Chapter 199

Lila

The whole village gathered in the square that afternoon, a hush of anticipation woven through the air.

Lanterns hung from wooden posts, their light flickering against the oncoming twilight, casting gold across faces who had been kind and welcoming.

Wildflowers lay scattered across the clearing where Ronan and Thalia stood, their hands clasped.

It was not the kind of ceremony I had been preparing for: no silks, no crowded halls, no regal oaths spoken beneath banners. It was simple. Raw and honest. And as I watched, I realized it suited them.

Ronan’s face was lighter than I had ever seen it. The lines of grief and burden had softened, replaced by something I had thought him incapable of: joy.

He stood tall, his hand steady around Thalia’s, and when he looked at her, the bond between them shone brighter than two suns.

Thalia, in turn, met him with the same quiet steadiness she had shown since the moment she entered our lives. She wore a simple dress the villagers had gifted her, her dark hair braided with sprigs of lavender.

When she smiled at him, it wasn’t dazzling or showy. It was genuine and equally joyful.

I stood at the edge of the crowd, Auren and Lucien in my arms, watching as they spoke their vows. Words of loyalty, of choosing each other not just by fate but by will.

The villagers murmured approval, and I caught myself smiling through the ache in my chest.

Because I was happy for Ronan. For both of them. Truly.

After exile, after betrayal, after all the blood he had shed for me, Ronan deserved this. He deserved love, belonging, a partner who steadied him.

But as he leaned forward to press his lips to his mate’s, in the sealing of the vows, a pang sliced through me so deep I almost staggered.

Loneliness. Crushing and sharp.

Because Damon should have been here. Damon should have been the one at my side, holding one of his children asleep in my arms, sharing in this fragile peace. Instead, he was gone. Rather, I was.

I clutched the babies tighter, pressing my lips to their soft hair to anchor myself. Their warmth was real. Their life was real. Even if the rest had been stolen from me and as just a dream now.

The ceremony ended with cheers and laughter, villagers stepping forward to bless the new union with embraces and offerings of food and gifts. I stayed apart, watching, not wanting to intrude.

But Ronan noticed. He always noticed every small detail.

He crossed the square with Thalia at his side, his expression still softened by the glow of what had just passed. He looked at me, then at the babies nestled in my arms, and he knew how I was feeling.

“We’re not leaving,” he said simply.

I blinked, startled. “What do you mean?”

Thalia nodded, her hand slipping easily into his. “Tradition would have us carve our own path. Build a home elsewhere. But we’ve chosen differently.”

Her gaze warmed as it settled on Auren and Lucien, then back to me. “Family is a choice sometimes.”

The words struck deep. I felt my throat tighten, tears burning hot behind my eyes. “You… you’d stay? With us?”

Ronan’s hand brushed over my cheek, rough fingers gentler than I’d ever thought possible. “I swore to protect you. That hasn’t changed. Now we’ll do it together.”

Gratitude surged so hard it nearly undid me. For months, survival had been nothing but blood and desperation, but now there was belonging. A fragile, makeshift family built not by blood, but by vows freely spoken.

I swallowed hard, whispering, “You don’t have to, but I would welcome it.”

Mira’s smile was quiet but certain. “You don’t need to thank us. This is where we’re meant to be right now.”

The villagers cheered again in the distance, their voices rising into the night. I clutched my children closer, my chest aching.

I felt the thread of something stronger than survival binding me to the world. Family.

The square transformed after the vows were spoken. Lanterns swung overhead, laughter rising as villagers filled the space with music and clapping.

Someone plucked at a lute, another beat a hand drum, and soon feet stomped against the packed earth in celebration. The air smelled of roasted meat and sweet bread, a feast laid out in honor of Ronan and Thalia.

I sat near the edge of it all, the babies asleep in their cradle.

I should have joined the circle, but and habit kept me apart.

For years, I had lived on the edges of rooms, of groups, of belonging. Tonight was no different, though my heart warmed at the sight of Ronan laughing – actually laughing – as Thalia tugged him into a dance.

They spun clumsily at first, his small limp making the rhythm awkward, but Thalia only laughed harder, pulling him close, guiding him until they found their own time.

The sight was beautiful, and it twisted something inside me all at once. Joy for him. Ache for myself.

I pressed a hand to my chest, whispering to Ruby, Do you think I could heal Ronan’s side?

Before she could answer, I noticed him.

A male lingered at the edge of the dancing circle, tall and broad-shouldered, his dark hair falling loose around a face made warm by firelight.

His eyes were bright, earnest, a shade of hazel that caught green in the light… and they were fixed on me with curiosity.

When the music shifted, he stepped forward. “You look like you should be out there, not sitting over here alone,” he said, voice low but carrying easily over the hum of the crowd.

I blinked, caught off guard. “I don’t really dance anymore.”

A smile tugged at his mouth. “Neither do I. So that makes two of us.” He extended his hand. “I’m Kael.”

I hesitated, staring at his hand as though it were some sort of trap.

My first instinct was to retreat, to protect myself, to remind him with a sharp word that I was not free for such things. But Ruby stirred in my chest, her voice softer than usual. Living is not betrayal. You’re allowed to enjoy life, you know.

“I…” My throat caught. “I shouldn’t.”

“Shouldn’t,” Kael tilted his head, his smile gentle. “Or don’t want to?”

The distinction pierced me. My heart thudded, grief colliding with something I didn’t want to name.

My gaze drifted to the cradle, where my babies slept peacefully under Thalia’s watchful eye. She caught my glance and, as though sensing my hesitation, she rose, scooping the basket into her arms.

“Go,” she mouthed silently, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

I drew a breath. Slowly, I set my hand into Kael’s. His palm was warm and calloused from hard work, steady.

The villagers cheered as he led me toward the dancers. The music swelled, the drumbeat thudding through my chest.

Kael guided me gently, never pushing, letting me find the rhythm at my own pace. His steps were careful, deliberate, as though he knew I was fragile in ways no one could see.

At first, I moved stiffly, every step felt foreign and too long unused. But as he spun around us, something inside me loosened. My skirts swirled, my heart raced, and for a few breaths I felt something I hadn’t felt for myself in months.

Alive.

Kael’s smile widened when he saw the flicker of it cross my face. “There,” he murmured. “That suits you better.”

I let out a sound – half laugh, half sob – but I didn’t pull away. For the length of a song, I let myself move with him, let myself forget the fear and grief.

When the music ended, I stepped back, breathless, my chest aching in a new way. Kael bowed slightly, his gaze never wavering. “Thank you,” he said simply, as though I had given him something.

I swallowed hard, whispering back, “No… thank you.”