Page 53 of A Courage of the Chosen

“Hope.” He mutters the single word like he’s reluctant to say it.

“Hope?”

“Aye. Hope. It never died, no matter how much I tried to squash it. There was always something that I quietly held onto—that there could be a future for me, one without fighting. If I just kept going, I’d find something worth truly fighting for.”

“Do you have hope now?”

I already know the answer to that. I can feel the buds that have taken root in him, despite what’s to come.

Callahan nods hesitantly, his stubble scraping along my neck where he’s nestled. “More than ever. But it’s changed now. Before, I was fighting because there was no other choice. It was fight, or let them win.”

He turns me in his arms, holding me near as he wraps himself around me.

“Shall I tell you when it changed?” He lifts my chin with a finger. The light bounces off his eyes, reflecting in the lighter streaks, and ensnaring me as my heart thunders at his intensity.

“When?” I breathe.

“The minute I walked into that clearing and saw you on your knees in the mud, chained and defiant, ready to burn this world to the ground.”

My breath catches, and he draws his mouth closer to mine. His next sentence is a murmured reverence against my lips. “I knew then that it was you. You were the future I was fighting for.”

I whimper. I actually whimper as my pulse trips over itself, my body leaning in like I can melt into him and he’ll protect me from everything I need to face.

Callahan’s kiss is delicate, a single pass filled with the promise of a future we can both see, but scared to want out of fear it’ll be snatched away.

He pulls back and brackets my face in his large palms. “You are my hope, Elsie.”

The tears that I’ve fought for days fall onto my cheeks and Callahan’s fingers.

I grip his T-shirt. “You’re my hope, too, Callahan.”

It might be the most honest thing I’ve said to him.

One side of his face lifts, softening him in that way he only does for me, as his thumbs stroke a steady rhythm back and forth.

Unfamiliar, syrupy warmth unspools slowly from his side of the bridge, easing its way along the threads until it reaches me.

“Elsie, I—”

The moment is shattered by a knock at the door.

I slip from Callahan’s hold, eyes wide as he turns to face the view out of the window.

The knot of his throat bobs heavily.

Red hair peers around the doorframe. “Sorry for interrupting,” Reyne says sheepishly, spotting the obvious tension between us. “But I found someone wandering the palace halls I thought you might want to see.”

She opens the door wider, and behind her is Grandpa. Dressed in shining Seelie armor, sword at his hip, brown hair longer than the last time I saw him, and shoulders squared like the warrior he used to be. The one he’s rediscovering now he doesn’t have to hide who he is anymore.

It’s been a little over three weeks since I last saw him as we left Morven with the rebellion.

Everything is different now.

We’re at war.

I’m a queen.

The Craobh is gone.