisingly still alive.

"He feels no different," Anya reported, to everyone's shock. Gray hadn't understood and had confronted Evrard about how this could possibly be, when everyone had been in agreement that killing Sabrina would also mean the death of Gideon.

"Magic works in mysterious ways," Evrard simply said, but that didn't mean that Gray ever trusted it. Something so slippery, with so many rules and yet so many exceptions, wasn't something you could ever depend on.

This particular opinion was a source of very minor strife between Rory and Gray. The former wanted to believe in the power of magic in changing the world. The latter wasn't sure they could trust in something they could never see or touch. And Gray's opinion was actually proven correct a month after Sabrina's defeat.

Rory's coronation was planned for the very next day. The rooms of Beaulieu had all been aired out, invitations to all the neighboring kingdoms had been sent. Messengers had been sent to the Mecant tribe, and a handful of representatives had arrived, and would, per Rory's agreement with the tribe leader, begin re-learning their lost language. Even King Gideon had sent back an acceptance, dependent on his ability to travel. The Fontaine crown, with its roaring lions and giant rubies and topazes, had been polished over and over again until it shone like a star in the deepest darkness, all in readiness to be placed upon Rory's head. Gray had been pressed into too many clothing fittings to count, to his excessive complaints, and had finally come to a compromise with the tailor. Less gold braid on his tunic, and he would agree to wear the fancy, bejeweled sword belt that had originally been designed to be worn with Lion's Breath.

Gray was having one last security check with Marthe, when Rory rushed up to him, breathless, with a distraught look on his face.

"What is it?" Gray asked, fear curdling in his stomach. Things had been too good. Too pat. Too easy. Life and love weren't supposed to be simple. The other shoe would inevitably drop. And it seemed, from Rory's expression, that it finally had.

"It's from Tullamore," Rory said grimly, drawing him off to the side of the courtyard. "It's news from your father."

Gray still didn't know how comfortable he felt calling Gideon his father, but he certainly wasn't going to correct Rory right now, especially with that look on his face.

Rory extended a sealed letter toward him. "Anya came ahead from the royal party, with this."

He wasn't proud, but his fingers shook as he took it. It had been too easy, and Evrard's explanation for his father's continued survival too deliberately vague. He'd known this would happen, and Gray didn't know whether to be angry with him that he'd let Gray enjoy this respite of happiness and rest, or grateful.

The one thing Gray had learned in his life was that you always paid the cost of your deeds; even if it was much later, after you'd imagined your slate already cleared.

"Do you . . ." Rory hesitated. "I can stay with you while you read it, if you want."

Gray looked down at the letter, recognizing his father's spidery handwriting, even finer and wobblier in his decline. Did he want Rory to sit with him? Wasn't that why he was so grateful for Rory's existence? Because his presence made it easier to bear the terrible burden life brought sometimes?

But then he glanced up into Rory's troubled amber eyes, and knew he didn't want to share this particular burden.

He'd killed Sabrina knowing it would, in all likelihood, kill his father too. He'd done it, understanding how difficult that particular cost was, and he'd followed through with his intent, because the benefits still had outweighed it. It wasn't a decision that he'd let Rory help him make, and so Rory shouldn't have to take that weight onto his shoulders. It was Gray's to bear.

"No," he said. Rory frowned more deeply. "I'll read it and find you later."

There was an enormous banquet tonight, in celebration of Rory's coronation, and he and Gray were intended to be the guests of honor. Gray had a feeling that after reading this letter, he wouldn't feel much like celebrating.

"If you're certain . . ." Rory said, clearly not agreeing with Gray's decision.

"I'm sure," Gray retorted, more brusquely than he'd intended.

"All right," Rory agreed finally. "As long as you promise to find me later."

"I promise," Gray said—more to himself than to Rory. He'd need the balm of Rory's love and care in the wake of this, even if he didn't want to believe it now.

He took the letter and headed out the main castle gates, passing by the guards with a single, friendly wave of his hand. They knew he liked to wander alone sometimes, when he craved privacy. After so many lonely years in the valley, he wasn't quite used to spending so much time around so many people, but he was trying.

At first Gray wasn't sure where his feet were leading him, but then after a few long minutes of walking, he looked up and realized he'd headed towards the creek where he, Anya, Diana, Kristian, and Rory had first snuck into the castle. There was the grate, still with bits of stone attached, sitting on the ground next to the entrance. He would have to remind Marthe that breach would need to be re-sealed.

But for now, it was as good a place as any to sit and read what were certainly his father's last words to him.

With trembling fingers, Gray fumbled the letter open, breaking the wax seal, bearing the imprint of his father's ring.

It had been shakily embedded into the bloodred wax, and Gray inhaled sharply as the ring tumbled out of the envelope. He gripped it hard, the edges cutting into his palm as he opened the letter and began to read.

Dear Graham, it said.

I was so happy that I was able to travel to Beaulieu to celebrate your prince's coronation and your commitment to him as his consort. I think you two will be very happy together. It is to my immense regret that after we crossed over the border from Ardglass to Fontaine, I believe my body began to fail me. My heart is aching for the terrible news that will be delivered at the eve of Rory's coronation, but the silver lining is that I have just enough strength to pen this letter and tell you things that I wish I had said the last time we spoke.

Seeing you again was something I wished for and dreaded in equal measures. When you arrived at Tullamore, I knew without a doubt that the former far outweighed the latter. I have not been the father to you that you needed, or that you deserved, but it seems that despite my grave mistakes, you grew into a strong, honorable man that any father would be proud to call son. I do not expect you to forgive me for the evil that I let into my mind and into my heart, because I do not forgive myself. Even now. Especially now. But I do hope that you will be able to move forward, into your new life with Rory, and at least be able to let go of your bitterness and anger, because the last thing you deserve is to carry that particular burden with you forever. All I can say now, even though I know it will never truly be enough, is I am truly, everlastingly sorry.

Your father,

Gideon.

Directly after his father's wobbly signature was an impersonal notation, inscribed in another hand. Gideon, rest his soul, died this day, and has been borne home to Tullamore.

Gray looked up into the canopy of trees, the sun shining so brightly overhead, and the birds chirping happily, as if they had no cares in the world, but he did not see the green of the trees or the blue of the sky or the red of the robins. The colors blurred together with the sheen of tears he could no longer hold back.

Perhaps his hand had not been the one responsible for his father's death, but at least he had avenged Gideon by slaying the one who was. Still, revenge was less reassuring than Gray had always believed it would be, and far colder. He shivered and wiped his eyes, only to have them fill again with tears.

There was perhaps nothing Gideon could ever say that would erase those fifteen years, and all the pain and uncertainty of them, but he had come close in his final letter. If Gray was painfully honest with himself, there was a part of him that did forgive his father, because he'd apologized sincerely, he'd done it with love, and he'd done it not expecting to ever be forgiven. And that, Gray realized, counted for more than he ever would have thought possible.

"I'm sorry," a voice called out, and Gray was so startled to find himself not entirely alone that he nearly dropped the letter and his father's ring into the stream. He looked up and saw it was Rory standing on the other side of the bank, with an ashamed look on his face.

"I'm sorry," he said again. "I meant to leave you alone, I really, truly did, but I saw the way you looked, and I knew how hard it would be to read the letter, and I just . . . I love you and I didn't want you to be alone."

Gray hesitated. He'd truly believed he did want to be alone, but after reading his father's words, especially about his future with Rory, suddenly that seemed not only unimportant, but categorically stupid.

He'd already been alone for so long. It was an ugly habit that he couldn't seem to break, even though he could acknowledge all the benefits of having a consort and friends and thirteen clans who had agreed to come to his aid if he ever had need of them again.

"I'm the one who's sorry," Gray said, extending an arm to help Rory across the creek. "I shouldn't have pushed you away."

Rory settled down next to him and gazed at the ring in Gray's palm. "Your father's ring," he said softly. "Anya told me what happened."

"It seems . . ." Gray's voice choked in his throat, stuck on absolutely nothing at all. "It seems crossing over from Ardglass to Fontaine was the key to his demise."

"Your father was living on borrowed time, and he was so happy he could come see us," Rory said softly. "To see you."

Gray nodded. "He said as much." And because he didn't have the words to express what his father had, he handed the letter to Rory. It was his future too, and he deserved to read it.

Rory did so, carefully holding the parchment in both hands as Gray turned over and over the ring in his own. Finally, Rory lifted his head, and his own eyes were also full of tears.

"I wish . . ." Rory said, his own voice clogging. "I wish he had been able to say this to you in person."

Gray wished that too, but he couldn't be sad or upset or angry, because in the end, his father had still expressed what he'd felt. And while the speaking of the words might have been transformative, the writing of them had been equally as important—maybe even more so, because this was his father's dying wish. His last thought, before he departed this world, had been saved for Gray.

"I think it will be okay," Gray said, and to his own surprise, it was.

It wasn't a sudden transformation; the hurt he'd carried around forever was too big and too broad and too ingrained to just instantaneously disappear, but maybe, just maybe, each day it would fade a little.

Rory reached over and grasped Gray's hand tightly in his own. "It's more than okay," he said. "It's going to be magical."

Gray knew tonight, he'd take Rory's arm and lead him into the banquet thrown in his honor. There'd be tables groaning with every delicacy from Fontaine, and even from Ardglass, and the best of the wine and ale from the Beaulieu cellar house. Tomorrow, Rory would take his throne, and Gray would be standing right next to him, uncomplaining in his new tunic and the splendid jeweled sword belt designed to showcase Lion's Breath, and he'd be the first one to congratulate and greet the new King of Fontaine. That night, there'd be a private, much more personal celebration between just the two of them. And, Gray realized, Rory, who was usually right, was right once again.

Their happily ever after was indeed going to be magical.