Fairy Bride Ch29: A New Name (Patreon)

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Silence.  That was all that could describe what came next.  For minutes, hours, days, silence defined their world.

When they could finally move away, Spencer and Daphne retreated to separate black sofas.  Staring into space.  Barely thinking.  Finally, as the dawn peeked over the Alps, fears of a missed flight goaded them both into packing.

But they never exchanged a word.

After they landed, a limousine drove them back to Kensington.  Daphne spent the ride looking out the window, comforted by the Thames, Putney Bridge, all the familiar landmarks.  At one point, Spencer nearly touched her arm.  He pulled back quickly, but she saw enough to turn.  They studied each other’s eyes.

Through the whole departure, all the way up their manor’s steps, the Harcourts remained close.  A metre apart, at most.  No rushing ahead or pulling away.  Yet neither had any desire to move closer.

Once the key fit the lock, and opened the door, Daphne felt like she could breathe.  Even if she was back in her prison.  But Spencer just turned his head away.  He still looked rent and knotted.

Daphne reached out.  “Spencer…”

And he marched away. Past the foyer, and the library, until he reaches the bug collection, and locks the doors behind him.

The first day, Daphne tried to mimic normalcy.  It didn’t last.  Spencer’s absence forced her into the unfamiliar - namely, she had to pick her own outfit.

For the first time in three years.

The act is a spark, stinging her into motion.  One would think her years in isolation made her accustomed to idleness, but she can’t bring herself to while away the hours, reading in a corner.  She takes to cooking instead.  If she follows instructions, it’s easy to keep herself busy and turn her brain off.  And at the end of it, she can leave a bowl out by the bug collection’s doors.  It takes a few meals before she actually sees one emptied.

On the second day, Daphne asks herself why.  She’s starting to feel it again - the grief, the pain, the anger.  But not, strangely, her old view of Spencer.  Holding him in her mind is like trying to picture a blur - confused impressions, as much as memories.

On the third day, Daphne realises she can just… leave.  He never locked her in her wing of the house.  He never reapplied the old commands.  She wouldn’t even need a grand scheme, it was as simple as walking through the front door, and it might take days before Spencer notices.

It might even be what he wanted.

But the plan never leaves the realm of passing thought.  She can’t go now, years of mulling and brooding be damned.  The ghost of this place would never leave her.  She has to see things through.

And so it goes.  Waking.  Cooking.  Eating.  Cleaning.  Crying.  Cooking some more.  Her only interactions with the outside are informing her parents that she’s okay.  Spencer’s had even less.

On the fifth day, Daphne misses him.  Wants to be comforted by him.  That thought used to make her recoil.  But now?

Now it feels pointless to deny it.

Daphne opens her eyes.  Bach’s 1st Cello Suite dances through her eardrums.  Instinctually, she burrows into her covers, groggily checking the doors.  They’ve already been opened, as have the curtains.

And Spencer isn’t there.

That’s when the scent floods in, first through her antennae and then her nose.  She leans towards the hot, steaming cup of tea, and sniffs again.

It’s peppermint.

Not a hint of lavender.

Curious, Daphne sits up.  Sure enough, Spencer’s left an outfit by the closet, but that’s all that’s the same.  It’s a long skirt and blouse, modest, and with a cape to hoist over her shoulders.  Little ruffles of fabric shoot all down the train, reminding her of a bird in the wind.  Golden clasps hold the outfit together, but otherwise, there’s no chains.  And everything, from the socks to the bracelets, is a soft, cloudy grey.

There’s no explanation of when Spencer got this outfit, or why he just casually broke the most sacred of their rules.  There’s only a tiny paper note, clipped through the cape:

‘Meet me where it ended.’

Daphne always remembers the bug collection as shrouded by shadow.  A suitably lanky and imposing place.  It’s a constant surprise when she finds the curtains drawn back and shafts of sunlight shining down on the displays.  Her heart jumps at the vibrant colours with a sense of wrongness.  Like instinct itself demands it remain dark.

She marches through the bees and beetles, the ants and the millipedes, until she’s reached the butterflies.  Spencer’s closed the nest behind him, so she turns towards the desk with the hidden switch.  The cabinets around it are normally stuffed with encyclopaedias, but not today.  Instead, she finds bags of seeds and soil, piled up by the bronze.

With a whirr of gears, the nest opens to reveal stark new furniture.  No mannequins.  No posters.  Not even a bed.  Just an empty nook with a small table and two equally small chairs.  Atop it is an expensive-looking pen, and a long, blank sheet of yellowed parchment.  Spencer’s seated at the far end, cradling a steaming mug. His suit and tie are the same shade as Daphne’s clothes.

They look at each other for a moment, the tension thick enough to wade through.  But after a while, Spencer sips his coffee, before saying quietly, “Good morning.  How are you?”

“I’m…”  Daphne shrugs, and looks back at him.

“Yeah.”  He nods slowly.  “Me too.”

Spencer’s face is taut and there are layers of bags beneath his eyes.  His blonde mat of hair still shines in the lanterns, but it’s hard to ignore the silver strands.  Yet his eyes still focus on her.  With clear concern, and a hint of fear.

Daphne lifts her mug.  “Thanks for the tea.  When did you learn I like peppermint?”

“I called your mother.”  He offers a slight smile, then nods to the parchment.  “Come on.  We’re exhausted, so we’d best get started.”

“Are you serving me papers, Spencer?”

It’s a joke, but his smile barely reaches his eyes.  Instead, Spencer pulls a slip of paper from his pocket.  Unrolls it over the parchment, and whispers in some unknown tongue until golden sparks wash over.  When the magic’s done, both pages are seared together.  He then takes the pen and writes, in large letters:

‘The Matrimonial Covenant between Spencer Alexander and Daphne Louise Harcourt-Brionne, formerly known as L Morgan.’

Daphne squints at the smaller strip.  It’s written in the same language as her wrist mark, and there’s no spell translating it for her.  But the gold ink at the bottom makes obvious what it is: the deed that officiated her Keeping. His signature’s right there.

The one that sealed her name.

She looks at him incredulously.  “What is this?”

“Something we should have done long ago,” he replies.  “An agreement.  A peace treaty.”

Daphne blinks.  “What, like when you were a diplomat in Strasbourg?”

“I was a pretty good diplomat in Strasbourg.  Thought I’d use the skill.”  He pulls a chair out for her.  “All this… strife in our marriage, it needs to be settled.  This is how we begin that process.  We’ll renegotiate the Keeping.”

Those words sound foreign, coming from his mouth.  Daphne lifts her brow as she sits down.  “Are matrimonial covenants a fae thing?”

“No.”

“Are they magic?”

Spencer shakes his head.

“Then how does this change the Keeping?”

“The way a normal agreement would.”  He shrugs.  “We’ve seen Keepings work the way they’re ‘supposed to,’ and we know that way doesn’t work for us.  So we have to try and build something ourselves.  Find our own middle ground.”

“Middle ground?”  Daphne scowls.  “Spencer, I’m your Kept.  There is no ‘middle ground.’”

Spencer winces and closes his eyes.  “I know I haven’t been… attentive to your needs in the past, but-”

“You stole my free will.”  Her voice grows heated.  “We can establish whatever boundaries will make you feel better, but at day’s end, if you break them, I’ve got shit.”

“You won’t,” he taps the parchment.  “You’ll have this.  And if you break a rule, so will I.”

“Oh please.”  Daphne scoffs.  “If that happens, you’ll just command me-”

“To sit down, read the covenant with me, and then talk things out. And I won’t be using magic to enforce that.”  Spencer notes her suspicion.  “I’m learning my lessons, Daph.  Forcing you into things?  Doesn’t usually pan out.”

“Wow.”  She deadpans.  “Only took you three years.”

“Better late than never, right?”  He chuckles, but the laugh’s already half-dead.  “Any more… reservations?  I need us both to be honest.  How are you feeling?”

“Feeling?”  Daphne snorts.  “I feel like I’m signing some kind of slave contra…”

She hesitates, blinking a few times.  Slowly, she turns to Spencer.  “I can say ‘slave.’”

He doesn’t break eye contact.  “You can.”

“Since when?”

“This morning, while you slept.  I undid…”  Spencer gestures.  “... all the commands.”

Daphne’s mouth hangs open.  An invisible weight has left her shoulders.

“And if it’s not obvious,” Spencer smiles.  “Please stop following me around.  Or obeying my every whim.  It’s disgusting.”

“It’s what you wanted.”

“I know.  And I was wrong.”  He laughs nervously.  “If you want this to work, you’ll have to allow me that.  I’m trying to be better.”

“Better?”  Something ignites inside her.  A flame, almost forgotten.

“Well, I want to say I’m aiming for good, but, heh.”  Spencer forces a smile.  “Given where I am…”

“You kidnapped me.”

Something twitches in Spencer’s face.  Panic.  But he doesn’t turn away.  “... I did.”

“You forced me to marry you.”

He nods.

“You used magic you didn’t understand to turn me into a spellbound servant, and… and you…”  Daphne inhales.  “... you raped me to seal it.”

“... Yeah…”  Spencer blinks a few times, hand tight on his stomach.  “... No denying that.”

“And after everything you’ve done,” Daphne grits her teeth.  “The most you can say is, ‘I’ll do better’!?”

“Yes.”  Spencer’s clearly in pain.  “... Is there something else you’d like to hear?”

Daphne scoffs.  “How about a fucking ‘sorry’?”

“Find me an apology that doesn’t feel infinitely hollow, and I will say it a million times.  But I spent three days looking for one, so I don’t think you can.”  Spencer swallows and presses a hand on his heart.  “I am sorry.  Sorry that I took so much I can never give back.  Trust me, Daph, I want nothing more than to sob at your feet and plead.  But what does all that do for you?”

“It lets me feel hurt.”

“You should feel hurt.  You’ve been hurt.  And by most people’s standards, I’m going to keep hurting you.”  Spencer bites his lip.  “Does that help?”

Daphne exhales.  “It’s a start.”

Spencer nods and sits in the other chair.

Daphne stares at him for a long second.  “What’s stopping me from throwing this ‘covenant’ in your face and bolting for the door?”

“You, I suppose.”  Spencer shrugs.  “You’re still here.”

“Yeah, but I shouldn’t be.  I should feel dirty even sitting here with you.”

“But you don’t.  And you’re probably not going to.  And that’s… fine.”  Spencer struggles with the word.  “There’s a lot of things that we should be doing today that we simply won’t.  Nothing about this is right. But that doesn’t mean there isn’t something we can improve.  Something that works.”

“It would only work because you’ve conditioned me, Spencer.”

“And I can’t really un-condition you, can I?”  Spencer sighs.  “What you call ‘conditioning’ was also survival.  You needed those feelings to get this far, and they don’t easily go away.  I’m just suggesting we don’t fight them anymore.  We just roll with it.  Come what may.”

Daphne glares at him.  She knows she ought to storm out, but…

… but she…

She leans back into her chair, shutting the tears out.  “Okay.  Fine.  Continue.”

“Now that you’ve made your… concerns known,” Spencer nods to himself.  “I have some to bring forward, too.  Um, fair warning.  To you, they’ll sound petty.”

“Don’t worry.”  Daphne waves her hand.  “I’m used to it.”

More nods.  “Lyra’s old Keeper still lives in the Market.  She’s very possessive of you and has a proven disregard for both human and Market law.  If you were no longer my… hostage…”  He pulls at his shirt collar.  “She’s very likely to come and laser me into ash.  So… getting your old job at the Glade, not really an option.”

“I could convince her to pull back,” Daphne offers.

“Really?”  He looks at her intensely.

After a moment, her antennae wilt.

Spencer shrugs.  “I also won’t let you go to the press or the police.”

“What?” Daphne furrows her brows.

“I don’t want to go to prison.”

“But you’ve committed crimes.”  Her breathing turns ragged.  “You… you know you’re guilty-”

“Y-yes, but-”

“But what?  You don’t want any consequences?  Are you that much of a coward!?”

“Yes!  Yes I am!  A giant, pathetic coward.”  Spencer springs up.  “Remember, Daph, we’re not aiming for good anymore.  I’m a shitty person, I have all the power, I don’t want to do it, and so I won’t.  Just like…”

Spencer hesitates, his eyes growing wide.  Daphne leans forward, scowling.  “Spencer…”

“... just like I’m not letting you go.”  He looks her in the eyes.  “You have to stay my Kept.  I’m sorry.”

The world turns cold.  Daphne can feel her mind shrinking.  Spencer squirms uncomfortably, gripping the table.

And here she thought her flame was buried.

“You still want me to be your toy?”

“No.”  Spencer shivers.  “It’s going to be different-”

“I’m still trapped.”  Daphne cuts him off.  “I’m still completely dependent on you.  I’m still stuck with this secret I can’t tell anyone.”

“I know, I-I-I know.”  Spencer’s hands press into his head.  His stutter’s peeping out.  “Buh-buh-but it’s neh-neh-neh-non-negotiable-”

“Like Hell!”  Daphne slaps the table.  There are tears in her eyes.  “You’re ruining any chance I have of living a fucking normal life!”

“I can’t do it!”  Spencer clenches his jaw, shuddering. There’s panic in his eyes.  He sees the way Daphne flinches back, and it makes his face melt all over again.  “I… I… I’m not going to offer excuses.  It’s wrong.  It’s not fair.  You deserve better.  I spent five days trying to psych myself up to it, but…” he swallows.  “... I want you in my life, and I don’t want to be alone.”

Daphne’s trying her best to stay calm.  It’s a good funnel for her thoughts.  “Okay, so, if I can’t leave, what are we negotiating?”

“I never said you couldn’t leave.”  Spencer draws a slow breath.  “Far as I see it, we have two options.  You still have to be Daphne…”

Spencer fiddles with his pen and hovers over the parchment.  She sees him write down two letters.  ‘A’ and ‘B’.  Beneath ‘A’ comes ‘annulment.’

“...but you don’t have to be a Harcourt.”

Daphne looks at him.  “You’d… end the marriage?”

“I’m willing to make sacrifices,” Spencer shrugs.  “At this point, I have to.”

Daphne frowns.  “What would a divorce look like?”

“Messy,” he scowls.  “My father will fight tooth and nail to make sure you get nothing.  The press would be all over us.  Guy Mallory will pounce, and you can’t just disappear.  Daphne exists now.  Legally, in public.  You have to keep up the glamour either way.”

Daphne folds her hands silently.  Spencer winces before he continues.

“And, um… if you were serious about getting politically involved…”

Daphne frowns.  In this mess of emotions, she almost forgot all the letters.  But they’re still there.  Begging for help.

“What about you?” she asks.

Spencer shrugs.  “I dunno.  You go your way, I go mine.  We’d have to stay in touch.  To make sure rules are followed, and… because… I’d still like to see you, from time to time.”  He tries his best to grin.  “Nothing long, or major.  A dinner every now and then.  I’d… I could make my peace with that.”

Daphne watches him as he leans into the table, bowing his head.  It’s clear how much the words are hurting him, and yet he manages without a stutter.  Or even much panic.  It’s… new.

Almost impressive.

She tilts her head.  “And Option B?”

“This.”  Spencer taps the page.  “We go through the Keeping.  Point by point, every angle, until we can both settle on something we agree with.  It won’t be perfect - no compromise is - but in the end…”

“We can be a real couple,” Daphne finishes.

“Yes.  And see if we can work from there.”

Daphne turns away from him, staring at her bare feet.  As massive a makeover as the Nest was, he couldn’t remove the wooden scent.

“Um…”  He clears his throat.  “If I might speak in my own defence…”

“Spencer…”

“When Father goes, I’ll make you inheritor of my estate.  Lady Ashford will be cared for her entire life, and she’ll have someone to help her navigate the human world.”  He starts speaking faster.  “I’ll support any path you wanna take here.  Stay-at-home, politics, even college, I’ll pay-”

“Spencer, shut up about the money.”  She pauses.  “I’m…going to stay.”

Spencer pauses, looking back.  His eyes are wild.  “You are?”

She shrugs.

“Why?”

“Because I’ve lost my bloody mind?”  She chuckles to herself.  “Because I’m so foolish that I fell into your web?”

“Daphne…”

“Or maybe I’m just the silly creature that everyone wanted, at last.  So… broken and confused -”

“It wasn’t your fault…”

“- that I actually fell in love with you.”

Spencer stares at her, his mouth hanging open.  She takes the chance to collect herself, her face growing stern.

“Zetti was wrong about lots of things, but he wasn’t wrong about me,” she continues.  “Whenever someone gets too close, whenever I might lose control of my life, I’m barreling for the door.  And get myself more hurt in the process.”

Spencer frowns.  “That might just be bad luck.”

“N-no, it’s not.”  Daphne stammers.  “I’ve never controlled my life.  Neither have you. Even with a magic slave spell, nobody can.”

Daphne looks into her husband’s eyes, squeezing her folded hands.  It’s strange, thinking of Spencer as an option.  But that’s what he is now.

And, even stranger…

… she’s not sure he’s a bad one.

“I hate you,” she continues.  “I have to, and I always will.  You’re clingy, and manipulative, and you’ve got some serious issues.”

“Yeah, I’m going to therapy tomorrow,” he interrupts.

“Good.”  She nods.  “But still.  You care about me.  You’ve provided for me.  And when you’re not stuck in your own head, you… really do have your moments.”  Daphne laughs at the absurdity.  “Saving me from the press.  Always carrying spare forks.  And-”

“And the nicknames?”  He offers.

“Urghhhh,” she rolls her eyes and laughs.  “Any chance I can negotiate those out?”

He winks.  “Not in a million years.”

Daphne bites her lip.  “Frankly… this whole trip, I’ve just been confused about you.  All that good and bad, I can’t make sense of it.  But it doesn’t scare me, either.  I don’t want to run away.  So if you’re serious about changing, staying truthful, and think this can really work, then…”

She exhales.

“... I’m willing to try.”

Spencer’s lips tremble.  “Thank you, Daphne.  You’re giving me a chance I don’t deserve.  Sorry I tricked you into loving me.”

“Yeah, well, that’s quite you, isn’t it?”  After a chuckle, Daphne claps.  “Alright.  How do we workshop this?”

She pauses when she sees the hand, dangling precariously above her shoulder.  Spencer was about to grab her before he stopped himself, checking her eyes.  She shakes her head, and he pulls away.

“It’s less about form than function,” he says.  “You pick.”

“Well, for starters, I don’t think I’ll ever want to wear white again.”

“Heheheh, don’t worry, Daphne.”  Spencer leans forward and grabs his pen.  “I’m way ahead of you.”

The next five hours and thirty-two minutes are some of the strangest in Daphne’s very strange life.  They’re discussing Daphne’s kidnapping, yes.  But it’s in such abstract terms that she can’t help but think of it like a game.  She wins one point, Spencer the next.  He can’t force her to watch movies, but she still has a curfew.

It’s not always intense.  Or even heated.  They tell jokes, take breaks, reminisce about the holiday, complain a lot about Britain’s miserable weather.  Some of the covenant’s topics are also mundane: should Daphne get a credit card?  What tracking apps can he put on her phone?  The sheer ludicrousness makes them both very quick to laugh.

But Spencer always laughs less, always gets back on task first.  Daphne’s stunned by how… approachable he is, through the process.  He makes his concerns clear.  Complains a little about his losses, but never as much as he celebrates her gains.  It must be relieving; she can see the burden lifting from his eyes, point by point.  But sometimes, still, his old self rears its ugly head.

Getting him to abandon commands is a struggle.  Especially the ‘funny’ ones, like the ‘cutesy words’ or the ‘Daph Smile.’  It doesn’t matter how many times she describes the feeling to him; he can’t really see the harm.  In the end, she offers an exchange.  She’ll keep her wings dyed, and her hair long, if he never uses a command again.

She’s genuinely and pleasantly surprised when he says ‘yes.’  But the negotiations don’t end there.

Spencer pushes up his glasses.  “You’re not gonna like this one…”

Daphne steels herself.

“I don't want to… ask… to touch you.”  He looks at the ground as she inhales.  “I know!  It’s invasive!  You don’t need to explain!”  Spencer twitches.  “But, hear me out, it’s just… when you’re right there, so squishy and cuddly, it just feels wrong to not reach out.  Asking takes all the romantic tension away!”

“I don’t think you understand what that means.”  She frowns.  “Spence, I’m an adult.  I don’t want my cheeks pinched in the supermarket.”

“Well, being an adult means doing a lot of things you don’t want.”  He pouts.  “Come on.  Pretty please?  It feels like I’m the only one ever giving up anything!”

“Because you’re the only one who can -  urghhh - ”  Daphne starts, then subsides, considering.  Don’t get mad; this is a negotiation.  If he’s digging his heels in, that means she’s found an opportunity.

“Alright.  You can touch me, if…”  Daphne lifts her finger.  “I get to see my old friends.”

A flash of fear across Spencer’s face.  She keeps her focus steady.  “Daph…”

“I won’t let them start any trouble.  You’ll come for the first meeting, we’ll get them up to speed.”

“And how do you think that will go?”  Spencer squints.  “They’ll punch me in the face!”

“As if you don’t deserve it,” Daphne folds her arms.

“Ah!”  Spencer places his hands over his heart.

“Spencer, they’re my friends. Decent people.  If I’m the one to explain, I’m sure they’ll understand.  They don’t have to agree with it!  Just...accept it.”

He lifts a brow.  “And if they don’t?”

“Then I won’t call again,” she nods.

Spencer fiddles in his seat, scanning the document.  “How about this: after three months, if you’re keeping your end of the bargain, we can arrange visits together.  Deal?”

She nods, watching him write.  The smile she feels tugging at the corner of her mouth has nothing to do with any magic of the Keeping.

For the first time in a long while, Daphne can make plans.

“Is that everything?”

Daphne bows her head, looking the text over.  They’ve filled the vast majority of the excessively-long page.  Every worry or trouble that’s plagued their new life has been addressed, and a solution found.  If it were a ‘silly nymph game,’ Daphne’s pretty sure she won.  She can go outside whenever she pleases and has full control of her makeup and wardrobe.  She even has signals for when Spencer’s going too far.  Real boundaries for a normal couple.

There’s something magical about that.

“Okay.”  Spencer hovers over the large underline, stretching his ink-stained hand.  “I’ll go first…”

“Wait.” Daphne pulls his arm.  “Do you still want children?”

He looks at her like she’s just sprouted… well…  “Do you?”

“I don’t want to take that away from you.”

“I’m not the one giving birth.”

“You sure?”  Her antennae bob.  “We can reach out to Astraea.  I’m sure she’s got some spare magic-”

Spencer snorts.  After a moment, he looks up, considering.  “It would be complicated.  If you go out as a trans woman and do advocacy work while pregnant, ah…”

“We’ll have to keep it secret, but…”  Daphne bites her lip.  “You were right.  I don’t wanna spend my whole life reading books and attending galas.  Kids can help me move past this, help me rethink-”

“No.”  She’s surprised by how curtly Spencer interrupts.  “Kids are kids.  They can’t help you do anything.”

“But you said-”

“I know what I said.  I was wrong.  Again.”  He stands a little straighter.  “I’m not saying you shouldn’t be a mother, Daphne.  You’d be excellent.  But you haven’t seen what a marriage looks like when it’s buoyed on a child’s shoulders.  Until we get better, all that pain falls on them.  I’ve repeated too many of my family’s mistakes already.  I won’t repeat this.”

Daphne’s wings droop as she watches him. He’s struggling to stay composed.

“Sorry,” he whispers.  “Are you upset?”

“No,” she answers honestly.  “You just sounded… really mature.”

“Oh.  That’s new.”  He smiles slightly.  “If you’re interested in kids, we can talk about them later.  When we’re ready.”

Daphne nods.  “I want something good to come from all this.”

He starts writing down.  “Then I’ll stand right behind.”

When Spencer pulls back, the underline is half-written.  He turns to meet her eyes.  “All yours, darling.”

Then he gently places the pen in her hand.

Daphne walks forward and stares at the document.  Feels her skin scratch along the yellowed page.  Prepares to write… and prepares.  And prepares.  And prepares.

The ink starts staining the spot she’s pressed.  Her hand refuses to move.

“Why is this so hard?”  She asks, knowing he’s silently watching.  “I’ve signed my name before.”

“Because it was never your name,” he replies.  “Not until today.”

Daphne inhales, and notices the sharpness in her breath.  He’s right.  The weight of the parchment is finally hitting her.  Decades of her future at stake.  Entire lives, buried beneath the lines.  If she signs this, this life, this everything, becomes real.  Not because of a spell he cast, or because she thought there were no other options.  No.  It’s her choice if she becomes Daphne now.

This is her true surrender.

She puts a hand on her heart, feeling the pulse.  There’s no hint of lavender on her tongue, or gentle patter of rain.  But Daphne can still feel the girl, deep inside.  Open, and scared and depending on her.

“It didn’t have to be like this,” she whispers.  her eyes mist over.  “There was always a could-have-been.”

She hears footsteps approaching.  “Mmm?”

“I-I don’t want to,” she shakes her head.  “You’re already so tired, and we’ve been through so much, and I-”

Daphne feels something firm.  His hand over hers.  She brings it to her cheek, squeezing tight.

She shudders.  “There’s a world where we could have worked.  Where you could have been happy…”

She guides his hand to the top of the paper.

“... and she could have been free.”

Her husband’s eyes dim as her fingers settle on a long lost name.

“She cared, Spencer.  She didn’t think you were creepy.  She never thought you were bad.  And… and… if you had just listened,” Daphne struggles for breath.  “She would have listened too.  You didn’t need a Keeping to make her love you, Spencer.  She already had.”

“Darling...” Spencer’s grip loosens, and she takes the chance.  Running into his chest, hugging him for support.  Daphne squeezes her eyes shut.

“I wanna live in that world,” she sniffles.  “I want to be her.  I don’t want to be Kept.”

“Shhh, shhhh.”  Spencer comforts her, petting her hair.

“One day, you’ll grow old,” Daphne trembles.  “Or change your mind.  But the Keeping will end, and Daphne will end too.  The other girl, she’ll wake up. She’ll come back safe and ready and f-f-free… and I…”

“She will.”  Spencer squeezes.  “I wouldn’t want anything less.  And when that day comes, give that girl my regards.  If you’ll allow me a moment, I have something I want to give her.”

She feels her husband step out of the room.  Daphne pulls the cloak over herself and shivers.  Images flash as she closes her eyes.  The girl, with her short hair and grey wings.  Sitting before the mirror.  Singing on the stage.

The promise that never happened, and the dreams she never made.

She hears his footsteps return.  “Give me your hand.”

Daphne lifts it, and her breath quickly freezes.  She opens her eyes to see a small green bud and little patch of soil.  The dirt crumbling in her palm.  “Sp-Spencer…?”

“I ordered these for the grounds.  Thousands of plants, from hundreds of species.”  He lowers himself until their eyes are even.  “But I’m not stopping there, Daphne.  I want to make this space a greenhouse.”

Her eyes grow wide.  “But… the bugs…”

“I’ll give them away.”  Spencer’s eyes spark.  “I’m tired of keeping dead things, darling.  I want to care for what’s living.”

He clasps her shoulders, and she cups the plant in her hands.  Small and fragile, like all things starting out.

“You have every right to mourn for all that hardship and pain.  But Daphne, we can’t change the past, and there are other could-have-beens.  Tomorrows we can make, and gardens we can build.  Think of that when you sign this, not what we’ve lost.  Because I promise, you’ll win.  It might start with my name, but the future’s in your hands.”

She nods, the tears streaking down, and feels him take the plant.  Turning around, and grabbing the pen, she looks again at the page.

But not the marks, or the letters, or even the yellowed parchment.  No, she looks at something deeper than all that, something that can’t be seen.  A field full of flowers, the scents flooding her antennae.  Gentle wind in the leaves and hands on the grass.  Somewhere quiet and beautiful where she can fly and be seen.

It’s somewhere she can’t be taken.  Somewhere she can’t be silenced.  Somewhere where the sky is always clear, and it never ever rains.

Her hand trails up the covenant.  Thumb running over that great loss at the top of the page.  A name from another life.  But through the pain, she smiles.

“I’ll miss you.  Goodbye.”

And signs with her new name.

For the first time in three years and forever, Daphne Harcourt has a future.  A future she didn’t want, and never asked for.  But a future she chose.

A future that’s all her own.

Hi everyone.  Because I write all these right after my final draft, I’m a bit of a mess right now.  There’s a lot to say about this ending, and I can’t wait to hear your thoughts in the comments and on Discord, but first, I have to give my thanks.

Fairy Bride simply could not have been made without the truly endless support of my co-creators Heart and Hark.  Their work has made this story shine in ways I didn’t think possible.  When I started this project sixteen months ago, none of us had any idea how big or challenging it would become.  But they pushed through, even in our toughest moments, and their dedication bolstered me, too.  Thank you both so much.  We’ve really created something beautiful.

Finally, and most importantly, I want to thank you, the reader.  Fairy Bride is my first foray into writing, and I’m so glad you decided to follow that journey, and I hope that journey has moved you.  It’s certainly moved me.

I’ve got one more surprise for you: tune in tomorrow, Saturday, January 27th, for Fairy Bride’s Epilogue: A New Life.  It’s time we bid Spencer and Daphne goodbye :’)