Something With a Prince

Epilogue

A few years later...

Day by day, little by little, the soldier told the prince how much she loved him. It was difficult at first, but then it grew easy and lovely. She memorized his words when he spoke to her, daydreamed about his teasing smile, liked to think of his waiting up for her when she got home, usually with a book in hand. She showed him she loved him. Everyday. Sometimes it was through looks, or actions, sometimes she found the words she had been looking for so long. He was patient, and kind, and so giving that she tried her best to be the same.

It was about three months after the battle that she told him what happened. They were standing at her kitchen table when it all flooded out, having visited her old house for the first time since losing her mother. The soldier had kneeled softly beside the table and unconsciously gripped her side. The prince watched her every move, not daring to speak, should she be somewhere he couldn't reach. But she had not left him behind.

Instead, she reached out her hand, inviting him to take it. And together, sitting on the floor of the kitchen they grew up in, she shed a tear. Then she spoke. It was a rush. One so painful and yet relieving, that it left them stronger and closer. They confessed to one another, all the moments spent in their minds, the moments they had lost their minds, and the moment they fell in love. She suspected it had been building for a while but wanted better for him. He had always known it would be her and got the love he deserved.

They saved themselves first. Then each other, pulling one another away from the edge that kept rushing forward, until it was no longer a cliff, but a shallow descent into something better. And so, the soldier, having experienced life on her own for a short while, and continuing to do so, found that giving love was something much better than having it taken. She fought hard. She fought still. But this time, she had him, his wonderful brother (who, after many soft confrontations, she no longer had to lie to,) a loving Queen, a superstitious scout, and a fierce commander beside her. She had a family.

The only time she went into the day alone was when she slipped into the forest.

Its trees leaned in toward her like an old friend with every step she took. She knew she would never find them, that she wouldn't go past that break in the path, where the grass was overtaken by the shadows and the soil grew sweeter. Her heart would pound in her ears, and the noise would fade out...but nothing ever came. Still, when the soldier went into the woods, she often came back as a young girl. Though she never saw her mother, she knew she was always nearby. In the way the daisies grew brighter, and the smell of rosemary drifted across the air, brushing up against the side of her face. She missed her mother, so dearly sometimes, that she thought it would be enough to find her way back to the cathedral where she resided with the Wraith. But the soldier knew better than to cross that line. To pretend she was ready to see those stained-glass eyes and shuddering walls ever again. She had grown wiser, more patient with the nightmares...but when they were bad, so bad that even the body beside her couldn't coax her back, there came an ease. Visions of her mother, safe and happy. A gift from the witch. The soldier didn't know if she was grateful, but the girl inside of her always was.

The prince grew stronger, but never hardened. He found solace in people once again, having finally taken back what was never his. What was always meant to be someone else's. Much like the soldier, he realized he had never lived for himself. And after being given the chance-- after being told no by her, repeatedly, to the love he felt was owed to her--- the prince grew to recognize the difference between sacrifice and love. Surety came to him in waves, like oars in a stranded boat, he often worked himself out of that empty darkness. He was the weapon now, his body a source of power and control. Even the Wraith's trees seemed to shudder before him, a silent recognition of being evenly matched.

Often, he would think of those days, dream of tearing into the forest and walking up those steps, but he never tried. Not when he would wake beside the one person he would ever do it for. Seeing her, resting beside him with tangled black hair and eyes like oceans was all that he needed to feel grateful. But it was more than that. She was more than everything, and had he asked her to love him like he had that night...he realized she was right...It would have swallowed them up. He liked this better. He liked watching her wake up and put on her armor, and he liked watching her take it off when she came home to him. Most of all, he loved her for always seeing his soul when the world only saw his image. They still argued, and bickered, and ranted, but they would never fight again. Besides, the prince could not resist a challenge, and Thea was the greatest of them all.

Reading came naturally, and the prince often found himself drifting away to the library. Not to hide, but to learn. He became something of a tutor to the village and resumed his duties as an ambassador. Then, one late October evening, the prince opened up to his brother, and stopped placing doors between them.

He had lost enough blood to silence.

The King pulled his brother into his chest and never let go. He'd never sacrifice his family ever again. He stopped comparing himself to his father, and hardly looked out the window. On days when the soldier came by, including that heavy morning when she arrived ready to speak the truth, he had gone with her into the gardens for their usual stroll. He had listened with a cracked heart, and when she was finished with a trembling voice, The King did nothing more than wrap his arms around his best friend's shoulders and whisper, "Okay."

From then on, the King often left his desk, regardless of the paperwork that sat there and went outside. It took a long time, but after realizing that the man who made him, and the King who prepared him were two different people, the King grew to understand being a father was no simple task. But he would do better for his own children, he had to, and after a couple years he would get the chance.

His Queen was the earth, the sun, and the moon, and the King often found himself more bewitched by those freckles and that sparkling wit than before. And they would talk, and escape to the trees for a couple hours when being adults became too much. They would sit together and rule their people with steady hands soaked with each other's blood, and heads that bore the weight of lives beyond them. Nobody needed to say it...but they were very much in love, and their people upheld them, not as saints, but as leaders.

From time to time the King would think about a pink dress, sitting in an ivory castle, and felt a glimmer of respect. He had been crafted to withstand, to succeed, and she had been the only one who got close to understanding that. He did not think of her otherwise.

When the Queen had her first child, a beautiful baby girl with shining black eyes, her father was there to congratulate her. So were her sisters. And a few days later Tallethea Osuin was there, holding the child in her arms with a smile... then she gave the little girl back to her mother, having earned the title of aunt--- and Captain of the Guard.

Meanwhile, the girl who became the forest carried on living in a haunted cathedral, composed of the woods she owned. She often braved the outside, stepping onto the grass with bare feet and raising her head to the glorious sun with a smile on her face. He was not coming for her, she felt no threat, and from that rare feeling a new picture formed on those windows. Stained in vibrant colors, in the center of the chapel, sat the image of the Wraith in a field of rosemary, a mother-like figure stood behind her with empathetic eyes, gently placing her hand on the Wraith's shoulder.

They were looking forward, and none of them would ever look back.