Page 147 of Summer of Sacrifice

“It’s my wedding!” Grimm argued. At least Asa let his wrist go. “Wait. Gaius said he was handing me off to Laure— Oh, my gods!” A hand had come in and slapped his arse. “Never mind.”

Laurent howled. “Just hold your damned horses, reaper. Shall I play for you?” Before Grimm could answer, Laurent began plucking at his lute. It was nice, he had to admit to himself—begrudgingly.

Several moments later, Grimm sighed. “Can I at least sit?” No one answered. In fact, the air around him felt empty. “Gents?” He reached up for the blindfold, but his heart stuttered, his hand stilling.

Suddenly the air no longer felt empty. It felt all filled up.

Little witch.

Hello, reaper.

He ripped off the blindfold and there she was, a handful of strides away.

“Holy gods,” he breathed, eyes welling with a sudden rush of tears. How many times had he seen her? How many lifetimes had he spent with her? And yet this was different. How, he didn’t know. Didn’t care. But he couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. All of which flooded their entanglement, and she smiled, a bubbling, tearful laugh escaping her beautiful mouth.

It was only then that he registered anything but her. He almost laughed. In a way, it was still her. Her copse of trees alive with dying leaves surrounded them, pumpkins galore, and floating lanterns twinkled around them, only outshone by the moon directly above. The Witching Hour.

Slowly, Agatha walked toward him in a gown that broke his heart for how beautiful it looked on her, and what he felt about it in their bond. She loved details, but tonight—their night—she only needed him. The gown fluttered Autumnal leaves in her wake, each step toward him a blissful torture.

His heart was hammering against his ribs. Why was this different?

Because she was his bride. His wife. His life in every timeline already.

“Because,” she continued for him, halting one step from him. One agonising step. She’d heard his tangle of thoughts, of course she had. “This is us,” she said, those honey eyes locked on his. “This is us pausing for the first time since that awful night in our gazebo in Achlys—since we separated for the good of everyone else—to let our lives wash over us. Be us. Just us.”

Agatha took the last step forward and Grimm reached for one of her hands, resting his other on the small of her back as if they might dance beneath the moonlight. “I hope you know,” he said, his voice scratchy, “that I would burn down this and any other realm for you.”

He no longer wanted anyone to hear the vows he’d prepared for her. She was right. This was for them. A slice of a moment carved out just for the two of them. A tear slid down her cheek, and, for once, he didn’t wipe it away. “Agatha, you are everything to me. You drive me mad. You challenge me, make me feel alive. I can say with absolute finality, that I do not want this life or any other without you in it.

“You could bloom while set up in flames, for goddess’ sake.” She sniffled a laugh and he thought his heart would explode. “Many people marry.” He was well and truly crying himself now. “But how many get to marry the love of their life over, and over, and over again?”

It was becoming hard to speak through his tears, so he kissed her hand, trying to compose himself. “I have. And yet, I still choose you. Every day. In every life. Until the end of time.” He bent to kiss her but stopped. “Godsdammit, I need a ring someone!”

A little burst of magic, like a popping soap bubble, and Agatha’s bat and bone ring appeared before him. He plucked it from the air and held up her hand. “I knew they had to be watching,” he whispered, and she laughed, both of them a mess of snot and tears. Palms sweating and heart pounding, he slipped the ring on her finger where it belonged. “I love you.”

Agatha squeezed her eyes shut before opening them and pulling her hand from his. “All right. Now hush and let me talk.” He laughed as she fanned her face, then pushed her hair back, blowing a great breath past her lips. “Whew. All right, I can do this.”

Gods, he loved this woman.

“Stop thinking so romantically or I’ll never get through this, reaper!”

Grimm tipped his head back and laughed. He swore he could hear the others snicker from wherever they were hiding. Little gremlins.

She took his hand again and started to speak, but stopped. Over her shoulder, she cleared her throat loudly. Anne popped out from behind a tree, smiling awkwardly. She snuck over to them, face beet-red and stuck in that grimace.

“Apologies,” she whispered, handing Agatha a ring. “Gaius changed the whole thing at the last minute.”

Fuck, that was going to make him cry again.

A fresh wave of tears came from Agatha again as Anne tip-toed back to her hidy-hole. After a moment of blinking up at the sky, she finally faced him, looking up at him instead of the moon. “You are my night sky.”

She choked on the words, and Grimm had to swipe at his face.

“I never grow tired of you, and I grow tired of…everyone.” He laughed, and a chorus of muffled chuckles came from the trees. “I told you on the eve of our last wedding that twilight was my favourite time of day, because the moon and sun war for control of the sky. I believe now that I love it because it is the time of darkness and light. And the twilight holds the peace between them.” Her tears began anew, and so did his. “You are my peace, Grimm. My twilight. You hold me together when I can’t do it. I don’t want any of this”—she gestured toward her beloved Forest of Tombs—“or any life without you.”

She slipped the ring on his finger and he snatched her waist, pulling her to him. Cheers erupted from the trees as he kissed her as if it were the first time.

AGATHA

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