Beau watched him with unabashed amusement. “Tell me you aren’t nervous.”

“I’m not nervous.” Reid scoffed as if insulted, but his eyes still darted to the opposite end of the grove, where guests had already begun to arrive. It would be an intimate ceremony. They’d invited only those they loved or trusted: Zenna and Seraphine, Toulouse and Thierry, Johannes Pan and his wife. Babette mingled with a handful of other witches, all of whom kept one eye on Jean Luc and Father Achille. Blaise and his children hovered at the edge of the grove, speaking little, until Toulouse beckoned them to come sit. Even Elvire and Lasimonne were in attendance, lounging regally with their diamond gowns and fishhook earrings.

Reid, Beau, and Jean Luc had spent the morning filling the grove with chairs. On the backs of each, they’d painstakingly looped brightly colored ribbons and flowers—poppies, marigolds, peonies, and cornflowers. Scarlets and golds and blushes and blues, all nestled in beds of deep green. More blooms spilled from the stumps of pear trees throughout the grove, where lush moss crept over gnarled wood.

Reid glared at the stumps, the only piece of the scene out of place. Only yesterday, he’d painstakingly constructed the arbor of vines and florets overhead. Every detail had been planned. Every flower plucked to perfection.

Beau followed his gaze with a wistful expression. “If only Claud were here. He could’ve grown new trees.”

Reid looked at him incredulously. “He could also be dead.”

“We don’t know that. He’s a god. Perhaps after he’s served his time—”

“The ground opened up and swallowed him.”

“—he will return to us, good as new,” Beau finished determinedly, clasping Reid’s shoulder. Forcing him to a halt. “Loosen up, brother mine. It’s your wedding day.”

“I know.” Reid nodded to himself, shaking free to pace again. “I know. I just want it to be perfect.”

“And it is.”

He was right. Lou would love it.

If my heart ached that I too couldn’t be part of this moment, this memory, the pain eased when I caught sight of an empty chair in the front row. In a burnished oval frame, a picture of my likeness had been affixed to a bouquet of sunflowers. Warmth radiated through me as I knelt to study it.

They’d saved me a seat, after all.

When Coco swept forward in her own gown of ivory—with flowers braided into her black curls—the warmth in my chest bloomed tenfold. Exertion flushed her cheeks, and her dark eyes sparkled with excitement as she looked to Reid and Beau, lifting the sunflower bouquet from my seat. “It’s time.” She dipped her chin to Beau. “She’s waiting.”

With a smirk, Beau straightened his jacket and smoothed his immaculate waves. “Finally.” He clasped Reid’s shoulder before turning on his heel. “My moment to shine.”

Snorting, Coco rolled her eyes and said, “No one will be looking at you.”

He arched a wicked brow. “You will be.”

She lifted a casual shoulder, speaking over it as she strode back up the aisle. “We’ll see.”

“Yes, we—” He skidded to a halt in his pursuit of her, his eyes falling on Jean Luc. The spray on the latter’s chair had loosened, and he was attempting to reattach it. “Honestly, Jean, what did I tell you? We want it to appear artfully strewn, as if the daisies sprang up from this very chair. You’re tacking them on too neatly.” When Jean Luc scowled, unimpressed, Beau elbowed him aside to do it himself. “Like tits on a boar.”

“Careful, Your Majesty.” With a wry grin, Jean Luc tossed a handful of fallen edelweiss at his head. The King of Belterra lurched away with a violent curse, finger combing his hair frantically. “You’ll muss those luscious locks.”

“I will kill you—”

Coco caught his hand and dragged him up the aisle before they could brawl. Grinning despite myself, I followed them around the bend, where Lou stood out of sight with Madame Labelle, Célie, and Manon. Beau shook his head when he saw her, whistling low and appreciative. “Reid is going to lose his mind.”

Lou winked and shimmied her shoulders. “That’s the plan.”

Madame Labelle fixed one of her soon-to-be daughter’s curls, arranging it artfully around Lou’s freckled cheek. “You look beautiful, fille. I shall see you soon. Come.” She motioned for Célie and Manon to join her, leaving Lou, Coco, Beau, and me alone in the shadow of a withered pear tree. The only one that’d survived. When Reid had suggested holding the festivities here, Madame Labelle had protested, explaining again how Morgane had torched these trees in a fit of rage. Reid knew that, of course. He knew how love could twist even the most beautiful of people, of places, into cruel and dark things. He also knew how special this grove had once been to his mother—to all the Dames Blanches.

Lou had agreed, and together, they’d made it beautiful once more.

When Coco extended the sunflower bouquet, Lou’s grin dimmed slightly. Her finger traced the curve of the frame. “Do you think he’s watching?”

Coco looped an arm through hers. “I think he wouldn’t miss it for anything.”

“He should’ve been here. He should’ve given me away too.”

Beau claimed Lou’s other arm, tapping my face in the frame. “He still is.”

“I still am,” I whispered with a smile. In response, a soft breeze rustled the branches overhead, bringing with it a pleasant warmth, a low hum of bees, a faint scent of daffodils. Of new beginnings.

I walked beside them as they led Lou up the aisle.

Though Claud had gone, his empty seat remained next to mine, and Seraphine crooned a lovely ballad of love lost and love found while Reid waited beneath the arbor. Madame Labelle stood beside him, the handfasting ribbons woven between her fingers. She winked at Father Achille in the audience.

Beau cleared his throat, and every person—every human, witch, werewolf, and mermaid—turned as one to look at us. To look at Lou. Her breath caught in her throat, and her hands tightened instinctively on Coco and Beau. “Breathe, sister mine,” the latter murmured. “Just breathe.”

“Go on, Lou.” Though she couldn’t see me, couldn’t hear me, I spoke the words regardless, pushing her forward gently. “Find peace.”