Hauk glanced past Sumi to see Jayne, Syn, Darling, Maris, Fain, Nyk, Nero, Bastien, and Caillen outside, laughing at him. He ran his finger along Sumi’s jawbone. “Not whipped, Jayne. Tamed.”

Crossing her arms over her chest, she led the others into his room. “Is there a difference?”

“Yeah, a big one. Whipped means I’m broken.” He stared into Sumi’s eyes as he considered everything she’d brought into his world. Everything she’d given him that he never had before, including a beautiful daughter he still needed to kill Nykyrian over. “But for the first time in my life, I feel whole.”

More than that, he was finally whole. And best of all, he was finally accepted.

So no, he wasn’t whipped. He’d been tamed by a fearless little mouse who had boldly stood up to the beast inside him, and found the heart that no one else had ever claimed.

The heart that no one else would ever own.

For the first time ever, the War Hauk was at peace.

But he would always be ready to war anytime, anywhere against anyone who came for, or at, his family.

EPILOGUE

Sumi cringed at the sight of herself in her wedding “dress.” It was more like see-through wedding tissue paper. Gah, Fain hadn’t been joking when he’d told her what Andarions wore for their unification ceremonies.

She covered her breasts with her hands and wished herself on another planet.

“I know,” Kiara said with a laugh as she finished styling Sumi’s hair. “I felt the same way when I went through my formal ceremony with Nykyrian… and given the brevity of the costumes I’ve had to wear on stage for dance performances, it takes a lot to make me blush.”

Sumi could just imagine. She met Kiara’s gaze in the mirror. “I can’t go out there like this. I think I’ll die of embarrassment on the spot.”

“Yes, you can. Just think about Hauk and ignore everyone else.”

Much easier said than done.

But if the red material were thicker, it would have been a beautiful gown. The halter neck fastened to a choker made of rows of a rare red Andarion gem she’d never heard of before. The sheer material clung to her body and another piece fell from the back of the choker and was attached to matching bands on her wrists. The eton Anatole crest was embroidered in a thin, fine gold thread through the gauzy red material.

With the help of Dancer’s grandmother, Thia, and Cairistiona, Kiara had twined her braids into an intricate upswept hairdo that cascaded around a gold crown. And they’d painted the royal crest on her face.

They stepped back, pleased with their work.

Sumi, not so much. “I still feel like I need a blanket wrapped around me.”