Winds of Fire [ACOTAR]

EPILOGUE

The last ten years had been hectic, to say the least. The first few years, Primrose Archeron-Daley, High Lady of Spring, had put all her energy into rebuilding her court. She'd had sleepless nights, cried rivers of tears and given her very soul away, but it had been worth it in the end. They'd started with the cottage, making the basic space into something that reflected them, half night and half spring, half him and half her.

From there, they'd moved onto the village, bringing it to life day by day, week by week, month by month. Each of the stores had been redecorated, funded and given a second chance. Prim had personally visited each of the houses, befriending the owners and the families until she could call them friends, until she could answer any question about them without hesitation. Soon, the markets started again, the stalls bright and inviting as the town was lively once more. That's when they focused on Rosehall.

The manor had crumbled completely, leaving nothing but bricks and collapsed memories. It was with a heavy heart that she'd decided to get rid of it, to remove the bricks, any traces of the house, and build anew. In its place, they built Gadina Manor; flower garden. Within, they'd built the library Primrose had envisioned, built Orion's office with shelves of classics, a view of the hills opposite his brown, mahogany desk. They'd crafted halls of spare rooms, one that strictly now belonged to Nova, despite her wanting the cottage more than her four-walled space. She had a few years to go until she could legally take it as her own, even if she still spent five of the seven days of the week at the Night Court. They had a grand room for meetings and parties, a large dining room for family dinners and a lush sitting room full of velvet sofas and armchairs.

The surrounding area of the Manor was just as magnificent. The back garden was where all the flowers lived, the primrose that Elain had given her, marigolds and roses, and whatever else Elain planted when she visited. There were apple trees and strawberry plants, the orchard thriving as the sun gave it life. From the sitting room, double glass doors opened to a front patio, a small patch of tiles that housed chairs and a table for sitting in the sun. The manor itself had a line of flowers around it, the scent filling the house every time the wind blew. The forests neighbouring were full of life once more, the small pool of starlight open to anyone who wanted to bathe in it. She'd made the Spring Court a home, not only for herself and her family, but for anyone who needed it.

It was Sunday morning, time for their much-loved family breakfast that they'd continued after all these years. It had started with Orion and Nova, and had expanded all the way to the Spring Court. Orion made breakfast, bringing out the dishes as Nova and Primrose sat at the table, looking out at the field before them.

Nova hadn't changed much, she was still the wide smiled, violet-eyed female she had always been, but the smaller changes had added up over time. It had started with her body, her height towering, her hips widening and curves sharpening. Her style was different too, less sparkle and more silk. Then there was the makeup, with her mother's artistic hand, it was no surprise that Nova's makeup always looked flawless. Primrose had watched her grow into a beautiful young fae, just as she had watched Leo become the cheeky ten-year-old that he now was. She almost felt as though she had blinked and everything was different.

"Mama, look!"

Primrose turned, following the call of the small, winged boy who bounded toward her. Calyx had something cupped in his palm, his chubby toddler legs carrying him forward as he stopped beside his mother's chair. His foot stood on the bottom of the chair, hoisting himself up as she wrapped an arm around his waist, pulling him onto her lap.

"What have you got there, bubs?" Prim asked, peering over her son's shoulder as he placed his palm down on the table. Nova leaned forward curiously, both faes watching the young Illyrian. His small hand slowly uncurled, revealing a butterfly, its wings were bright blue and fluttered happily as it sat.