Page 147 of Of Curses and Courtship

I let go of Ophelia’s hand and rush after him. “Spark? Is he…?”

“We would not have put him out of his misery without your permission.”

“Come, then.” I gesture wildly to Ophelia, ushering her into the suite that houses Spark. “We must give Spark a proper greeting, or my dearest friend will never forgive us.”

“Your dearest friend? Don’t let Tibalt hear that,” Ophelia says.

“It’s a good thing he isn’t here.”

But Spark is. He is here, alive, and well. He hardly looks up at me when I walk in, which is how I know he has returned to his old self. He licks a paw and casts us an annoyed glare, causing Ophelia to giggle.

“He’s so sweet,” she says. “What a relief that he’s back to his old self.”

“That’s what you think now.” I kneel by Spark’s side. “He’s snarky more often than he is sweet, but nevertheless—I’m sorry for taking so long to save you, dear friend.”

He rolls onto his back, presenting his belly to me.

“You are already asking for rubs, hm?” I pat his dark, furry belly, and his eyes droop shut. “That face is how you know he is happy.”

“I will give you two a moment alone,” my father says.

“Us three.” I lift an eyebrow.

Ophelia kneels at my side but does not touch Spark—something I know he appreciates.

“He will warm up to you in time,” I say.

“That is fine. We have nothing but time.” She rests her head against my shoulder. “You and I will be all right.”

I place my free hand over hers and smooth my fingers against her polished ring. “Yes. We will be.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

OPHELIA

THREE MONTHS LATER

This time, no one dares to ignore me. His family and friends know me now, and the palace learns to accept me—halfling and all. I’m the one who ended the curse, after all. It takes time for me to embrace the title of curse breaker, and even longer to grow accustomed to the awards, knighthood, and hanging of my portrait in the great hall.

I am still working on not blushing every time I pass that damn portrait.

There’s a greater reason than a curse to respect me today. It’s my wedding day. Our ceremony is smaller than his mother wanted, but that’s all right—it is whatwewant. My friends and family are here as well. Helena, Tibalt, Raia, and Elisa. Though none of them are related to me by blood, they’re the closest I have to family.

Someone is missing, someone other than my father, but I can’t quite put my finger on who it is. Besides, my father is here in spirit.

Emyr and I stare up at my father’s grand portrait. It’s hung in the ballroom, just for today, and he watches over the celebration of fae as they waltz around the room in sparkling dresses.

“Do you think he would approve of me?” Emyr asks.

“Hm…” I tilt my head. “You should’ve asked this sooner, if it’s of great concern, because I think he would have preferred Tibalt?—”

Emyr’s fingers poke into my side. “You’re a pest.”

“And yet you married me.” I turn to him with a cocky smile. “You can no longer take it back. Well, I suppose you can, but it is an awfully big hassle.”

He pushes his face closer. “I’ll never do that. I adore you, my silly love.”

“And I adore you.” I weave my fingers into his hair.