As Florence slept in his arms, sunlight warm on her skin, strands of her blond hair a glowing crown on her head, Emory could not help but think she looked like an angel, although they both knew she wasn't. And as she snuggled closer, hand loose against his chest, he was reminded of how surreal it was to dream while awake. It had been so long since he felt it—the gentle rush of wonder, like breathing summer sunsets and spring scents all at once.

The last time was when he and Henry went back to the tree house after they were told that Eliza was not coming back. They imagined her flying with the winged creatures she drew in her book. They talked about her heaven, how it exciting it must be like. Clear skies and endless sunshine. And as children, they felt it, too, just as how they felt it when Eliza was alive and took them to her wonderful worlds.

"I'm hungry," Florence mumbled against his chest.

"Of course you are," he said, rolling away from her. "Can I have my arm back now?" he asked, kissing her temple.

She lifted her head and rested her chin on his chest.

"Oh, God, I think you killed it," he said, lifting the arm with his good hand.

"How will you cook for me now?" she asked, lightly scratching his chest.

He caught her hand and squeezed with warning. "Stop it or you'll never leave this bed."

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" she asked, pulling her hand free to tease a trail down his belly.

"You're sore," he said, rolling away. "And we're both hungry."

She moaned and rolled to the other side of the bed. It took them some time to find all articles of clothing, stopping once in a while to share a kiss, or argue about missing buttons and laces. When they finally found their way into the kitchen, Emory gathered flour and told her to steal eggs from the coop outside. He smiled when he heard her exclaim words he could not make out, and turned to face her with a smile when she ran back into the kitchen, her eyes wide and glimmering with wonder.

"It's beautiful out there," she said. "Birchfield is beautiful."

He chuckled, revering at the way she looked—tousled hair and crinkled dress, face glowing from a night of passion and morning sunlight. "We'll explore it later," he said, resuming his work. "The eggs, Lori."

She disappeared again, and he watched her through the window as she picked a wild flower and laid it on Henrietta's grave. With a sigh, he shook his head.

It took a lot of patience and a shout out the window before she found her way back inside with a handful of eggs. "Thank you, Princess," he said, leaning down to accept the kiss she planted on his chin. She followed him around, and he kept bumping into her as he worked. When he finally had enough, Emory easily lifted her lithe form off the ground and sat her on a stool. Leaning on the table behind her, he gave her a thorough kiss and groaned when they got a little carried away. Forcing a step back, he gave her a warning look. "Stop moving around."

As he cut tomatoes and herbs for the bread baking in the oven, she nibbled on a stolen cheese. "How do you suppose she did it?" she asked.

"Who?"

"Elene Lennox."

He shrugged. "Threats? Manipulation? As his wife, she knows every bone of the skeletons he hides in his closet. She'll only have to use those." Throwing her a grin, he added, "You tell me. You're the woman."

She grinned. "She knows how to swim with him."

He slowly nodded. "And knows how to drown him."

She sighed, giving him a dramatic, awestruck look. "You have some hidden wickedness in you. I should be afraid, but all I can think about is that I'll love being our queen."

He scoffed, because she was right. He had a lot of wicked things, most of them she'd enjoy, others only for when he had to make hard decisions for the crown. And yes, she would love to be his queen. That had always been the goal.

"Are you thinking of wicked things you can do to me upstairs?"

His shoulders shook as he snatched the cloth from his shoulder and threw it at her. "Get the table ready. I'm almost done."

***

They spent the rest of the day outdoors. Birchfield in spring was an entirely different place. Florence relished on the flowers bathing in warm sunlight in the woods, the sparkling water in the pond and the beautiful path that led to the Fitzwilliams. Branches arched toward each other from both sides with a blanket of wild flowers on the ground.

They walked hand in hand and made their way to the small cottage, where they were greeted with warm welcomes, fresh biscuits, and tea. Mrs. Fitzwilliam was ecstatic to learn that they were getting married as her husband smiled, saying, "I've always known."

The couple asked how long they would stay in Birchfield, to which Emory only said they were waiting for things to settle in Coulway.

Florence asked him about it later as they sat in the tree house. "What do you mean?"

"Our engagement is to be announced today," he said.

Her eyes widened as he stole the bottle of wine from her hand. "What?"

"Should I have waited?"

"Waited for us to return, yes!" she said. "I would love to be there to see everyone's reaction."

He choked on the wine and laughed. "You're insane."

"I deserve the satisfaction."

"You will have more, trust me," he said, setting the wine aside to cup her face. Her arms worked around his shoulders, giggling as he guided her on her back. The kiss was slow, slowly building in intensity as her hands roamed his back.

"Now?" she asked.

"No, of course not," he said. "This bloody tree house is not built for what you have in mind. And you're not yet ready." She rolled her eyes as he spoke and he laughed. "But this is just as beautiful," he murmured before dipping his head for another kiss.

They also visited the Davidsons, opting to go on foot to enjoy the view along the road. Sunlight filtered through the birch trees as they walked by, hands clasped and arms swinging. Little Suzy was the happiest when she saw Florence again. They bought baskets of foods to share with the family, and they spent the entire afternoon talking and playing with the children.

They left at dusk, her arm hooked around his as they reminisced about their days in Birchfield and talked about the future.

"I want an heir and dozens of spares," she announced, causing him to stop and look at her in disbelief. "Why are you looking at me like that?" she asked. "I know I'm quite small, but I can carry a child."

"Do you know how many women die at childbirth?"

"No, but I heard there are quite a lot."

"Then we'll only have three."

"We'll discuss this some more after I survive the third childbirth." As they continued walking, she added, "And it's not like you can stop making babies."

"There are ways."

"What way?"

He sighed. "For one, I do not need to..." She watched him struggle with his words. "Spill inside."

She blinked. "Your seed?"

He closed his eyes, clearly uncomfortable. "Yes."

"No," she said.

"What do you mean?"

"No spilling outside."

His hand clamped over her mouth. "Good God, Lori."

"What?" she mumbled against his palm.

"Don't talk about things like that," he said, looking around.

She tore his hand off her mouth. "Well, if you stop talking about ways to stop making babies—"

He wrapped his arm around her shoulder, hand clamped on her mouth as he shook with laughter. "Stop," he said, kissing the top of her head. "We'll make dozens."

***

He had not yet made love to her again for the next two days. They slept in the same room, but he made sure not to do anything more than kissing, afraid to cause her pain. His words, not hers.

"For someone who orders other people killed, you are being too considerate of my wellbeing," she nonchalantly told him on the third night as she sat on her side of the bed reading a book on Sutherland folktales.

"I don't just order people killed out of whim, and I have not touched you because I do not want to but because—" He did not finish and just sighed, looking at her. "Why are you impatient?"

"I'm not impatient," she said, not looking up from her book. "I'm deprived."

His laughter rang around the bedchamber. Climbing the bed, he prowled toward her in his shirt and breeches. "That doesn't make me a good king, does it?"

"No," she murmured, flipping a page. "These damsels in this bloody book have more romance than I," she added with a dramatic sigh as he crawled between her legs, hitching her nightdress up her thighs. He tugged at the ribbons that closed the collar under her collarbones. "What are you doing?" she asked, throwing him a look.

"Being a hero," he said, kissing the crook of her neck.

"I've had enough kisses in the last two nights, Your Majesty," she said.

Cupping the base of her skull in his hand, he nuzzled her ear and whispered, "I'm afraid you've chased away the king, Your Majesty."

She pursed her lips to suppress a smile. "Your Majesty?"

"You are the queen, yes?"

"Unofficially, yes." She shuddered as his tongue teased the outer lobe. "And who might you be?" she asked.

"The pirate, of course," he said, "Stealing your book." He snatched the book from her hands. It dropped on the pillow beside her. "And I'm about to steal your night."

She slid on her back, pulling him with her with her hands clasped behind his neck. "What else?"

"I'm going to steal kisses," he said, cover her mouth with a hungry kiss that left her heady. "I'm afraid your nightdress, too." The cotton fell to the floor.

"What else?" she asked, laughing as she helped him tug his shirt off his head.

"Your taste?" he asked, grinning as he kissed down to her breast. His breeches followed his shirt and her nightdress.

And as he settled on top of her, both of them bared to the moonlight in the middle of the bed, she asked again, "What else?"

"I'll steal your breath." He kissed downward, following his hand, the other pressing her into the mattress. Lifting his head to steal a look, he added, "But you'll have to beg."

And she did. With his mouth, he made her beg. She cried for his name and sobbed for more. He showed her how to enjoy his slow, intimate lovemaking. He taught her ways to pleasure him and herself, and she was an eager student. But also, a curious one, surprising him with new things.

Without the pain, Florence was even more unrelenting, more shameless with her need. Everything she did was filled with confidence, her demands even more so. It was not long before she learned how to make him beg, too. How to torture him with her hands and mouth, even her words.

Hours later, they slept tangled in each other's arms, skin slippery and cooling with sweat. And just as the sun painted the sun pink and orange, Florence woke up to him making love to her. Then, much later, they stayed in bed, spent, watching the sunlight filter through the window.

"I was afraid I'd lose you." His words and his voice made her stiffen. It sounded raw and vulnerable. In fact, it didn't sound like him at all. She tilted her head back to stare at his face and felt hot tears in the back of her eyes.

"Do not ever do that to me again, Emory. Even if you meant well, it was painful."

He smiled, running the tip of a finger over the mark he made on her throat. "Which one?"

"That's not what I meant," she said, not humoring him. "You didn't tell me you had a plan. You led me to believe you didn't want me. I thought I was coming back to..." She shuddered at the thought.

He moaned and buried his face in her neck. "I'll pay for it for the rest of our lives," he said, blindly cupping her cheek. He kissed his way to her mouth. "I'll do anything for you, Lori. Anything," he said, looking into her eyes. "I love you."

She blinked. "You do?"

"I would not have risked a bloody war if I didn't, you fool."

She blinked back the tears as a smile curled her mouth. "You may have said it first, but I'll say it more."

He kissed her again. "Who is counting?"

She chuckled, wrapping her arms around his neck. "I love you. One." She kissed his jaw. "I love you." His lips. "I love you. Three."

Laughter rumbled in his chest. "I love you, too."

"Two?"

"Too."

Their laughter echoed around the bedchamber.

***

One week later, they were on their way back to Coulway.

"Are you certain Lucy didn't come with them?" she asked Emory again.

"Yes," he said. "She's waiting for you in Ivory House."

She scowled. "You mean I will be away from you?"

He sighed. "Only until the wedding."

She fell silent as the carriage rolled down the road. "I could be abducted in the middle of the night."

"No, you will not."

"My food could be poisoned."

"Most definitely impossible."

"I might suffer an illness and die before you can reach me."

He laughed.

"It is not funny. It happened to one of my cousins. Her husband died while she was in her house."

"Her house?"

"There are different houses for different wives. They live close by, in an enclosed compound. If she lived under one roof as the man, she would have made it to his deathbed to happily say her goodbye." She said it so seriously that he had trouble discerning if it was true or not.

"How old was her husband?"

"Not quite old enough to die," she said, evading the question.

"I'm quite sure you are too young to die of an illness, darling."

"I might perish with because of a bad heart. One of my cousins was merely twenty when—"

"Oh, God, Lori, you're—"

"Can you feel that?" she asked, putting his hand on her chest.

"Your heart is beating fine."

"No. I meant my breast," she said, giving him a taunting smile. "You cannot have this within reach if I'm at Ivory House."

He narrowed his eyes at her. "I can still visit you in Ivory House."

She pushed his hand away. "You mean you'll only come to me if you find the need for me."

He let out a frustrated sigh. "No, of course not. Why would you—" He stopped, realizing she was laughing. With a sigh, he rolled his eyes. "You're teasing."

"I enjoy seeing you frustrated," she said, kissing his lips. With a sigh, she said, "Ivory House. Who would have thought I'd go back there?"

"I'll see you every day."

"Oh, no. Please don't."

"Why?"

"I'd want to enjoy my remaining days as an unmarried woman."

His eyes narrowed suspiciously. "You mean you'd like to enjoy more time in Artemis."

"Yes, of course. Once I'm queen, I cannot go there."

"Says who?"

"Ellise Dior."

"You can try to apply. I will not stop you."

"No matter," she said with a brush of her hand. "I'd simply make my own club. I'll call it The Throne."

"That sounds even more terrifying."

"You don't have to like it. You cannot be a member," she said, laughing as he playfully yanked her over his lap. She wiggled, sliding her knees deeper into the seat.

He groaned and held her still with his hands on her hips. "Stop, Lori, please."

She kissed his jaw. "Why?"

His hand disappeared inside the hidden pocket of his coat as she tousled his hair, kissing down the side of his neck.

"Because you've been an awful distraction in Birchfield and we're almost at Ivory House, where I know we'll immediately ravish each other, and then I'll never get the chance to give you this."

Florence lifted her head and looked down at the elegant sapphire and diamond ring. She blinked. "Is Sutherland poor?"

"You don't like it," he said, voice laced with disappointment. "I didn't think you prefer something flamboyant." He started to put the ring back into his coat. "I'll find you something better—"

Florence burst out laughing. "I'm jesting. Of course, I'll have it."

His lips twisted. "Too late. Fret not, I'll find something heavier so you won't be able to lift your hand."

She caught his hand and tugged. "Give it to me."

"No."

"It's mine," she said, pulling at his hand with her weight.

"Lori, you'll fall—" Just as he said it, the carriage jolted, throwing her off his lap.

He tried to catch her, but it was too late. They both fell to the floor, Florence laughing and Emory cursing out loud.

"It's not funny," he said, pulling her up. "Are you hurt?" He frowned as his hands inspected her face and arms. "You could have broken your neck."

"I'm fine," she said, locking her arms around his shoulders. "Give me my ring," she said, kissing the frown off his face.

He sighed as she leaned back so he could fish the ring out of his pocket. Her smile froze on her lips when he stiffened, then patted his coat and looked around. "What is it?"

"It's gone."

"You're teasing."

"No," he said, scrambling on the floor, panic on his face.

"Emory, if you are trying to get back to me—"

"Will you help?" he asked, tapping the ceiling of the carriage. When they rolled to a stop and Emory jumped out to inspect under the seats, Florence realized he was not playing with her.

"I can't believe this," she said, joining the search as Emory ordered the guards to retrace the road. "It couldn't have fallen off," she told him. "Check your pockets again."

He did, shaking his head. "That ring belonged to my great-grandmother."

Hearing that, she panicked, rushing toward him. "Are you sure it's not under your shirt?"

"No."

"Your trousers."

He wiggled his legs. "No."

She growled and started walking, joining the guards down the road behind the carriages. He followed, and when he saw the look on her face, he caught her hand. "I'll get you another one if we don't find it."

"No, I want that bloody ring," she said, head bent, steps careful.

Hand in hand, they retraced their path.

"You could have given it to me on the tree house," she whined. "Or later in Ivory House."

He wrapped an arm around her shoulders to pull her closer to whisper in her ear. "I wanted to make love to you while you're wearing it."

"And now we can't even get to a proper bed because we're down this dusty road looking for my ring."

Emory laughed and received a smack on the arm. "Not funny," she said, walking ahead.

He ran after her in laughter and playfully pulled her to his side.

As they resumed the search, Emory realized he had not found the perfect queen. Florence would never be perfect. And so was he. But that was the beauty of it all. Their life would have room for more of these frustrating, exciting little accidents.

--THE END--

___________________________

A/N

Finally, we've reached the end of Emory and Florence's story. I enjoyed writing this one more than I thought I would! Of course, I already planned a few Exclusive Contents. I hope to see you there, too, if you want to enjoy more of our lovely couple. I will also be featuring the stories of some of the Gavarian characters as Exclusive Contents as well. If you do not have the coins to read them, I have other free stories you might also enjoy. And of course, I have more coming soon.

I will be very busy for the rest of the year for the book I'm editing, which will be published in the Philippines. More news on it in the coming months!

I'm also already thinking of the next story to write, apart from my exclusive contents. Maybe I should start the Black Clover series?

Again, thank you so much for joining me on this journey!

Yours truly,

J.D. Ruiz