ELORA AND LYSANDER
612 Words
Elora & Lysander
The noise drifts away quickly.
Rowan and the twins disappear toward the trees, Seren follows Odette inside, and Jasper is already unloading bags. For the first time since we arrived, it’s just us—standing in front of the cottage, the late afternoon light warming the stone.
Lysander exhales. “I was nervous.”
I blink. “You?”
He nods once. “This matters. All of this.” His gaze flicks toward the house, then back to me. “I didn’t want it to feel like we were taking something from you.”
“We aren’t losing anything,” I say quietly. “We’re just… expanding.”
Something in his shoulders loosens at that.
“I’m glad it’s close,” he admits. “Close enough that you’re safe. Far enough that you still have space.”
I smile. “You listened.”
“I always do,” he says, and then hesitates. “I mean—about things that matter.”
My chest tightens. I step closer, resting my forehead briefly against his. No rush. No spectacle.
“Thank you,” I whisper. “For seeing us. Not just me.”
His hand finds mine. “You’re my family too.”
And for the first time, the word doesn’t scare me.
“Careful.”
Caspian’s voice cuts in smoothly.
Lysander straightens immediately, all respectful composure. Caspian approaches with an easy grin, but his eyes are sharp—assessing, weighing.
“I like you,” Caspian says. “That’s not the problem.”
Lysander nods. “I didn’t assume it was.”
Good answer.
Caspian folds his arms. “You understand what comes with her, right? Not just whispers. Not just gossip. Real backlash.”
“I do,” Lysander says without hesitation.
Caspian tilts his head. “You think you do. But thinking and enduring aren’t the same.”
Lysander meets his gaze steadily. “I’ve already endured it.”
Caspian’s eyes flick—just briefly—to his knuckles.
“So you have,” he murmurs.
“I won’t let it touch her,” Lysander continues. “Or your family. Whatever comes, it comes for me first.”
Caspian studies him for a long moment, then exhales a quiet laugh. “Damn. Jasper’s going to hate that I like you.”
He claps a hand on Lysander’s shoulder, solid and approving. “Welcome to the mess, Prince.”
Lysander shakes his head and bites back a smile.
But he doesn't step back.
Fleur Returns
The cottage door opens.
Mom stands there, eyes red but clear, spine straight like she’s made a decision.
“Well,” Fleur says briskly, “I’ve cried. I’ve overthought. I’ve catastrophized.”
She looks at the house, then the grounds beyond it.
“And I’ve decided we’re going to be just fine.”
Jasper smiles softly, relief written all over him.
Fleur turns to Lysander. “You’re not replacing our pack,” she says firmly. “You’re giving us space to breathe again.”
He bows his head slightly. “That was my hope.”
She steps forward and cups his face—gentle, maternal, fierce. “Hurt her, and I will end you.”
Lysander doesn’t flinch. “Fair.”
I laugh despite myself.
Fleur pulls me into a hug next, holding tight. “Change is terrifying,” she murmurs. “But staying frozen is worse.”
She kisses my temple. “This is a good step,
Elora.”
As evening settles over the cottage grounds, laughter drifts through open doors, children’s voices echo between the trees, and for the first time in years—
We are not hiding.
We are home.
- Writer
