Their royal wedding was set for the spring when, according to Iver, the hills beyond the castle would eventually roll with green, the honeysuckle and sugared pears would scent the air, and the breeze would warm their souls. He promised her a wedding the likes of which no one in Shamalot had ever seen.
Until then, they talked long into the night and the better part of the days, they laughed, Jon taught her all the shortcuts in the enormous castle, and they conspired to find a way to bring phones, Netflix, and the Internet to Shamalot.
But mostly, they loved. They grew as a couple. They made plans for a future filled with children and their version of a happily-ever-after.
Looking up at his beautiful face, tracing the outline of his jaw, her heart fuller than she could ever remember, Toni said, “How could I be so remiss? You, my one true love, are the best prince a girl could ask for—bar none.”
But Iver frowned. “Have you asked for others?”
She pushed her arms up under his and laughed. “It’s an expression, silly. It means, there’s no one else like you in the world and I wouldn’t trade you—not even for a lifetime of Starbucks and a flushing toilet.”
“Not even for your beloved, most revered Starbucks? Milady, it must be true love,” he murmured against her lips, making her sigh.
“Ya think?” she asked on a giggle.
“Nay, princess in training, I know,” Iver whispered back as he swept her up in a kiss.
Oh, and it was love.
Everlasting—true—the kind fairytales are made of.
The End