The door creaked open just after sundown, carrying the familiar scuff of boots and the faint scent of forge smoke and cedar. Lyra didn’t even turn.
“Hello, handsome,” she called from the kitchen, stirring the pot with lazy ease.

Hassian chuckled low in his throat. “Hello, beautiful.”

She heard the soft clunk of his hunting belt hitting the side table, the pad of his steps across the floor. He brushed a kiss to her temple—a warm smudge of soot and skin—then went on toward the bath.

“Dinner’ll be ready in fifteen,” she called over her shoulder.

“Good. I’ll be clean in ten.” He paused. “Mother made me polish the same brace four times. She said the pattern ‘wasn’t breathing.’”

Lyra grinned. “That sounds like her.”

He snorted something half-laughed and disappeared.

By the time he returned—scrubbed clean and barefoot—she had the food plated: roasted mushrooms with garlic butter, grilled fish, and a small stack of fried potatoes. Nothing fancy. Comfortable.

They ate at the table. Hassian ate with his usual quiet efficiency, but every so often his eyes drifted up and lingered.

By the third time, Lyra set her fork down. “Okay. You’re staring at me.”

“You’re pretty.”

“My looks haven’t changed.”

He shrugged one tiny shrug. “Nope. Still true, though.”

Her brow arched. “You’re smiling like Tau just caught a twelve-point sernuk. You never smile this much unless something’s going on.”

Hassian hesitated, then smiled softer. “Come outside with me.”

With This Ring

Outside, the stars were beginning to bloom against the indigo. They sat side by side in low chairs, the telescope standing sentinel between them. Tau and Kaja dozed a little distance away, tails curled.

Hassian leaned back, arms folded, clearly watching her more than the sky.

“You’re doing it again,” she said, nudging his leg with her foot.

“I love you,” he said.

“I love you too.” She tilted her head. “But this is something else.”

A pause. Then a slow sigh.

“Okay.” He reached into his pocket. “I have something to show you. But—” he gave her a look so serious she stopped smiling—“we absolutely do not put them on now. That is only for the ceremony. And Mother swears they’re perfectly sized.”

He produced a small pouch and set it in her hands with gentle reverence.
She opened it slowly.

Two gold bands: simple, perfect. Hers had Hassian etched in steady lines; his, Lyra. Inside each ring, the date they met.

For a long heartbeat Lyra simply stared. The stars shimmered and the world below grew still.

“I wanted them to be perfect,” he said quietly, the edge of his voice rough. “Made to last a lifetime.”

“They are,” she whispered.

She turned the rings in her palm and watched starlight flick off their edges. Even knowing how they’d look—having helped design them—made the reality feel different, heavier and truer.

He didn’t touch the rings. He watched her face with the calm that always made her feel seen and safe.

When she finally looked up, her eyes glistening, his were waiting.

And then, to her surprise, Hassian shifted. He rose to his feet, then dropped down onto one knee before her. Not dramatic. Not rehearsed. Just steady, like everything he was.

Her breath caught.

He held her gaze, voice low and unshakable. “I didn't do this properly before... and you know I like things proper. Lyra, will you marry me?”

Her fingers tightened around the pouch, heart tripping fast enough she almost forgot how to breathe. The rings, the stars, the man kneeling in front of her—it was all too much and exactly enough.

“Yes,” she whispered, the word breaking on a smile. “Yes, of course I will.”

Something eased in his shoulders, but his eyes never left hers. He leaned forward and kissed her like she’d just given him back the whole world.
“You’re mine,” he murmured against her lips.

She smiled. “I always have been.”

Lovers

Later, inside the conservatory, their Nest welcomed them—soft and familiar, built for them alone.

Hassian undressed with that quiet precision of his; he didn’t rush. He let her see him—every scar and line, the body shaped by hunts and forge-work and the man who had learned to let her in.

Lyra shed her clothes quicker, eager and unashamed. Her hands found his chest, then his jaw, then his mouth.

Their kisses grew hungry but never hurried. He took her waist and guided her to the bed with a careful strength that always made her heart skip. He stretched over her, warm and solid, pressing her into the blankets as if he meant to lock her there forever.

“Lyra, you’re my everything,” he murmured against her skin as he kissed down her throat.

His hands were reverent at her hips.

What followed was not rushed. Not rough. It was heat and heart: fingers laced, whispered words in the hush between breaths, a soft gasp when his coming together with hers felt like returning home. She arched and pulled him closer—always closer.

They moved as though made for this. As if the stars themselves had held their breath just to watch.

When they parted, it was only to come together again—limbs tangled, skin warm, the room full of the slow music of slowing hearts.

Location, Location

Much later, wrapped beneath the woven blanket, Lyra rested her head on Hassian’s chest.

He traced slow circles along her spine, unbothered by Tau’s prime corner of the bed and gentle snore.

“You okay?” she asked, fingers flat over his heartbeat.

“Mm.” A pause. “Better than okay.”

She lifted her head. “You sure? You’ve been… intense.”

He gave a faint smile. “That’s just how I love you.”

Lyra curled tighter into him, cheek against his chest, fingertips drawing lazy spirals.

“I’ve been thinking about the wedding,” she murmured.

His hand moved through her hair, easy and expectant. “Mm. Yeah?”

“I’ve pictured it in a dozen places—the cliffs above the lake, the waterfall glen, the pretty clearing behind the ruins, even the beach.” She sounded thoughtful. “All beautiful, but…off. Too public. Too formal. I don’t want decorations and fanfare and a hundred faces watching. That’s not us.”

“No.” He brushed his thumb along her shoulder. “It’s not.”

She breathed, slow and steady. “There’s only one place that really feels right—not just because it’s beautiful, but because of what it means.”

His chest rose as he listened.

“It’s where I gave you a heartdrop lily. Where we stargazed for the first time. Where we woke together the next morning. Where we devoted ourselves, exchanged pins, first kissed, first made love, first said I love you.” A small smile ghosted her lips.

She drew circles near his heart. “I know it’s yours. Your Grove. Your sanctuary. I would never want to take that from you. I’d understand if you didn’t want to share it.”

For a long beat he said nothing. Then he shifted to meet her eyes.

“If it’s what you want,” he said simply, “you’ve got it, baby.”

He kissed her—soft, warm, full of heat and promise. “I’ll give you anything you want.”

This time she believed him without hesitation.