Page 89 of The Witch's Spell
Aurora
Eight Years Later
“MAMA!” SOLEIL YELLS, HER VOICE ringing out through the house. A moment later, her feet thump rapidly over the floorboards, and then she’s at my back, hands tugging at my skirt as I pack the last of the cookies into one of the three big picnic baskets I’ve been prepping for our day at Moonstone Lake. Feeding all these hungry mouths is no easy task. “Come on, everyone’s ready to go!”
“Even you?” I ask as I close the lid on the picnic basket and turn to look down at her.
Unlike her father, with his red hair, and me, with my green hair, Soleil has yellow hair, as bright and vibrant as the sun she’s named after. Her magic hasn’t yet begun to manifest, but I expect when it does, she’ll be a solar witch. Her eyes, though—those are Rowan’s. They’re just as deep and verdant as his, and every time I look into her gaze, I see him.
My gaze shifts further down, to Soleil’s bare feet. “Where are your boots?”
She groans. “They’re in the wagon. Now can wego?”
“Here.” I lug the basket off the counter and settle it into Soleil’s arms. She wavers a bit under its weight, but her body, while still whip thin, is strong. “Take that out, and I’ll be right behind you.”
She flashes me a smile, then skitters away, yellow hair drifting behind her as she goes.
With a small laugh, I untie my apron and hang it on the hook by the back door. “You sure you don’t want to come?” I ask Harrison. As usual, he’s lying sprawled on the kitchen table, warming himself in the early-morning sun.
With a big yawn, he opens one eye. “To the lake? I’m quite sure. But try to bring me back some wispfish.”
“Of course.” I draw a hand over his silky white hair, then stoop to press a kiss to the top of his head. He begins to purr, and I add, “Faolan already packed the fishing poles.”
“Good.” Harrison stretches out a bit more, sending a few white hairs dancing through the light. “Travel safe.”
“Always.” I smile down at him, then head into the foyer. The door is standing open, letting the warm summer air drift into the cottage, sending my long skirt dancing around my ankles. It smells of sunlight and lavender bushes and honeysuckle. It smells like home.
I stoop to grab my boots from beside the door but don’t bother to put them on, much like my eldest daughter. Then I step onto the porch and pull the door closed behind me.
“Mama! Let’s go!” Astra calls from where she’s perched in the wagon. She’s my second oldest at six years old, and she has blue eyes like her father. Her silver hair hangs wild around her shoulders, made even more striking by the warm brown of her cheeks.
Faolan leans against the wagon beside her, smiling up at her. If not for her pale hair, she’d be almost a spitting image of him.
Thorne is already seated in the wagon, entertaining our four-year-old daughter, Wynn. He sends a handful of pink flower petals dancing in a summer breeze, making her laugh as she watches them twirl around her. He glances up at me as I step down the porch stairs, his glamour nowhere to be seen. I can’t remember the last time he wore it—and somehow, even all these years later, his beauty still stops me in my tracks.
Our daughter, with her delicately pointed ears and white eyes and hair, will almost certainly be even more enchanting than her father as she grows older.
And then there’s Alden. He’s seated on the bench at the front of the wagon, wearing a swaddle tied around his broad chest. My youngest daughter, Daphne, is snoozing contentedly against him, eyes closed, curly brown hair glowing in the bright summer sunlight. Alden presses a kiss to the top of her head, his eyes crinkling with joy.
And I take it all in with a deep breath.
My four men. My four daughters. All healthy and happy and staring at me expectantly, waiting for me to climb into the wagon so we canfinallyhead to the lakefor the day.
Rowan has wanted to do this for so long, and we’re finally going. Getting everything ready felt like trying to teach gardening skills to a herd of goats.
Speaking of my red-haired knight, he appears from around the corner of the cottage, wearing loose trousers and a lightweight cotton tunic, his hair tied back into a knot at the base of his neck.
“Papa, comeon,” Soleil whines. “We’re all ready to go!”
She knows she has him wrapped around her finger. He’d pluck the moon and stars from the sky if she asked him to.
“Okay, okay. I was feeding the hens.” He brushes his hands off, then jogs the rest of the way to the wagon and jostles Faolan’s thick arm before climbing in.
We’ve got ten hens now, and a cheeky rooster as well. And two big, beautiful horses, who’re already hitched to the wagon, their tails swishing peacefully as they wait for us to leave.
What a lovely life we’ve carved out for ourselves here, tucked away into the woods, surrounded by nature and sunlight and more love than could ever be contained in one heart.
“You ready?” Faolan asks, arching a dark brow at me.
