Only a faint oil lamp flickers in the darkness here—well, it and my horseman’s strange markings, the latter which haven’t dimmed in the least.

I touch them reverently as he lays me down on the bed. “They’re still here,” I say.

He trails kisses from my mouth, up my cheek, to my ear. “Of course they are, Sara. They can’t just walk off of me.”

I turn and laugh into his lips. “Earth has given you a smart mouth.”

“Earth has given me a smart woman and she has given me a smart mouth.”

His hand goes to my breast, and I gasp at his touch as it kneads the soft flesh.

Pestilence was right to call love unendurable. I can’t fathom how I managed to go this long without him touching me.

I wrap my legs around him, wanting more—needing more.

“It’s been so long,” I whisper, and my eyes prick.

Oh God, I’m going to cry. We’re about to bone, and I’m going to cry.

But then Pestilence is there, his lips pressing first to the corner of one eye, then the corner of the other.

“Far too long,” he agrees. “But that’s all over now. There’s no need for sadness anymore, Sara. Your people are safe, and you are in my arms.”

His mouth moves lower, now too busy tasting my flesh to tell me all sorts of pretty things. Which is probably for the best because my core is throbbing something fierce.

He kisses my breasts, taking first one peak, then the other, into his mouth. I writhe against him as his ministrations light me on fire.

All the while, Pestilence’s cock burns against my thigh. How he has patience for foreplay right now is beyond me. Then again, I was always the kid who peeked at my Christmas presents before they were wrapped, so … maybe when it comes to fun shit, I’m just overzealous.

Pestilence draws away long enough to line us up. For one instant he looks backlit, his golden hair luminous, his body glimmering in the darkness. And in that instant, he’s a heavenly thing. Then the moment passes, and he’s a man once more.

He pushes into me, his cock thick, the pressure of it exquisite. I can feel him everywhere.

My horseman let’s out a breath, staring down at me with beautiful, terrible eyes. “God Almighty,” he whispers.

If I weren’t feeling so damn emotional right now, I might’ve made some quip about not taking the Lord’s name in vain (he learned that bad habit from me). I might’ve even laughed as I reveled in the intense connection being the two of us.

Instead, I take his face, his glorious face, in my hands.

“I love you,” I whisper. He needs to hear it. I need to say it. Those words have been trapped beneath my sternum for so long.

He moves in me, his eyes riveted to mine. “I love you too, Sara Burns.”

And then he shows me just how much he means it.

Afterwards, the two of us lay in a tangle of sheets, and I could stay right here forever, my ear pressed against his chest, his heart pounding beneath me.

He strokes my naked back. “There is one thing I kept,” he says. “One thing my crown and armor were still good for. Would you like to see it?”

I nod against him, though I don’t really have any idea what he’s talking about. I’m just too unbearably happy to think about anything else except for the fact that Pestilence is here in my arms.

Gently, Pestilence moves me aside so he can slip off the bed and pad into the living room. I can’t imagine what’s coming.

I gather up the sheets to my body and sit up as Pestilence comes back into the room. He kneels next to the bed and lifts his hand, his fist tightly closed. One by one his fingers uncurl, and in his palm rests a small gold band.

His eye glint. “Marry me, Sara. Please.”

My breath hitches as I stare at the ring, which looks impossibly perfect.

Made from the last of his golden trappings.

That’s what he meant when he said he’d kept one thing from his crown and armor.

My gaze rises to him. And then I smile. “Yes.”

I’m going to marry a horseman of the apocalypse.

I extend my hand and let him slide the band onto my trembling finger.

I’m going to marry Pestilence.

“Wait,” I say sharply.

My horseman raises his eyebrows. “Wait?” he repeats, looking incredulous. “Are you having … doubts?”

I can tell he has a hard time getting the last part of that sentence out.

“No, but … I want to call you something other than Pestilence. Not just an endearment but an actual name.”

For better or for worse, he’s a man. He needs a proper name.

“You mean, like Tricksy?” he asks, completely serious.

God no. Not like that.

“Um, a human name.”

I instantly regret mentioning the word human—it’s one of his triggers. But Pestilence doesn’t look repulsed by the idea.

In fact, he seems … intrigued.

He mulls it over for only a second or two before he says, “Alright.”

“Alright?” I echo.

Seriously, it was that easy?

He laughs a little at my surprised expression. “I confess, I have thought on this since we parted ways.”

Last we spoke, he hadn’t believed in personal names. He was Pestilence and Pestilence was who he was. He was his purpose, and that was all anyone needed to know. Sometime during all of those days and weeks we were separated, he changed his mind.

“What would you like to be called?” I ask.

His thumb twists the gold band round and round my finger.

“Victor,” he says, a shadow of a smile creeping along his face.

I raise my eyebrows. I don’t know what I was expecting. It’s not like Victor is any less appropriate that Bill or Joe. It’s just that Victor is really … normal. I wasn’t expecting normal.

Just be happy he didn’t decide on Elmer or Wolfgang.

“Victor,” I repeat, beginning to grin as I stare at him. I like it. A lot. “It’s perfect.”

His smile reaches his eyes.

“What made you choose it?” I ask.

He climbs into bed and takes me into his arms once more. I melt into the delicious heat of him.

This still feels like a dream. Will it ever not? Will I ever wake up one day and not be amazed at the force of nature I fell in love with?

“Victor is not so very different from conqueror, is it?” he says, ponderously.

I tense at that.

Laughter rumbles deep in his chest.

“Worry naught, dear Sara,” he says. “I am not clinging to my former ways.” He takes my hand and presses it to his heart. The steady beat of it thumps against my palm.

“Rather, I am your victor. You see, I came to conquer this land and its people,” he explained, “but instead, one of its people conquered me.”

I know my eyes have gone soft. It’s a good reason—no, a great reason—one that makes my toes curl.

Pulling his head down to me, I kiss him, my lips making long, languorous work of the task.

Once the kiss ends, I ask, “What happens now?”

“We go away—or we stay and hope the world learns as I have learned. Either way, we do it together—for all the minutes we have left.”

Epilogue