Loki has found that keeping his seven-year-old daughter's attention through her magic lessons is far more difficult than he would like.

Perhaps I should get her a tutor, he thinks for the seventeenth time in as many days – and just as quickly dismisses the thought. No. If she's going to learn, she'll learn from the best .

They are practicing in the sitting room of his family's wing of the palace, as Unna is less anxious and less prone to magical accidents in the comfort of their home. He has just decided to move on from her unsuccessful attempts at conjuring spoons – no knives yet, Sigyn has insisted, not until she's much older – when Unna informs him that she needs a break…and he needs a new hair style.

He only pretends to resist as she pushes him into a nearby chair and begins to transform his hair into complicated braids.

"Tell me a story, Papa."

"A story?" asks Loki, trying not to wince when she pulls a strand of his hair particularly hard. "What would you like to hear? A tale to make you smile? Cry? Something to frighten you?"

His hands strike out like a viper, tickling Unna's belly until she dissolves into laughter. "All of it, Papa!" she squeals.

"So, you want a happy, sad, scary story?"

She nods vigorously, her fingers resuming their steady work.

"All right then," he says, thinking for a moment. "Ah, I have just the story. Once upon a time, there was a lonely prince –"

"What's the story called?"

"It doesn't have a name."

"All good stories have a name, Papa."

He sighs in exasperation. "All right. Uh, let's call it…'The Lonely Prince'."

"'The Lonely Prince'?" she asks, looking at him skeptically. "That doesn't sound very happy. Or scary. Just sad."

"Do you want to hear it or not?"

"Yes, yes –"

"Then let me tell it, little dove. No more interruptions. Once upon a time –"

"You already said that!" she blurts out.

"– there was a lonely prince," he finishes, arching his eyebrow at her.

"I'm sorry. Keep going."

"Now, the prince was lonely – but he wasn't alone. He had his parents and his older brother. His father, the king, used up all of his love on the older prince, who was to become king himself one day . The lonely prince adored his older brother, and for a time, they were inseparable, spending hours together and with their friends on countless adventures. But the queen, his mother – she was a patient and gentle soul, and she loved him best of all."

Unna drops her hands, the final braid forgotten. "Like Mama?"

"Yes, just like your mama." Loki gathers her into his lap before continuing. "But there was still something missing in the prince's heart, and he didn't know what it was or how to fix it. And he was afraid he would never figure it out."

Unna pokes her bottom lip out, her brows wrinkled together. "Did he ever figure it out?"

"Now don't get ahead of me, little dove. As it happened, his mother the queen was in need of a new handmaiden. She spoke to dozens of girls, all of them poised and eager…but one girl in particular stood out amongst all the others. The queen knew, from the very moment she met her, that this girl was what was missing from the prince's life. That she was destined to bring him the happiness he so desperately sought."

Unna thinks on this. "Mama says we don't have destinies. She says we have to work hard to get the things we want."

"Your mother doesn't always know what she's talking about." Unna's eyes go wide at his impertinence, and he chuckles. "And don't you dare tell her I said that ."

She shakes her head. "I won't."

"Besides, this is my story – and in my story, everyone has destinies."

"So, did the queen introduce the prince to the girl, and they lived happily ever after?"

"You would think so, wouldn't you? But you would be wrong."

"But you said she was destined –"

"Yes, she was…but she was stubborn. The prince tried everything he could to gain her attentions and court her properly , but she barely acknowledged him. He knew they belonged together, but he didn't know what else to do to convince her."

"Oh no!"

"The queen, she could sense that the prince was close to giving up, that he was beginning to fear he would die alone. So she took matters into her own hands and encouraged the girl to give the prince a chance. And finally – finally – she did, on the night of the queen's birthday celebration."

"Did they fall in love?"

"Oh, yes. Desperately in love."

"And did he kiss her?" she asks, the last few words barely more than a whisper.

Loki's smile is deceptively innocent. "As often as he could." And much, much more than that, he thinks, but keeps to himself.

Unna's face lights up. "And then they got married?"

"Well…no. Not right away."

Her face falls. "I don't like this story."

"Oh, for pity's sake – it isn't over yet."

"I hope it has a happy ending."

"It does. But a happy ending doesn't mean the beginning and the middle were easy."

"If you say so. What happened next?"

"Well, for a time, the prince and the girl were as content as they'd ever been; he didn't even think of himself as lonely anymore. And he decided that he never wanted to be without her again, and that he was going to ask her to marry him."

"And did she say yes?"

"He never got the chance to ask her. One day something terrible happened, and the prince's life changed forever. You see, he discovered that he wasn't who he thought he was. He was a prince, but he had been stolen as a baby from a neighboring kingdom, a kingdom he had been raised his entire life to hate and fear. He was a monster."

Unna gasps. "But what about the girl?"

"He was terrified she would hate him for what he really was. He couldn't bear to lose her that way, so instead of telling her the truth, he ran far, far away – from her, from his family, from everything. So far away everyone thought he'd died."

"So…he broke his true love's heart?"

"Yes. But his heart was broken, too. He thought he would go mad from the pain, but he learned to ignore it. In his desperation, he fell in with criminals, and they forced him to do terrible things just to survive. But no matter how far he fell, there was always the tiniest sliver of hope in his heart, hope that one day he could again be the good man he'd once been."

"You said this story has a happy ending, Papa."

"I'm getting there. Eventually, the prince's older brother got word of a war in a far-off land, and he learned that his little brother, whom he had feared dead for so long, was not only alive, but leading an enemy force. He came to find him – to bring him home where he belonged. But the lonely prince fought him, convinced he no longer had a home."

"He fought his brother?"

"Yes, and his brother's new friends – a metal man, a giant green ogre, a tiny spider woman, a deadly archer, and a nearly indestructible warrior. Together, they were too much for the lonely prince to defeat. And when the fighting was over, the lonely prince's older brother took him home."

"And did he see the girl again?"

"He did, even though he was still afraid she would hate him for what he really was. But do you know what happened?"

Unna's green eyes go wide with anticipation. "What?"

"She told him she didn't care where he was from, or what he looked like. She had fallen in love with who he was on the inside. His heart," he says, putting a finger on her chest, "and his mind," he finishes, touching her head. "Nothing else mattered. But…fortunately for her, he was devastatingly handsome."

"As handsome as you, Papa?"

"No. No one's as handsome as I am."

"And then they got married?"

"Yes, then they got married, had fifty-seven children, three ponies and a milk cow, and lived happily ever after."

"That was a good story after all, Papa." She clasps her hands together, gasping with the excitement of a sudden idea. "I know! Let's have a pretend wedding! You'll be the lonely prince, and I'll be the girl!"

"And what about me?"

Loki looks up to find Sigyn standing in the doorway, her arms crossed over her chest and an exaggerated look of concern on her face.

"Mama!" cries Unna, jumping from Loki's lap to sprint across the room into her mother's embrace. Sigyn swings her up into her arms with ease. "Oh, Mama – it won't be a real wedding."

"What a relief," says Sigyn with a dramatic sigh, her hand on her chest. "I was worried I was going to have to find a new husband."

"You're silly," says Unna with a giggle.

"I am silly. I tell you what," says Sigyn, setting Unna back onto the floor. "The daisies are blooming in your grandmother's garden. I'm certain if you ask her nicely, she'll give you some for your wedding bouquet."

"All right…I'll be back, Papa!" She is a raven-haired streak as she dashes away and out the door.

"Those braids suit you," says Sigyn, sauntering across the room to her husband.

He waves his hand, and his hair is once again sleek and unbound. "I'll remember that next time I'm to be seen in public. How long were you standing there?" he asks, pulling her to him.

"Oh, long enough to be quite impressed with your revisionist history."

Loki tilts his head, incredulous. "Revisionist history? It was merely an account of a lonely prince, and the girl who toyed with his feelings, ensnaring him with her guile and feminine charm. A tragedy, really. A cautionary tale."

"It would have been equally impressive had you told it correctly."

"I told it exactly as I remember it."

"It's not how I remember it."

"Memory is a funny thing, isn't it?" he asks, his hand straying to the laces on the front of Sigyn's gown.

"What a cad," she says, feigning shock. "Whatever will your new fiancée think when she finds you've already been unfaithful to her?"

"She need never know. If we hurry, we can be finished before she returns."

"Maybe you can."

"Now that's just hurtful. I may be a cad…but have you ever known me to leave you wanting?" He dips his head to run his lips across her collarbone. "I'll just seal the door –"

"Seal the door? You know as well as I do that sealing the door won't stop her from coming back in. Or have you forgotten how shocking it can be to have your tiny, magic-wielding daughter announce her presence in your supposedly locked bedroom by grabbing your foot and asking why her mother is sitting on you…and why you're both naked?"

He can't help but smile into her neck before raising his head to look at her. "Not our finest moment, to be sure…but I've since fortified that spell. She shouldn't be capable of breaking it for at least another six or seven months."

"How wonderful. I anxiously await the day when we no longer have any privacy at all ."

"Well we have privacy right now – and I've learned to take opportunities when they're presented, lest they disappear forever." He looks at her in that way he has perfected, that pleading look that he is all too aware will eradicate the last of her resistance.

She sighs. "You're going to make this up to me later."

He responds by pulling her in tighter, his mouth hungry on hers. He has successfully navigated his way into the bodice of her dress, and just as his hand cups her breast, another voice pierces the air.

"By the Nine – don't you two ever give it a rest?"

"I thought you were going to seal the door," says Sigyn, looking past Loki to see their eldest son standing in the doorway, his hands on his hips, uncomfortably staring at the floor.

"Ari," says Loki, glancing over his shoulder, "if you don't wish to learn exactly how you and your siblings were conceived, then I suggest you intercept your sister when she comes back this way. Keep her occupied for the next five minutes –"

"Five minutes?" says Sigyn, unamused.

"Ten minutes – keep her occupied for ten minutes, and I will personally make your excuses for the next three family dinners with your uncle."

"Make it five dinners, and I'll do it."

Unna runs in before Loki can respond, a daisy crown on her head to match the bouquet in her hands. "Oh, Ari – would you like to be in the wedding, too?"

"Wedding?"

"Yes, Papa and I are having a pretend wedding…" She launches into a description of her plans, Ari kneeling down and patiently listening to every word – but making no move to leave with her.

Sigyn surreptitiously removes Loki's hand from her breast and rearranges her gown – thankful that Loki's body has hidden their actions from Ari and Unna's view.

"We'll try again later," she says when he tries to object.

He shakes his head in frustration. "When did I completely lose control over my life?"

"The day you met me," she says with a smile. "My lonely prince."

The "marriage" is exceptionally short-lived.

Eiðr returns from sparring practice in the middle of the ceremony, reeking of sweat and sporting half a dozen new scrapes and bruises, his flame-colored hair plastered to his head.

"Mother, I can't find my healing ointment –" He stops short at the spectacle before him – his baby sister in her finest gown and their father kneeling beside her, a crown of daisies in his hair, his mother and brother looking on as if the whole thing is an everyday occurrence. "What's all this?"

"Papa and I are getting married!" exclaims Unna, her face beaming.

Eiðr is appalled. "That's ridiculous, Unna. You can't marry your own father. Papa says they only do that sort of thing on Midgard ."

"Does he now?" says Sigyn, leveling a look at Loki that says they'll be discussing that later.

Unna squares her shoulders in indignation, and before Loki can stop her, she blasts Eiðr with a rudimentary spell that seals his mouth shut.

When Loki – who has raised his voice to Unna a grand total of three times in her life, each with disastrous results – has the audacity to scold her for using her magic skills inappropriately, she whirls on him.

"I don't want to be married to you anymore anyway, Papa!" she whines, right before throwing her bouquet aside and flinging herself out the door in tears.

Loki doesn't even flinch. "Well, thank the Norns for that," he says under his breath, but not so low that Sigyn can't hear him. "I can barely handle one wife, much less two."

"I'm so sorry your wedding didn't turn out as you planned," says Sigyn later that evening as she's tucking Unna into bed. Any other night her nursemaid would be the one handling this particular duty, but Sigyn feel that she and Loki taking over the job for one evening might be an extra balm on their daughter's hurt feelings.

"Tell me about your wedding, Mama," says Unna. "Was it everything you dreamed it would be?"

Sigyn considers her words carefully, her face giving nothing away, and it pains Loki to see her use her well-honed diplomatic skills on their own daughter. "Oh, darling," she says finally. "Some of my most favorite people in all the nine realms were there. And your father…he was the most handsome man I'd ever laid eyes on. I couldn't believe how fortunate I was, for him to choose me as his bride."

Unna sighs happily, her eyelids drooping. "I bet you were the most beautiful princess ever, Mama."

"She was," interrupts Loki, his voice cracking around a lump in his throat that threatens to choke him. "She still is. Well, save for you, of course."

"I'm glad you married each other," says Unna. "You would be awfully sad if you didn't have me and Ari. But I bet you wouldn't miss Eiðr very much."

"That's not very kind, darling. I wouldn't want to be without any of you," says Sigyn. "Now get some rest."

"Sleep well, little dove," says Loki, kissing Unna on the top of her head. "And dream about the lonely prince and his true love."

They are preparing for bed when he speaks.

"Why did you lie to her?"

Sigyn's brush stops mid-stroke through her hair. "What are you talking about?"

"Why did you lie to Unna about our wedding?"

Sigyn looks at him in her vanity mirror as he sits on the edge of their bed, watching her closely.

"I didn't lie to her, Loki. Every word I said was true."

"But a highly abridged version of the truth. 'Revisionist history', I believe you would call it."

She puts her brush down with a sigh, spinning on her stool to face him directly. "And what good would it do to tell her the entire truth when it doesn't change the outcome? We said our vows. We were bound with a witness. You are still my husband, and I am still your wife – regardless of where or how our wedding occurred."

"I married you in a dungeon cell, with my brother as sole spectator. None of your family was there. I'll never pretend to fully know your mind, but I don't imagine that's how you envisioned your wedding as a child."

She stands up, crossing the room to hold his head in her hands, her thumbs stroking his cheeks. "Well, I never envisioned I'd be marrying a prince, either. Or that one day, I would have two little princelings and a princess of my own. I still think I came out ahead in the end."

"Are you trying to make me feel better?"

"No, I'm trying to get into your breeches." She slides a single finger down his chest. "Is it working?"

He answers by grabbing her waist, throwing her to the bed and pressing his body between her open knees.

She giggles as he nudges into her neck with his nose and traces her steadily increasing pulse with his lips. "I'll take that to mean yes."

His hands are under her robe then, and she only has a moment to remind him to seal the door before all coherent speech is forgotten.

For the next several weeks, Loki is frequently and conspicuously absent for hours, sometimes days at a time. When Sigyn asks about his activities, however, his answer is always the same – nothing nefarious, beloved, don't worry – followed by a grin that makes her question her decision to ever trust him with anything.

She briefly considers being concerned, but decides against it. This time, she'll give him the benefit of the doubt.

Breakfast, typically eaten in their chambers, is never the same without Loki.

He has been gone for two days. The room is too quiet, too empty without his presence – every tiny sound bouncing off the walls until she's nearly frantic with the yearning for anyone's company. She wonders idly if he misses her as much when she's away. She hopes he does.

Loki is an early morning riser, awakening before the sun has fully risen without fail. Sigyn's one joy in his absence is that she can indulge in sleeping a little longer than usual without feeling guilty. The kitchen staff knows to bring her breakfast a little later when he's gone, a fact for which she is immensely grateful.

There is a knock on the door mid-morning, just as she's finishing the last of her meal and putting aside the list of daily tasks she's written out for herself; however, instead of a kitchen worker coming to collect her dishes, it is Unna's little face that peeks around the open door.

"Good morning, Mama. There's something here for you." There is a pitch to her voice, unmistakable – the hum of barely-contained excitement.

"What is it, darling?" Sigyn asks as she goes to her.

Unna pushes the door open further, revealing an enormous box sitting on the floor just outside the threshold. Sigyn recognizes the distinctive pattern on the outside as the hallmark of Ranka, her favorite dressmaker.

"That's odd," she says, knowing she hasn't commissioned anything recently. She lifts it up, surprised at the weight of it. She carries it to the bed, Unna following close behind.

"Did you see anyone leave it outside?"

"Um, yes." She's got the look of a child trying desperately to keep a secret.

"Who was it?"

"He told me to tell you there's a note in the box."

"Who did?"

Unna merely blinks at her.

"All right, stay quiet then," says Sigyn, opening the top of the box. Sure enough, there is an envelope just under the lid, three words written across the front in handwriting she would recognize anywhere.

My Beloved Sigyn.

She takes a deep breath and breaks the seal.

There are two gowns in this box, one for you, and one for Unna. I trust the size difference will be enough to determine which belongs to whom.

You have two hours to prepare. Unna has instructions on what to do when you are ready.

Forgive my recent secretiveness. All will be revealed soon.

Loki

The first gown she removes is ivory, very small, with cap sleeves and a full skirt. There are touches of silver and gold in the fabric, and it shimmers as she moves it in the light.

"I believe this one is yours, my darling princess," says Sigyn.

Unna holds her hands out, her eyes as wide as saucers. She holds it very gently when Sigyn places it in her arms. "It's so pretty."

"I need you to have Dalla help you prepare for…whatever we're supposed to be preparing for," she says. "The mystery delivery person didn't happen to tell you what we're doing, did he?"

She shakes her head a little too vigorously, and Sigyn thinks if she pressed a little harder, she would rupture and spill like a sack of grain. She takes pity on her.

"Well, run along then and get ready. I'll let you know when I'm finished, and you can take me wherever you were instructed to."

She is already moving. "Yes, Mama!" she calls over her shoulder.

Sigyn turns back to the box, removing the second gown.

The greater part of it is made of the same ivory fabric of Unna's dress, floor length and abundant, with layers of sheer organza covering the top of the skirt. The bodice is covered in embroidered roses, each of them painstakingly detailed and accented with tiny leaves of light green – the only other color anywhere on the gown.

It is, quite simply, the most exquisite piece of clothing she has ever laid eyes on.

"Oh Loki," she says, nearly under her breath. "What have you done?"

Two hours later, and with the help of a couple of handmaidens, Sigyn has been transformed – her hair elaborately braided and pinned, and the gown falling from her shoulders like a second skin. It couldn't fit more flawlessly if she'd personally been measured for it. She will never again doubt Loki's attention to detail – or how well he knows her body .

Unna returns to her door as promised, equally transformed. She gasps when she sees Sigyn in her gown.

"Oh, Mama! You are the most beautiful princess ever!"

"I don't know about that, my darling girl. I think you're even more beautiful."

Unna spins, the skirt of her dress flaring out. "Do you think so?"

"Absolutely. Now where are we going? Is there a party I don't know about?"

Unna grasps her hand and pulls her toward the door. "Just come on!"

They make their way down the familiar corridors of the palace, and Sigyn suspects at once where they are headed. Halfway to their destination, there is another waiting for them: a red-headed prince dressed in his finest attire.

"Oh, Eiðr, my handsome boy," she says. "I haven't seen you dressed this nicely in ages. Someone must have bribed you."

He grins at her, shifting uncomfortably in his restrictive clothes – the black and brown pleated fabrics and leather meant to reflect his father's formal dress without being perfect copies. "I don't mind. Just this once." He scowls down at his sister. "Go on, then – it's my turn to walk with her."

Unna sticks her tongue out at him before sprinting away.

Eiðr holds his arm out for his mother, the very picture of a gentleman. She takes it, and they continue on.

"So, do you know what's going on?" she asks.

"Yes," he says. "But I've been told that if I tell you, my mouth will be sealed shut for a full day. I'm not going to risk that."

"Probably for the best," Sigyn says. The walk along, discussing Eiðr's recent sparring victories and the armor she and Loki are having made for him – each step taking them closer to the queen's gardens, just as Sigyn has guessed.

Just before they arrive, there is one last person waiting for her: her raven-haired eldest son, Ari.

"I'll see you inside, Mother," says Eiðr, kissing her on her cheek and leaving them to each other's company.

Ari's attire is almost an exact replica of Loki's, with one crucial difference – instead of green accents, Ari's are blue, just like his skin. Frigga has told her repeatedly that he's the mirror image of his father when he was an adolescent.

"So Ari, my darling boy. I think I've figured out what's going on." She feels the sting of a tear in her eye, blinking it away before it can fall.

"Father said you probably would. He says you're almost as smart as he is."

"Don't believe that," she says with a grin. "I'm far smarter. But this time…this time, I think he's managed to surprise me." She glances at the doors that open onto the gardens. "How many people are in there?"

"Not too many. Family, friends, a few diplomats from other realms. Nothing excessive."

"Your father and I have very different definitions of excessive."

"But you and I don't. It's truly very modest – especially for Father."

"He's been very busy, hasn't he?"

"Yes. All for you."

She blinks once…twice…and then her breath is too fast and she can no longer hold back her tears and her hands are shaking and it's too much, it's just too much –

"No! No, no, no," says Ari, and he pulls a handkerchief from somewhere to dab it on her cheeks. "Don't do that. Father will never forgive me if you walk in there a sobbing mess. The guests will think you're going to your execution, not your wedding."

She laughs, forcing herself to take a few deep breaths and calm down. "I don't suppose he would appreciate that, would he? Not after he's gone through all this trouble."

He gives her a moment to compose herself before holding his arm out to her. "Are you ready, Mother?"

She nods. "I'm ready."

Everything after is a blur.

Sigyn recognizes a few faces in the crowd as Ari accompanies her to a small dais in the center of the garden. Edmund and Ingrid with their daughters. Her mother Dagmar and Ambassador Bjornson. Her nephew Magni and niece Torunn with their mother, Sif. The Warriors Three. Her beloved second mother, Frigga . Everyone she loves and cares for.

But then, she sees Loki waiting for her, glorious in his formal armor and jotun skin, and everyone and everything else disappears.

Thor presides over the ceremony, and it is much like it was the first time: vows of devotion and protection, an exchanging of rings, their hands bound together – this time with the royal family's binding cloth instead of her hair.

She won't remember any of it later. She will only remember the way Loki looks at her, in reverence and wonder, as though he can't quite believe she's agreeing to this a second time, and in front of witnesses.

Then it's over, and he's kissing her, and it's better than any wedding in her wildest imagination.

After, there is a feast, and dancing, and merriment. Loki hasn't missed a single detail.

Between songs, Frigga pulls Sigyn aside.

"You know," says the former queen , "Had I known sooner what a difference you would make in Loki's life, I would have pushed for your appointment as my handmaiden years earlier."

"And I would have served you honorably, Your Majesty," says Sigyn.

"He's worked so hard these past weeks, preparing this day for you. I asked him what motivated him to do such a thing, and he would only say 'I can't fix everything, but I can fix this'."

"I hope you know, I've never felt anything needed fixing."

"I know, dearest," says Frigga, patting Sigyn on the cheek. "But I appreciate your approval of his efforts. He was positively childlike in his enthusiasm."

"I can only imagine." Sigyn glances through the crowd, searching for her husband, and when she finds him, she's shocked at what she sees.

He is talking to Edmund, and surprisingly, there is no animosity on either of their faces. Sigyn would describe it more as grudging acceptance, but acceptance nonetheless. It's still a victory, and she has long ago learned to never refuse one when it's offered.

Loki clasps Edmund's hand in a manner more suggestive of friends than enemies – and as far as she can tell, neither of them tries to produce a hidden knife and stab the other into oblivion – and then Loki turns and catches her watching. With the smallest of smiles, he makes his way through the crowd to her.

"Mother," he says, nodding to Frigga, "may I steal my bride away from you for a moment? She still owes me a dance."

He doesn't wait for an answer, taking Sigyn's hand in his and leading her away just as the next song begins.

He pulls her close. "Are you pleased?"

"I was never displeased, love. But this…forgive me, I'm still a little stunned."

"Stunned is better than angry."

"I would never be angry with you – not for this, anyway. Other things, perhaps, but not this."

"There's more, you know. I've made all the arrangements – this evening, you and I are leaving for a week's time, just the two of us. Consider it a horrendously delayed honeymoon."

"Better than Stark Tower?"

He rolls his eyes. "Far better."

"Where are we going?"

"Exactly where I meant to take you the night of Thor's first coronation. A place where there will be no need to seal doors or be quiet or worry about interruptions. A place where I can take my time worshiping every single inch of your body – repeatedly and at length."

She bites her lip in anticipation. "Will you allow me to pack a bag first?"

"No need. I've already taken care of that as well. Admittedly, it's a very small bag. You won't be needing much."

"Well, I look forward to your repeated and lengthy worship. Rest assured…I will repay you in kind."

He dips his head to kiss her, gently but firmly, and when he pulls away, there are tears shimmering in his eyes. "Sigyn, I'm sorry," he says.

These are not words easily spoken by Loki, and for a moment, she is speechless. "For what?" she asks when she finally finds her voice.

"For everything. For all the pain I've ever caused you, unwittingly or otherwise. You never deserved any of it, and I certainly don't deserve your forgiveness. But I will take it as it's offered, and vow to do better by you and our children, until my last breath ."

"It's all forgiven, love. All of it."

"Thank you, beloved."

"So, is this how the story ends? 'The Lonely Prince'?

"Not lonely anymore, and no. This…this is merely the beginning ."

So, this is it. The final chapter of Illusion.

Thank you again, from the bottom of my heart, anyone who has ever read, followed, favorited, reviewed, or simply just read and enjoyed and and/or all parts of it. Those readers I've lost along the way, the new ones I've picked up mid-story, and most especially...those who have been with me from the beginning, and who have stuck with me all the way through. You all know who you are. Don't think I haven't noticed or appreciated. :)

This story may be over...but this won't be the last you see of these characters or this world I've built for them.