Bran nodded. “One and the same.”
“And the sister?”
“Aisling. My wife.”
Relief made Donnacha’s vision blur for a moment. The man was married. That was rare in faerie culture and boded well that he wasn’t going to try to steal Elva back. Because this one could. Hell, he might be terrifying, but he was still an impressively handsome man. Even Donnacha could see that.
Bran held out his hand. “I take it you’re her partner now?”
“In a way.” Donnacha shook the offered hand. “Although, probably not in the way you’re thinking.”
A dark, feathered brow lifted. “Ah. Interesting. I didn’t think she was capable of that.”
“Neither did she.”
The hand in his tightened, and Bran tugged him forward until they were far closer than Donnacha was comfortable being.
The Raven King quietly murmured, “If you hurt her, I will break every bone in your body. Slowly and very thoroughly.”
“And if you think she can’t protect herself, then you don’t know her as well as you think.”
Bran released him with a chuckle. “I think I might like you, for all that you are a dwarf.”
“That’s better than most faeries I’ve met.”
Donnacha didn’t particularly like the man standing beside him, but he respected him. The Raven King was far different than most of the royals. He cared for Elva, that was clear, but perhaps in a brotherly way that made it a little easier to swallow.
The women were walking toward them,. He straightened his spine and tried to be a little taller. Everyone else was significantly taller than him, although Elva was at least the shortest in the room.
Why had she let him come, he wondered? After all they’d been through, he considered them friends certainly. But there had also been moments when he’d been convinced they were more than that.
Now, staring at the beautiful faeries standing around him, he wondered why she even bothered letting him into her life. They were all so much…more than him.
Bran crossed his arms over his chest and stared at his wife. “Did you figure it out?”
“Not yet,” she replied, “but maybe someday.”
“Well, it’s a start.”
The dark woman turned her eyes to his and narrowed them. “Who are you?”
He didn’t have a response for that. He was Donnacha, a dwarf, in a place where he felt very much out of place among faeries who were all infinitely more attractive than him. That was an odd feeling. He didn’t know where to go from here.
Opening his mouth, fully aware whatever came out was going to be ridiculous words, he was interrupted by Elva.
“He’s mine,” she said.
“Yours?” her sister asked with a cough. “What in the world does that mean?”
“I don’t really know.” Elva looked at him with something new in her eyes, a softness he had only seen during the ball. “I hope you’ll stick around for a while, Donnacha, so we might see what this becomes.”
The room around them melted away until all he could see was her face. It didn’t matter there were dozens of faeries who could hear him, or that her sister and ex-lover stood close enough to touch. He had eyes only for her. “Here?”
She smiled. “No, not in the Raven Kingdom. This isn’t home. I don’t really have a place where I call home.”
“You don’t want to live with Scáthach, do you?”
“No.”
“Then how about with me?” he asked. “I know it’s a larger step, but we don’t have to live in the mines with the others. They wouldn’t let me back so soon after a curse anyway. We could have a little home. It won’t be anything you’re used to, of course. No castle nor manor.”
“I lived with Scáthach’s warriors for the past ten years,” she said, stepping closer to him. “I think I’ll be fine in a small house.”
“A hut really.”
“Dirt floors?”
He reached for her, drawing her closer into his arms. “Dirt floors, thatch roof, probably a fireplace that belches smoke back into the room.”
“But will you be there?”
“As much as I can be.”
Elva leaned down and brushed her lips against his. “Then that’s where I want to be.”
Epilogue
The wheat field spread out around Elva, golden in the sunlight. It was quite possibly the most beautiful field she’d ever seen. She lounged on a blue blanket with the tiniest version of herself.
“Tie this little bit here.” She wrapped the tail end of flowers in her hands and watched her daughter mimic the movement.
“Like this?”
“Perfect. Then you loop one more time and you’re done.”
Her daughter, the blond little sprite who was the spitting image of Elva, held up the flower crown in her hands. “I did it!”
The smile on Elva’s face felt as though it might break her cheeks. “Look how beautiful it is!”
It was not, in fact, beautiful. Actually, it was rather droopy, and her daughter had knocked off more than a few petals from the flowers. Annaleise wasn’t very careful in her artworks, but it didn’t matter. This was still the most beautiful crown Elva had ever seen.
They traded flowers and Elva popped her daughter’s creation on her head. “See? Isn’t it lovely?”
“You’re always lovely, mamaí.”
The amount of love she felt for this little thing frightened her sometimes.
Another voice shouted across the field. “Mamaí!”
Elva turned to see her first child, her son, sprinting across the field toward her. He was a dark little thing with hair as black as night. His eyes were hers, though, blue as the sky in the clearest noon.
He raced toward her and launched himself into her arms. Dirt smudged his cheek and the white shirt he wore.
“What did you do today?” she asked, licking her thumb and wiping at the mud. “You’re all dirty!”
“Dadaí took me into the mines!”
“I thought we said it was too dangerous for someone your age.”
“I’m ten. I can go into the
