lerbook Chapter 288: Epilogue 1
Chapter 288: Epilogue 1
Brenna’s POV
I spilled tea on him within the first five minutes.
Not a delicate splash, either. The full cup. Straight across his chest. The pale amber liquid bloomed across his shirt like a map of my inadequacy.
"Oh no. Oh no, no, no—" I grabbed a napkin and lunged forward, dabbing uselessly at the spreading stain. "I’m so sorry, I don’t know why I—my hands just—"
Finnian looked down at his chest. Then at me. Then he laughed.
Not a polite laugh. A real one. Deep and warm, rumbling up from somewhere genuine.
"It’s fine," he said, catching my frantic hand and holding it still. His palm was rough. Calloused. Warm in a way that made my breath catch. "I’m a blacksmith. I own about a dozen identical shirts. Hazard of the trade—you learn not to get attached to clothing."
I stared at our hands. His thumb rested against my knuckles. Casual. Like it belonged there.
"Still," I muttered. "Terrible first impression."
"Actually, it’s memorable. I prefer memorable."
The tea shop was quiet. A small place tucked along a side street near the market district. Wooden beams. Dried herbs hanging from the ceiling. A few other patrons at a far table, paying us no attention.
I’d chosen it because it was unremarkable. Because nothing dramatic had ever happened here.
I needed that. After everything.
Finnian released my hand and leaned back. Golden hair fell across his forehead. His brown eyes studied me with an openness that was almost alarming. No guile. No calculation. Just genuine curiosity.
"So," he said. "Tell me something real."
"Real?"
"Something you actually think about. Not small talk."
I opened my mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.
"I feel like a side character," I said. And then immediately wanted to crawl under the table.
But Finnian didn’t laugh this time. He tilted his head. "In what?"
"In... everything. My best friend is the Alpha Empress. She fought in a war. She died and came back—well, her mate died and she brought him back. She can heal people with her tears. She turned into a silver wolf in the middle of a battlefield." I was rambling. I couldn’t stop. "And I’m just... Brenna. The friend. The one who held things together while the real story happened to someone else."
Silence stretched between us.
Finnian leaned forward. His elbows rested on the table. His gaze didn’t waver.
"You ran supply lines during the siege," he said. "Didn’t you?"
I blinked. "How do you—"
"Elara told me. When I asked about you." His voice was steady. Matter-of-fact. "You organized the evacuation of the lower quarter when the rogue forces breached the wall. You carried two children out of a burning building. You stayed when half the court fled."
My throat tightened.
"That’s not a side character," he said quietly. "That’s a hero who doesn’t know it."
I couldn’t look at him. I stared at the tea stain on his shirt instead.
"I just want to know you," he added. "The real you. Not the version standing in someone else’s shadow."
---
He asked me out again two days later.
Then every three days after that.
Then every weekend. Without fail.
The journey from his village to the capital took three hours by carriage each way. Six hours round trip. He never complained. Never mentioned the cost or the time. He simply appeared at my door, slightly dusty from the road, with that same easy grin.
We walked through the night market. He bought me roasted chestnuts and ate them too fast and burned his tongue. We sat on the old stone bridge and watched boats drift beneath us while he told me about a sword commission that had gone hilariously wrong.
One night we found a hill outside the city walls where the sky opened up enormous and endless. We lay on our backs in the grass and he pointed out constellations. Some of them I was fairly sure he invented on the spot.
"That one’s called the Blacksmith’s Hammer," he said, tracing a shape between stars.
"That is absolutely not a real constellation."
"It is now. I’m the star master."
I laughed so hard my ribs ached. And when the laughter faded, I felt his fingers brush mine in the dark grass. Tentative. Questioning.
I didn’t pull away.
But later, alone in my room, the doubt crept back. Like water seeping under a door. Quiet and relentless.
He was kind. Patient. Devoted, even. But surely someone like him—strong, good, uncomplicated—would eventually realize he wanted someone more. Someone extraordinary. Someone like—
Stop it.
I couldn’t stop it.
---
"You’re being ridiculous."
Elara didn’t mince words. She never did anymore. Motherhood and near-apocalypse had stripped away whatever politeness filters she’d once possessed.
We were in her private study. Afternoon light slanted through tall windows. The twins were napping. Valerius and Lyra were at the academy. For once, the palace was almost peaceful.
"I’m not being ridiculous," I said, curled in the armchair across from her desk. "I’m being realistic."
"You’re being a coward."
"Excuse me?"
Elara set down her pen. Those ice-blue eyes pinned me in place.
"Brenna. I have four children under the age of seven. I have scars on my body and worse ones inside my head. I know what fear does. It paralyzes you. It whispers that you don’t deserve good things, that the moment you reach for happiness it’ll be snatched away." She leaned forward. "And I am telling you—as someone who almost let fear destroy everything—do not let it win."
"It’s not the same—"
"You are beautiful. You are loyal. You are brave in ways that don’t make it into songs, and that makes it matter more." Her voice softened but didn’t lose its edge. "That man rides six hours every weekend to see you. He’s not confused about what he wants. The only person confused here is you."
My eyes burned. I blinked hard.
"What if I’m not enough?"
Elara stood. Walked around the desk. Took my hands in hers.
"You were enough when I had nothing," she said. "When the whole world turned its back on me, you stayed. Don’t you dare tell me you’re not enough."
---
The next time Finnian came, I suggested we walk to the overlook point at the edge of the palace grounds. The sun was sinking. The sky bled orange and violet. Below us, the city spread out in miniature—rooftops and chimney smoke and the distant silver thread of the river.
We sat side by side on the stone ledge. Close enough that our shoulders touched.
He smelled like iron and cedar. He always did.
I opened my mouth to speak.
Nothing came out.
Three seconds of silence. They felt like hours.
Then we both spoke at once.
"I really like you—"
"I think I’m in love with you—"
We froze. Stared at each other.
"Wait," I said. "What did you say?"
"What did you say?"
"I said I really like you."
"I said I think I’m in love with you." He paused. Ran a hand through his golden hair. "So it seems I’ve overshot slightly."
A laugh burst out of me. Shaky and bright. "You haven’t overshot."
"No?"
"No."
His eyes searched mine. That open, honest gaze that never hid anything. "I’m going to need verbal confirmation. For legal purposes."
I kissed him.
His hand came up to cradle my jaw. Gentle. Like I was something precious. Not fragile—precious. There’s a difference. I’d never understood that before.
When we pulled apart, he was grinning.
"That works too," he said.
---
Months later, at the twins’ first birthday celebration, I stood at the edge of the palace garden watching the chaos unfold with a cup of cider in my hand and a warmth in my chest that still surprised me.
Kaelen held Liam against his shoulder, the fearsome Alpha Emperor making ridiculous faces at a drooling infant. Valerius and Lyra chased each other around the dessert table, their argument about cake long forgotten.
My pocket buzzed with a magical message slip. I pulled it out.
Forty-seven hours until I see you. Yes, I’m counting. No, I will not apologize.
I smiled so wide my cheeks hurt. It reminded me of those silly 2 a.m. messages we had been sending each other.
"What’s that look?" Elara appeared beside me, flour somehow in her silver hair despite the fact that she hadn’t been near the kitchen.
"Finnian. Counting down the hours."
She smiled. Knowing. Warm.
I watched the party swirl around us. The lanterns. The laughter. The children. This world that Elara and Kaelen had nearly died to protect.
"Elara," I said. "You know I would follow you into any battle. Any crisis. Any impossible situation. That hasn’t changed."
"I know."
"But I think..." I took a breath. Let it fill me completely. "I think I’m finally writing my own story."
Her hand found my arm. Squeezed.
"About time," she said softly.
I looked down at Finnian’s message again. Forty-seven hours. He was probably lying awake in his workshop, surrounded by half-finished swords, grinning at the ceiling.
For the first time in my life, I was no longer the side character. I was the main character. Finally.