Epilogue

Dion

D ion felt like he had just stepped into a memory from another lifetime.

The Kallan’s private gardens.

An unseasonably warm autumn day.

The only difference?

It wasn’t his brother and his sister-in-law nestled with each other out on the lawn, soaking up every ray of the afternoon sun. No, it was his spitfire niece sitting between the drawn-up legs of Reykr’s Prince Commander.

The infatuation that hung in the very air around them though? Identical.

The way Mikael looked at Cyril like she was the only living, breathing thing in existence? He’d watched his brother look at Malia the same way more times than he could count.

And gods, it made his fucking chest ache.

Nearly twenty-two years since everything went to utter hells for the second time in his gods damned—

Dion bristled at the brush of a hand on his arm.

Runa smiled up at him. “I wasn’t sure if you’d join us.”

He sighed.

“I wasn’t going to.”

Dion still wasn’t sure if he should be there, or why he’d made the eleventh-hour decision to accept Runa’s invitation. He didn’t deserve to be there. Not amongst the sunshine and greenery, and the undercurrent of peace that ran through it all. He should be rotting somewhere, anywhere —

“Come sit with me.”

Dion eyed Runa apprehensively, but she was already threading her arm through his and steering him towards one of the wrought-iron table sets tucked underneath the second-story terrace.

From two tables over, Lars inclined his head in silent greeting. Not that Dion was surprised, words were something the King of Reykr had in short supply for him as of late. Astor didn’t even look up from the spread of playing cards in his hand. Truthfully, Dion was just shocked to see the crown prince out of the confines of his quarters. Remarkable progress, given everything.

“I think…” Runa started, a bit quiet. Like always, she couldn’t even wait until his ass made full contact with the damned chair. “That we might have some party planning to do in the not-so-distant future.”

Dion blinked.

“A party ?” He huffed a laugh. “I hardly think there’s much to celebrate.”

A dozen innocent people had met horrific ends, and Cyril was nearly one of them. Bron was dead, Reyna was missing, and bureaucracy had them at a standstill in holding anyone responsible.

Bleak would be putting things lightly.

And that wasn’t even considering the immeasurable weight of Dion’s own sins. The ones that he knew everyone around him bore the effect of, despite the feigned undercurrent of peace that swirled all around them since Cyril’s brush with death. It felt like it would unravel at any given moment.

Celebrating was the last thing Dion felt like doing, but Runa’s eyes had a sparkle to them that was off putting.

“Yes, a party . My son”—the queen tipped her chin towards where Mikael and a dozing Cyril sat out in the sun, on a patch of grass between two vibrant garden beds—“you know, the—ah, what was it? Whelp that couldn’t keep his hands to himself ?”

Fuck.

The sidelong glance she slid to Dion was caustic.

He didn’t want to know how she’d heard about that.

“He came to me this morning and asked if I would take him to the vaults to see what we had that might be suitable for an important piece of jewelry .”

Runa let him stew on that prospect for a few painfully long moments.

Dion ran his hand through his hair as he said, “Well, fuck . There’s no misconstruing that, is there?”

Cyril. Married. To a prince.

Gods help him.

“No,” Runa chuckled, “There certainly isn’t, and I know you have your doubts about my son—”

“Had.”

“Either way.” Runa waved a hand. “My son loves her, Dion, in the kind of way I wasn’t sure he would ever care for someone. Not with his, well…”

“His reputation?”

A quiet hmph left Runa.

“Yes, his reputation .” There was that caustic glance again. “The endless cycle of bedroom guests. Paying for pleasures in the city. Never being seen with a partner in the light of day. Concepts I know you are intimately familiar with, Rhodea.”

Dion nodded with each punctuated statement, a wry smile blooming on his face.

“Very.” It was his turn to chuckle. “You understand my apprehension, then, when he set his eyes on my dear niece.”

“What I was getting at, you insufferable gnat, was that I have never seen my son like this before.”

Her attention drifted over to the sun-basking lovebirds, and she shook her head.

“When he brought Cyril back that…night. I helped him clean her up and get her comfortable, and Mika broke down. I haven’t seen him cry since he was a child, Dion, but he did that night. For her. For what happened. For what he almost lost.” Runa sighed through her nose. “He let me into his mind so I could see what he saw in that cellar. But I felt everything he felt too, when she was bleeding out in his arms. There is no mistaking that sort of love.”

Dion released the white-knuckled grip he hadn’t realized he held on the whorled iron arms of the chair. Ten minutes with the Queen of Reykr and she was already testing his sobriety worse than anything else in the last ten days.

“Are you going to lecture me about fate and destiny now too?” he said coolly, because he knew exactly where she was going with this.

“Don’t pretend like you don’t remember what that seer told Malia, that—”

“That woman was a fucking farce,” Dion seethed.

“—her daughter born under the sun of day would find her heart a home bathed in moonlight. I think those are hard words to misconstrue.”

They’d had this conversation so. Many. Fucking. Times.

Dion was tired of it.

Tired of the years Runa spent trying to wield that single statement as proof Cyril should live in Reykr, away from the only remaining thread of her family. Runa could say all she wanted about the seer who conveniently never foresaw the same daughter born under the sun of day becoming an orphan just after her second gods damned birthday.

“Is this why you invited me here, to do your victory lap? Tell me I was wrong, and you were right?” Dion scoffed.

“I invited you here because of her ,” Runa said through a tense jaw. “Your niece still loves you, Dion. She may never forgive you for what you’ve done, and rightfully so, but she loves you. And I am trying to figure out how to navigate all of this.”

Forgiveness. What a laughable idea.

“You won’t have to worry about that much longer. I’ll be out of your hair in a few days.”

Runa blinked at him.

“You… Are you going back to Helia?”

“Tyr and Ren too. It’ll be a lively ride back. And don’t—” He sighed. Runa’s eyes had narrowed with her obvious disapproval. “Don’t look at me like that. I’ve been gone for nearly four months. The guild is self-sufficient, but not indefinitely. It’s not like I have business being here anymore either. Lars ended the contract, and we gave all our findings to Ezra so the guard can take over.”

“Is now the best time, though?” The queen’s expression softened at least. “Cyril is still recovering… Could you not wait a few more weeks?”

“We’ve already made our arrangements. A porter is taking our things the day after tomorrow, and we’ll depart two days after that. And Cyril, she…”

Dion glanced to where his niece still sat with Mikael. Awake now, though. Cyril stretched and turned, and—

Fuck.

She looked right at him and smiled. Then she was on her feet, pulling the prince with her on a direct course for the tables.

Dion forced a smile onto his face as he quickly said to Runa, “She’ll get better care from you and Mikael than I could ever give her. She needs space from me too, and time to do things on her own.”

The narrow look Runa gave him spoke to how little she agreed with that statement. Shocking, truthfully. Cyril and Mikael were too close now for her to argue with him, though, and the smile she plastered on for them was more satisfying than it should have been.

“I didn’t realize you were here,” Cyril said, her expression nestled somewhere between content and exhausted. “Can we join you?”

Runa gestured for the two of them to sit while Dion said, “I suppose you wouldn’t have noticed while you were busy snoring.”

Halfway to seated Cyril froze, gripping the arms of her chair. She blinked at Dion.

“ Snoring ? I…I wasn’t— ” She looked to Mikael for reassurance, but his brows only climbed and he looked away. “You arse , why didn’t you wake—”

“You weren’t snoring, sweetheart,” Runa interjected. She shot a withering glance at Dion and Mikael before she continued. “How are you feeling? Mikael said—”

“I’m just tired, that’s all,” Cyril said, far too quickly. “But it’s fine.”

That didn’t bode well.

And neither did Mikael’s sigh or the glare Cyril cut him.

Trouble in their little bubble of paradise already?

“It’s not fine , Cyr,” Mikael said quietly, “You’re up all night, and you aren’t—”

“It is fine ,” she bit back.

The prince yielded, sinking back in his chair with a sigh that spoke to just how not fine it was with him. If Dion had to guess, with how the dark circles hadn’t abated under Cyril’s eyes much in the days since the pyres…

“Nightmares?” Dion asked.

“No,” Cyril said adamantly at the same time Mikael sighed, “Yes.”

They glared at each other.

Dion figured as much.

The lingering mental burden of what Cyril endured wouldn’t disappear overnight. Time would play a part, but Cyril had a long list of things she needed to come to terms with if she ever had a hope in any of the hells of moving on. Easier said than done, he knew, and Rhodea’s weren’t exactly known for their resounding coping abilities…

Still, if she didn’t deal with things sooner rather than later… Fuck.

She’d just turn into him, or worse, her father.

The prospect of either of those was terrifying.

It was Runa who broke the budding tension as she cautiously said, “I won’t pry, but please promise me you will let me know if things don’t get better soon?”

“I will,” Cyril mumbled, her shoulders sagging.

Mikael gave his mother an appreciative smile as he draped his arm across the back of Cyril’s chair. And then he looked at Cyril so expectantly it even made Dion a bit uncomfortable.

She narrowed her eyes at him.

“ What? ”

Oh, her temper was so close to boiling over. All but confirmation that she wasn’t sleeping, and probably not eating well either. Even though he shouldn’t have found it humorous, Dion’s lips quirked.

The poor prince had no idea what he was getting himself into.

With remarkable patience, Mikael said, “Are you going to ask him, or…?”

Cyril blinked up at Mikael, and then her eyes went wide. Her attention flickered over to Dion.

“ Right . Dion, I have a question, I—” Cyril cleared her throat and shimmied forward in her chair. She set her hands on the table, palm side up, and stared at them intently.

“I was wondering, when you conjure your flames…” She looked up at him, hesitant, and Dion hated himself for that. “Are they always the same color? I was talking to Gunner, and he said his aren’t. But, I…I wanted to know about yours.”

Dion set his own hands on the table.

A half-hearted moment of focus, and they were wreathed in vibrant flame. The same sunset shades of red, orange, and trimmed in yellow, as always.

“More or less,” he said, lifting his hands to turn them forward and back. He smirked as Runa leaned away from him, sweeping her mane of copper waves away. “Why?”

“Because mine are kind of sad.”

Dion blinked as pale, golden-yellow flames licked up the surface of Cyril’s palms and along her splayed fingers. He blinked twice more for good measure, and it did nothing to stave off the pride that swelled in his chest.

He knew that all signs pointed to Cyril’s ascension having taken place in that cellar. The similarities to his own experience were impossible to ignore, but Dion was wary of clinging too strongly to that hope.

To actually see her bear flames— their flames—though?

It was an indescribable feeling.

“Well.” Dion’s flames winked out, and he hovered his hands a few inches above hers. Warm, but not scorching like it should have been. “I suppose you’re responsible for party tricks now, aren’t you?”

At that, Cyril grinned, and her flames immediately guttered.

“The color takes some practice. You’ll need to learn how to give them more fuel, more of a river than a drizzle of power, and they’ll get darker, stronger.”

“Will you show me how?” she asked with a sort of eagerness that Dion never thought he would be on the receiving end of again. He’d never be able to say no to that. “The barracks has a fire-warded training room that Mikael said we could use. Maybe after dinner tonight? If…if you’re staying, that is?”

“You know I’d be happy to, kiddo. But, ah…”

He cast a cautious glance at Runa, who gave her nod of approval.

The sort of unbridled happiness that swept across Cyril’s face was something Dion would treasure until his final breath. He wasn’t sure he had ever witnessed the Rhodea golds spark with joy like that.

And he wouldn’t risk spoiling one bit of that by telling her his plans to leave. That could wait until he figured out just how difficult it would be to push their departure out by a few days. Hells, maybe even weeks.

No matter how uncertain the future of his relationship with Cyril had become, Dion wouldn’t miss this opportunity for the world.