Page 135 of To Dance with Death

“You’re sure?” I breathe into his ear. “I might not be the most advantageous match, what with the Syndicate—”

“You,” he says, cupping my head, “are the only match I will consider.”

My sob turns into a teary laugh. This moment—I hadn’t dreamed it was really possible. I get to keep him forever. He is mine, and I am his.

“Then yes,” I whisper, my smile so wide it hurts.

Applause roars, but I barely hear it over the fluttering of my heart.

Chapter Forty-Eight

Three weeks later

This time, when I look upon my reflection, I see not the girl everyone else arranged for me to be, but someone who is wholly herself.

I am dressed and decorated to my own preferences. A thin stroke of liner, a light shimmer across my eyes, and nothing more. My curls are loose, flowing past my ribs, a few pieces gathered here and there and secured with sea-glass pins.

The dress, however, is similar to the one Anton made all those years ago—the Fate of Morta gown. Only this time, it’s weightless, the glass beading falling across one half of the bustier and down to my waist, accentuating the curve. The other side is like liquid silk, a pale ivory that glows iridescent in the last glimmer of afternoon light.

Laurent brings the final touch. It is a crescent of a crown—an arc of hammered gold he positions carefully on my head. “Resplendent,” he says. “I feel like a proud mom.”

I laugh amid the sting of tears. “You are my family now,” I tell him. “Whether you like it or not.” I angle my head toward the cracked door, where two faces peek through the shadows. “That goes for you two as well.”

“I’m sorry!” Marian says, sliding inside, pulling her mother with her. “We couldn’t wait! We had to see the dress!”

“Laurent was supposed to send for you anyway,” I say, and Laurent has the grace to look guilty.

“I got distracted! His Majesty requested I bring the first piece of the crown to you at once.”

“The first piece?” I ask.

“This is only half. The other will connect to it at the coronation.”

The coronation, which will take place after the ceremony. All of this feels irrevocably surreal, a happiness I never thought achievable for someone like me. I still wonder if I’ll wake up and realize I’m in the dark of a cell again, that all of this will have been a dream, but it’s my friends who ground me in this moment.

I step down from the small platform in front of the mirror, facing Brigitte and Marian directly.

“I meant what I said about family. I called for you both to ask if you would stay. I realize you are both sharing a suite in the staff quarters, but I would like to move you here, to the royal wing with Laurent, as my ladies-in-waiting. I wouldn’t assign you any actual duties,” I hasten to add, a frisson of nerves, however silly, pulsing through me at that. “I only ask for your companionship. This is all so new to me, and I’m rather overwhelmed, and it was your story that afforded me bravery,” I tell Marian, then glance at Brigitte. “And it was your kindness that speared through the heart of my fear before the Gathering. My only relatives are far away; I’ve never even met them. And I need…I need…” My throat tightens until I can no longer speak.

It turns out, I don’t have to. I am swept up into an embrace before I realize it.

“I couldn’t imagine a greater honor than to stay by your side,” Brigitte whispers into my hair before pulling back. “What a gift it is to choose our family, especially when the world tries to take it away.”

I swallow thickly, and to Marian, I say, “You can keep your position as head chef in the kitchens unless you don’t want it. How you both spend your days is at your discretion. I will ensure your every need is provided for from this day forward.”

“Your Grace,” Marian says, “your generosity—”

“One last thing,” I say, smiling. “Speak to me as equals. Vasalie will do.”

Just then, a soft knock sounds at the door, and to my surprise, Copelan peeks his head in.

“Could I…” He clears his throat. “Could I speak with Vasalie for a moment?”

Laurent looks to me, and I nod. He, Marian, and Brigitte slide past Copelan and out the door, and Laurent tells me he’ll be waiting for me outside.

I swallow as I turn my attention back to Copelan. His loose linen attire flutters in the breeze from the open window, his hair disheveled rather than styled, for once.

He scratches his head. “Vasalie, I—”