Epilogue 2

Amy and Nick

“Going out again?”

Nick glanced back from his position at the bottom of the gangplank at Oliver, who was leaning in a mock-casual stance against the rail on deck. It seemed like he’d acquired a nursemaid these past two months since she left—and he thought of her now only as she, because it was too painful to even think her name. He’d even painted over the name of his ship, unable to look at the two beautiful words without feeling as if someone were removing his heart forcefully from his chest.

Oliver seemed to realize just how much her departure had affected him, for upon his return to Shrieven, the young man had not left his side. It was flattering, really. His friend could have married Leandra a long time ago, but he’d postponed the wedding, understanding how much it would hurt Nick to stand up beside his best friend, knowing what he’d given up.

Now, months later, he couldn’t even remember why he’d let her go. At the time it had seemed like the right thing to do—just like nine years ago it had seemed like the right thing to do to.

“I’m not going to get drunk, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Nick grumbled, although more likely than not when he left his now-nameless ship it was to do exactly that. Beer, and lots of it, seemed to be the only thing capable of helping him to forget about her. Light knew he hadn’t been able to stomach the thought of taking another woman since she left, even if it might offer a few minutes of mindless release. So it was beer, beer, and more beer.

Except for today, he didn’t feel like getting drunk. He wanted to do something meaningful.

And so he was going to visit his mother.

When Oliver offered to tag along, Nick gently declined his offer, assuring his friend that this was something he needed to do on his own. As Nick walked silently through the streets of Shrieven to the public cemetery located in the southernmost region, he looked, really looked, at the city in which he’d grown up too fast, too young. The streets that had once been littered with trash were now nearly pristine. Alleys once overrun with homeless children and thugs now boasted only a smattering of such lowlifes and hopeless characters.

The city had changed without him even realizing it. All this time he’d been striving for something he’d already helped to achieve.

Feeling inordinately depressed by this realization, Nick continued on towards the public cemetery. Most of the city’s rich folk had their own private cemeteries, but for those unable to afford such luxuries for their dead, there was the expansive public cemetery located just outside of the local Lightmaster’s home. Nick walked straight to the large plot he had often visited after hearing of his mother’s death. Usually he would just stand there and stare, asking himself again and again why. Why had she abandoned him? Why had she chosen such a life for herself? Or had she chosen it? If so, what had happened to force her into a career that eventually led to the abandonment of her child?

“There’s no marker.”

Nick didn’t even glance at the newcomer, whose voice placed him at around fifty-something and well-bred. “It’s a mass grave,” he explained quietly. “They don’t reserve spots for whores, they just dump them all into the same plot.”

“Ah. Someone you knew?”

“My mother.” Nick crouched down on the ground just in front of the recently-disturbed plot, wondering if the young woman he’d killed was buried somewhere beneath this very dirt as well. A little overwhelmed by the old guilt, he tried to distract himself by observing the newcomer. Although he’d placed the man at mid-fifties, he looked good for his age. Faint lines at the corners of his eyes marked his age, but his dark hair was barely touched by gray, and his twinkling blue eyes looked remarkably young and carefree. He was dressed in a plain white shirt made of fine cloth and simple black paints, but he carried himself like a man used to getting his way.

“You’re not from around here, are you?” Nick guessed, not bothering to ask the man his name. If he wanted to offer it, he would. Otherwise, it really wasn’t any of Nick’s business.

“Just passing through,” the man confirmed. “An interesting city, Shrieven. I don’t suppose you know any of those famous Genrey shipmen?”

Stiffening just a little, Nick turned back to the markerless mound. “I might,” he muttered.

“I’ve spoken to no less than ten people who have praised Daric Genrey as the savior of Shrieven. I found it intriguing, so I thought to check into the man. Did you know he’s not even from Shrieven? Came from a small village just outside of the city. Seemed odd to me that a man with no real allegiance to Shrieven would feel the need to give back so much to the poor. He even created a program for homeless children to help find them honest work. I’ve dabbled a bit in politics myself, and I’ve never heard of one single man being so generous with his money all for the sake of the less fortunate.”

“Daric Genrey is a good man,” Nick said quietly, for the man had stopped speaking and seemed to be expecting a response.

“Is he? Or was he given the idea for his good deeds by someone else entirely?” the man wondered.

Growing more supicious by the minute, Nick abandoned his original intentions of allowing the man his privacy and demanded, “Who in Hueres are you?”

The man’s lips tilted upwards in the barest hint of a smile. “Someone with a vested interest in the poor of Shrieven’s true benefactor. And I believe, Nicholas Genrey, that man would be you.”

Nick’s eyes narrowed as he studied the man, and he suddenly realized why he looked so familiar. His chin, the shape of his nose, the way he held himself… “Flaming Hueres, you’re Amy’s father.” Expecting some sort of attack, considering how he’d hurt the man’s daughter, Nick immediately tensed.

Instead of lashing out, the future King of Feirtala just grinned.

“What are you doing here?”

“I was curious,” he admitted, “how my daughter, who is normally quite level-headed, if a bit over-talkative, could fall in love with someone who apparently deemed himself inappropriate for her. And then I find myself walking the streets of Shrieven, listening to stories of all that you’ve done for this city, and I find myself wondering, how could this man possibly think he doesn’t deserve my daughter?”

“I’m a nobody, your highness. This,” he said, nodding his head at the mound, “is where I come from. A whore and some faceless man I never met. I grew up on these streets, swindling and stealing and sometimes even killing to survive. Do you really want that sort of man for your daughter?”

“What I want for my daughter, Genrey, is for her to be happy. I sincerely doubt that will happen without you in her life. And as far as I’m concerned, it is because you came from such a dire background, because you lived as you did when you were a child, and because in spite of that, or possibly even because of it, you are the man you are today, that you deserve my daughter. To have surpassed all of that, and instead of running from the site of your difficult childhood, remaining here and giving back to the community in an attempt to keep others from suffering as you suffered…” Callum Llewellyn shook his head, his eyes alight with admiration. “Maybe you don’t see it. Maybe you’re just too hard on yourself. But I see it. And I would be honored to have you as a son-in-law.”

Nick stared hard at the burial mound, his eyes stinging with something that felt suspiciously like tears. He couldn’t find his voice to speak, and the prince seemed to understand.

“She’s to be married in a week. There’s still time, you know.” And with that, he turned and walked away.

He didn’t know how much time passed as he knelt before his mother’s grave, his thoughts in a whirl. He wasn’t worthless. He wasn’t a nobody. Maybe he wasn’t famous, maybe he hadn’t changed Shrieven completely, but even a future King had recognized and appreciated his efforts, however cloaked they were behind Daric Genrey’s name. Before it hadn’t seemed real to him, but now, after speaking to Amy’s father, it made him realize just how hard on himself he’d been. Even if he couldn’t erase his sordid past, he’d done everything in his power to make up for it in the years that followed. The man he was now was not the boy he was then, and this man, Nick Genrey, was more than good enough for Princess Amelia Grace Lewellyn.

If she’d still have him.

First he would have to take care of some business here in Shrieven. He needed to get Oliver and Leandra hitched. He needed to find Daric and thank him profusely for offering a poor street thug a chance at a better life. And then he needed to find presents suitable for a very special princess. Maybe that dress he’d commissioned hadn’t been sold yet…

Nick stood, eager to get everything underway, but he stopped abruptly and found himself turning back to face the grave. “Thanks, mom,” he whispered. “You may not have been worth much, but if it hadn’t been for you, I would never have been here. I never would have met her. And having known her was worth any hardship. So I forgive you.” And somehow, he knew that the girl he’d killed had forgiven him.

Which left one more person whose forgiveness he needed to beg for.

He only hoped it wasn’t too late.

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On the day of her wedding, Amy could not help but wonder when her grandfather was going to break down and admit that this was all just an empty threat to force her into marrying the man she truly loved. Upon returning home empty-handed, she had expected her grandfather to continue with his charade. She’d expected to have Baron Albren’s nephew thrust before her instantly—which had been exactly the case—and she’d expected to have to set a date for their intended nuptials. Desperately seeking a reprieve, she’d chosen a time one month hence, claiming she needed an extended amount of time to plan the wedding.

During that month, she kept waiting for her grandfather to call the whole thing off. When she selected the fabric and design for her wedding dress, she expected he’d secretly informed the seamstress not to worry about the garment, that the wedding would not actually take place. When the baker came by to discuss the wedding cake, she expected he’d let her go ahead and make it and then eat it later, after the faux ceremony was cancelled. When her father left to personally collect her future spouse, she expected him to return empty-handed and admit that it was all a joke and they’d all been in on it.

Instead, she found herself sitting in her room on the day of her wedding, the castle decorated in all its glory, and her future husband dutifully delivered as promised. As she stared at her beautiful, completed wedding gown, she just couldn’t bring herself to put it on. It was perfect. It was wonderful. And it was all wrong.

“Miss?” The sound of her maid’s timid voice caused Amy to start, but she did not dare turn around. An insignificant servant she might be, but no one was allowed to see Amy cry.

“I shall ring for you when I am ready to dress.”

“But miss, the ceremony is to start in ten minutes.”

Had it been so long since the dress was brought up? Ah, well. She was a princess. If she wanted to be late to her own wedding, it was her own damn prerogative. “Fine. Help me change, then.”

“Certainly. But first…well, this just arrived for you, miss.”

Amy glanced at the ill-wrapped package only briefly. “Another wedding present? Just place it with the others, Mary. I’ll open it later.”

“Your mum told me to have you open it now,” the maid argued.

With an exasperated sigh, Amy snatched the large box out of the maid’s hands, wondering just what her mother had done to try and cheer her up now. Tessica had been trying fruitlessly this entire month to lift her daughter’s spirits. At first she attempted to do so by singing her intended’s praises. Yes, he was related to Baron Albren, but only by marriage. The young man was actually quite handsome with gleaming blond locks and a sparkling blue gaze. He was also intelligent, kind, courteous, helpful…the list went on and on.

Unfortunately, he was not Nicholas.

Amy tore the plain brown wrapping off of the box—really, her mother had no imagination—and carefully lifted the lid. Her eyes immediately caught on the beautiful indigo silk inside, and she reached out to lovingly stroke the fabric before gently pulling it free from the box.

It was a ball gown. A beautiful, silk ball gown slightly wrinkled from its journey in the box. Amy wondered fleetingly if she’d told her mother about the fabric Nicholas had bought because it reminded him of her eyes, if she’d told her mother about how she’d mentioned it would make a lovely ball gown.

She hadn’t. The only person who knew about the fabric, who knew about the ball gown remark, was Nicholas.

Her heart started thudding in her chest as she peered into the box and realized there was more. Two silver wedding cuffs rested inside as well, studded with stones that perfectly matched the silk of the dress.

Amy took a deep, steadying breath as she saw the slip of paper at the bottom of the box, but she could not bring herself to read it. Not yet.

“Mary. I would like to wear this dress now.”

The maid gazed forlornly at the wrinkled silk dress. “But your highness, your wedding dress…”

“Can wait. I want to try this one on. Now,” she insisted, and Mary complied. Although the fit was just a little tight—nothing new for Amy lately—the dress was otherwise perfect. It matched her eyes, and the wedding cuffs looked wonderful with the entire ensemble.

“Oh, Nicholas,” she breathed, smoothing the skirts of the beautifully made, sleeveless gown.

Now she could read his note. Wearing the dress, the cuffs, gave her the courage to see what he’d had one of his shipmates write for him. As she picked up the paper and read the words, Amy started to cry right there in front of Mary, not even caring that she had an audience.

He’d written the note himself.

Im goeen to ask yor grand father for yor hand in marij. If yu want to see me aliv, cum quik.

I luv yu.

Nicholas.

Amy went tearing down the hallways of her family’s home like a person possessed, the ties on the back of her dress coming loose with the exertion, her breasts fairly popping out the front because she didn’t have a care to keep tugging up the bodice as she ran. By the time she reached the throne room—which was currently filled with wedding guests, groom included—it was to the sight of her grandfather’s raised knuckle. He held the collar of Nicholas’s shirt in one hand, the other already bloodied from one punch that had caught his victim in the nose.

“Grandfather, stop it!” Amy roared just before his fist connected with Nicholas’s eye.

With a woeful sigh, her grandfather released the young ship captain. “Damn. And I only got one good one in, too,” he grumbled as he turned back towards his throne. “All right then, you can speak to her. Unless she would prefer to have a wedding?” Her grandfather turned to her and cocked one gray eyebrow, angling his head towards her cherub-faced intended.

Amy furiously shook her head no.

“Well. Then I suppose we should delay the proceedings. At least if you decide to accept the worthless scoundrel, we already have everything prepared.” As Amy beckoned for the bloodied Nicholas to follow her quickly out of the throne room and away from all of the prying eyes, she could have sworn she saw her grandfather wink at her.

Was that his plan, then? Keep the wedding proceedings going until the very end, all the while hoping Nicholas would come to his senses and then he would have everything ready for a quick ceremony? At least if that was the case, if Nicholas truly had come to offer for her, he wouldn’t have much time to escape.

Two months had passed, and instead of taking her into his arms and kissing her senseless as any good hero would have done, Nicholas just grinned at her and said, “You’re wearing it. And them.”

“They’re lovely,” she admitted, glancing down at the dress and the glittering cuffs.

“I had the dress made for you before…well, before everything went wrong. Thought they’d’ve sold it by the time I finally got around to picking it up, but it was still there. Light, you’re beautiful.”

“Nicholas, what…”

He placed a finger over her lips and murmured, “Just let me look at you for a minute, all right? I thought I was never going to see you again.” A few moments passed of them simply taking each other in, noticing the slight changes the past two months had effected. Amy noticed that Nicholas looked much thinner, his cheekbones sunken and his eyes shadowed with dark smudges. Still, he was clean-shaven for the first time since she’d met back up with him months ago, even if his hair was looking a little ragged.

“You’ve put on some weight,” he blurted out, and immediately he winced, awaiting her furious reaction.

Amy just grinned. “Yes, I have,” she agreed.

Relieved that he hadn’t said something unforgiveable, yet again, Nicholas reached out and patted her paunchy stomach. “I like it. More cushion,” he said with a decidedly devilish twinkle in his eye. Then his expression sobered as he took her hands lightly in his. “I was an idiot. More than an idiot. The biggest moron in both of our countries. I may not be literate, I’m certainly not as handsome as that fellow you’re about to marry, and I’m not nobility, but I love you. No one will ever love you as much as I do. And if that doesn’t make me worthy of you, I don’t know what else could.”

Amy sniffled, hiccupped, and fought to say something, anything, to no avail.

“Speechless?” Nicholas lifted his eyebrow in surprise. “Not my Amy. Surely you have something to say about how horrible I’ve been and how you hate me and wish for me to prostrate myself on my knees before you. I will, you know. All you have to do is ask.”

“Oh, Nick!” she cried, flinging herself into his arms. He held her tight, and she could feel his smile against the skin of her neck.

“Guess you aren’t still angry,” he murmured. “You wouldn’t have called me Nick if you were mad.”

With a brilliant smile, Amy grabbed his hand and started dragging him back to the throne room.

“Where are we going?” he demanded to know.

“To get married, of course.”

“But I haven’t asked you yet.”

“I’m sick of waiting for you to ask me. We’re just going to do it and get it over with.”

Twenty minutes later, the nephew of Baron Albren watched as his former intended married another man, a ship captain from Galatéa whose mother was a prostitute and who grew up on the streets. No one knew this, of course, and no one seemed to care. Just seeing the glow of love in the eyes of the happy young couple was enough to show that this marriage was exactly as it should be.

King Senach watched smugly from his throne, having known all along—except for those last few seconds before young Nick came bursting into the throne room—that this story would have a happy ending. They always did when he started matchmaking, after all.

Tessica and Callum stood next to their daughter, trying not to laugh about the fact that the groom was sporting a broken nose. Amy’s brothers did not refrain. They chortled through the entire ceremony.

Afterwards, as the newlyweds danced, the princess could be seen leaning up on her tiptoes to whisper something into her new husband’s ear. From the surprise in the captain’s murky green eyes, one would have thought she was whispering something particularly sinful to him. Yet there was absolutely no sign of embarrassment as Nicholas Genrey looked down at his wife’s stomach with a secret little smile, the promise of future Genreys glowing in his eyes.

A happy ending, indeed.