The apothecary wasn’t what most people imagined when they thought of such a place. There were no dim shelves cloaked in shadows, no heavy air thick with incense. Instead, sunlight streamed in through tall, paned windows, pooling across polished counters and gleaming jars of dried herbs. The space smelled faintly of lavender and fresh mint, clean and calming. Neatly arranged bundles of flowers hung from the rafters, their soft colors catching in the breeze from an open door. Everything felt airy and open, touched with a gentle, spiritual undertone—as if the room itself breathed in time with the world outside.

Chayne looked up from measuring out a pouch of dried chamomile, his expression warm as they entered. “Come to schedule your final wedding prep meeting?” he asked, brushing his hands free of stray petals.

Hassian shook his head. “No. That’s not why we’re here.” His voice was low but steady, carrying the weight of quiet concern. “Lyra’s been having bad nightmares. She wakes up terrified, but… doesn’t remember them. It’s not every night, but often enough that I’m worried. I was hoping you might have something to recommend.”

Chayne’s brow furrowed slightly, though his manner stayed gentle. “Well… a few things might help. A nighttime tea blend, perhaps. A calming bath or massage before bed. Evenings that are relaxing, not stressful.” He gave Lyra a faintly teasing look. “And maybe not reading your true crime novels before sleep.”

Chayne set the jar on the counter, his brow softening. “Might be a touch of wedding jitters,” he said with an easy smile.

Lyra shook her head, her lips curving faintly despite herself. “I can’t wait to marry him,” she said simply, glancing at Hassian. “I don’t see why that would give me nightmares.”

“That’s the funny thing about the mind,” Chayne replied, his tone still light. “It doesn’t always wait for permission to stir things up.”

He moved to the back counter and began scooping a fragrant blend into a paper pouch, the scent of chamomile, lemon balm, and rose rising in the air. “I’ll give you what I have now, and I’ll order more right away.”

Lyra and Hassian thanked him as they turned to leave, but Chayne cleared his throat. “Marriage prep,” he reminded them with a slight smile.

They paused, exchanged a glance, and after a brief discussion, settled on an evening later in the week for their final session. Chayne jotted it down, and they stepped back out into the sunlit street, the bell over the door chiming softly behind them.

The Blacksmith

The forge smelled of hot metal and wood smoke, the comforting warmth wrapping around them as they stepped inside. Sifuu looked up from the glowing coals, her face lighting with a mischievous smile the moment she saw them. “Oh, I do still have a son and an almost daughter-in-law,” she said, eyes twinkling, “and I haven’t seen either one of you in days.”

Hassian’s hand reached for the back of his neck, a sheepish grin tugging at his lips. “Sorry, Mother. Things have been... busy.”

Sifuu chuckled, shaking her head. “I get it. You two are just working backwards—having the honeymoon before the wedding.”

Hassian’s cheeks flushed a shade deeper. “I wish that was the issue.”

“No need to explain,” she replied with a knowing smile. “Young, in love, and still have the energy to do something about it.”

Lyra and Hassian exchanged amused glances, their laughter filling the forge. Sifuu’s eyes softened as she added, “But don’t let the fire burn out, both of you. Love needs tending like a forge—steady hands, patience, and a little heat.”

Hassian shook his head and cleared his throat. “Anyway, we know it’s a bit... unusual, but I’ve been thinking about who I’d like to stand with me at the wedding.”

Sifuu arched a brow. “It’s Tau, right?”

Hassian smiled wryly. “No. But we did consider having him walk Lyra down the aisle.”

Sifuu laughed heartily. “I can picture that.”

Hassian turned back to his mother, tone earnest. “Anyway, I decided to ask you if you’d stand with me. But if you’d rather just be the mother of the groom and sniffle into your handkerchief while your baby boy recites his vows, I understand.”

Sifuu paused her work, setting her hammer down with a deliberate clink. Her gaze flicked between their expectant faces, both waiting quietly.

“I’d be honored to stand with you, son,” she said finally, her voice soft but proud. She added, playful yet sharp, “But don’t think that means I won’t make sure you stay out of trouble until that day.”

“Great, thank you, Mother,” Hassian replied warmly.

Lyra smiled. “We really wanted you to be involved because... well, we might not even be standing here together if it weren’t for you. Encouraging me to corrupt your son from the very beginning.” She laughed, nudging Hassian playfully. “Helping me make my pin for him.”

Sifuu threw back her head in laughter. “I did harbor a secret from you that night, girlypop. You were so worried about whether he intended to give you a pin, but what I didn’t tell you was—I watched him make your pin that same day. I had a front-row seat to his craftsmanship and nerves.”

The three of them chuckled, the memories wrapping warmly around them. Sifuu leaned closer, tapping Hassian’s shoulder. “And remember, boy, it’s not just about the forge or the pins—it’s about the life you’re building with her. Protect it. Honor it. And make her laugh.”

Hassian glanced at Lyra with mock suspicion. “What’s this about corruption?”

Sifuu shook her head, grinning. “Give it up, Hassian... you’re completely corrupted.”

More laughter echoed, and with a promise to not stay away so long, they left the forge. Sifuu called after him, a playful reminder lingering in the air, “You are still my apprentice.”

The Watcher

The door to the Killima Inn creaked softly as Hassian and Lyra stepped inside. The warm glow from a few hanging lanterns illuminated the quiet space, which was otherwise empty except for Reth, who was wiping down the bar with a rag. He looked up and grinned as they entered.

“Well, hey there,” Reth said, his voice easy and teasing. “There’s the happy couple.”

Hassian’s lips twitched in a rare, subtle smile, but before he could respond, Reth jabbed a thumb toward Hassian’s feet. “Not long now. Hassian, are those feet getting cold yet?”

“Perfectly warm,” Hassian replied, his tone calm and sure.

Lyra stepped forward, cutting in smoothly. “Is Subira here, Reth?”

“Yeah,” Reth nodded toward the staircase that led to the second floor. “She’s up in her room.”

Without another word, Hassian and Lyra ascended the wooden stairs, the soft creak underfoot echoing in the quiet hallway. At the second-floor landing, Hassian knocked lightly on the door.

It opened almost immediately, revealing Subira’s warm smile. “I’m glad to see you both,” she said, stepping aside to invite them in.

Lyra returned the smile. “We actually just came to let you know the fishing lures and bug bombs worked just fine. We were able to collect several samples.”

“That’s wonderful news, good work,” Subira said, her eyes bright with approval. “The Order thanks you. I’m also working with Elouisa on something that will allow you to forage infected fauna. I’ll let you know how that goes.”

Lyra nodded thoughtfully, then Subira’s expression grew more serious. “Just so we’re on the same page, do you have a guess at who was responsible for opening the tap in the Elderwood and shutting down the other protocols?”

Lyra didn’t hesitate. “Yeah, Tamala. But I have no evidence to prove that. If I did, I certainly wouldn’t hide that from you.”

“We are on the same page then,” Subira said, her tone measured. “Problem is, she stays one step ahead of us.”

Hassian’s voice was firm, protective. “And Lyra won’t be involved in any surveillance or any other matter involving old witches.”

Subira nodded in understanding. “Yeah, I get that.”

She turned her gaze back to Lyra. “Lyra, I think of you as a partner. I do hope I can count on your continued help.”

Lyra considered the words carefully. “It depends on what’s required, Subira. I’ll help where I can.”

“I understand. Thank you,” Subira said quietly.

Hassian interjected, his brow furrowed. “Doesn’t the Order have people who are trained and more qualified to help with investigations?”

“They do,” Subira admitted, “but at this point there’s a complication. I’m not sure how much Lyra has let you in on…”

Lyra met Hassian’s gaze squarely. “I’ve told him everything. We don’t do secrets.”

Subira’s eyes flickered with a mixture of relief and concern. Addressing Hassian again, she said, “Then you understand I don’t know who I can trust right now.”

Lyra shifted, the urgency returning. “We need to get going.”

Hassian and Lyra moved toward the door, ready to leave, but Subira’s voice stopped them.

“One more quick thing,” she said. “Have either of you had any issues since you’ve been in contact with the essence?”

Hassian cocked his head, curious. “What kind of issues?”

“Unexplained anger…” Subira said, her eyes searching.

Hassian’s voice lowered as he glanced at Lyra. “Nightmares?”

“I haven’t heard that, but possibly,” Subira admitted. “Are you having nightmares?”

“Not me,” Hassian answered. “Lyra is.”

Subira nodded with understanding. “Well, with all she’s been through, that’s understandable. But I’ll add that to my data.”

Without another word, Hassian and Lyra stepped out into the quiet hallway, the door closing softly behind them.

The Tailor

The bell above Jel’s shop gave a bright jingle as Hassian and Lyra stepped inside. The air smelled faintly of pressed linen and lavender, the tailor’s careful touch lingering in every fold of fabric. Shelves and mannequins stood like silent witnesses, draped in garments of every color, sunlight spilling across the wooden floor in warm, honeyed stripes.

From behind the counter, Jel’s head popped up. The moment he spotted them, his whole face lit up. He bustled forward, nearly tripping over his own measuring tape in his hurry.

“I can’t wait to see you in this dress, young lady,” he said, almost breathless with excitement. “I know it’s going to be perfect.”

“I can’t wait to see you in it either, baby,” Hassian said, his tone low and warm, the kind of voice that made Lyra’s heart flutter.

Lyra laughed softly. “Well, you’re going to have to wait, until our wedding day.”

Hassian’s brows knit in mock protest. “No! Seriously?”

“You’re the one all about tradition,” she reminded him with a teasing smile. “You can see the dress, but you can’t see it on your bride until the ceremony.”

“Tradition,” Hassian sighed, shaking his head. “I knew that would come back to bite me somehow.”

Jel chuckled. “You two are precious.”

He disappeared behind a cluster of mannequins and returned wheeling one forward, draped in white. He adjusted the gown with quick, deft hands—fluffing the skirt, smoothing the folds—until it seemed to float around the figure. It wasn’t stiff or overly formal, but it was undeniably Lyra. White, long, and flowing, with a breezy summer grace. Cotton instead of silk, made to move with her, to breathe with her. Sleeveless, with a fitted bodice that promised comfort without losing beauty.

“It’s just what I imagined,” Lyra said, her voice soft, reverent.

Hassian reached out, fingers hovering just shy of the fabric, as though touching it might break the spell. “It’s beautiful,” he murmured, though his gaze lingered not on the dress, but on her.

Jel straightened, his pride unmistakable. “Let’s take it upstairs—away from prying eyes.”

Jel and Lyra carried the dress up the narrow staircase while Hassian stayed below, his attention wandering over neatly folded shirts and racks of finished pieces. The minutes stretched just long enough for him to imagine her in the dress—just a glimpse, nothing more—and he felt a surprising mix of anticipation and frustration.

When they came back down, Lyra’s cheeks were slightly flushed, her eyes bright.

“Your bride is going to be stunning,” Jel said warmly.

“She always is,” Hassian replied without a moment’s hesitation. “What would you suggest for me?” Hassian asked. “Something that will fit with her dress… not too fancy.”

A slow grin crept across Jel’s face, like a man who’d just been handed a rare challenge. “I get to dress Hassian? Who would have ever imagined?” He hurried away, muttering to himself about colors and textures.

Lyra stepped closer, her voice low. “Are you sure, hunter? I don’t want you out of your comfort zone.”

“Well, what am I supposed to wear?” Hassian asked, his tone dry. “My patched-up hunting gear or my burned forge clothes?”

Lyra giggled, slipping her arms around his neck. “I wouldn’t care if you wore nothing.”

His arms came around her waist, his smile curling into something mischievous. “That would make for an interesting wedding—although, I think we’d get better reviews if you wore nothing.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure, hunter,” she teased, eyes glinting.

Jel returned, arms laden with carefully chosen garments. “Let’s try these on. I made this vest some time back, but it screams Hassian.”

Hassian took the neat pile and disappeared into the small dressing room.

When he emerged, the change was striking. Dark green slacks fell in clean lines over polished brown shoes. The cream-colored long-sleeve shirt was collarless, simple yet refined, and over it the vest—embroidered in painstaking detail with leaves and small sernuk in shades of brown and deep forest green—looked like it belonged nowhere else but on him.

Jel handed him a matching brown leather belt, the final touch.

Lyra’s smile bloomed so wide she covered her mouth with her hand. “You are so very handsome,” she said, her voice low, almost private, meant for him alone.

Jel clasped his hands together in front of him like a man admiring his own handiwork. “Masterpieces… both of you!”

They finished their business at Jel’s, carefully packing the dress, and stepped out into the sunlit street. As they made their way home, the weight of the coming wedding day seemed to settle around them—bright, warm, and certain.

The Lovers

The evening air was cool but gentle as Hassian stepped out into the backyard. His hands carefully cradled the steaming cup of bedtime tea he had just brewed—an herbal blend Chayne had recommended to soothe Lyra’s nightmares.

There, spread out beneath the vast canvas of twinkling stars, lay a soft blanket, quietly inviting. Lyra was already settled on it, gazing upward, her silhouette softened by the faint glow of moonlight.

“What’s this?” Hassian asked, a smile tugging at his lips as he approached and lowered himself beside her, careful not to spill the warm tea.

Lyra glanced at him, her eyes shimmering with a mixture of warmth and wistfulness. “Either memories or nostalgia, your choice.”

He chuckled softly and handed her the tea. “I made you bedtime tea.”

Accepting the cup, Lyra smiled up at him. “You’re already an amazing husband.”

“And you,” Hassian said, voice low and tender, “are an amazing wife and an amazing lover. You always come up with things that blow my mind.”

Lyra’s smile deepened. “You say that as if I don’t melt from one touch from you.”

“So I guess it’s safe to say we are both completely satisfied with one another.”

“Completely,” she agreed, sipping from the mug.

Hassian tilted his head. “How’s the tea?”

“It’s actually pretty good,” she admitted, taking another careful sip. Then, her gaze dropped to the cup as a thoughtful expression softened her face. “At times, I feel like our relationship is kind of one-sided.”

His brow furrowed as he studied her. “In what way? Am I doing something wrong, baby?”

Lyra looked surprised. “You? No, hunter, you’re perfect. I meant me. I feel like I’m always going through drama and you’re always having to take care of me.”

“No,” Hassian said gently, moving closer to lift her chin with careful fingers so she’d meet his eyes. “I don’t see it that way at all. You take care of me too. You cook for me, wash my clothes, grow our food, clean our home and make it beautiful and comfortable. You always know what I need and you always give it to me.”

Lyra laughed softly, a teasing glint in her eyes. “You sound offended.”

“I am,” Hassian replied with a small smirk. “Don’t talk about my woman like that.”

She chuckled, warmth spreading through her chest. “Well, you cook, clean, grow and hunt our food too, sir. I guess we take care of each other.”

“As it should be.” He grinned, eyes twinkling. “And so what if you bring the drama, I bring the deep emotional scars, so we even out.”

Lyra’s gaze locked with his, her expression turning serious, sincere. “I love you with all my heart, Hassian. You’re my whole world.”

Hassian reached around her, fingers threading gently through her hair. “And I love you, baby. You’re world. My heart, my lover, my best friend…. I can’t breathe without you.”

Slowly, deeply, he leaned in and kissed her. The world around them hushed as their lips met—soft, deliberate, and full of all the quiet promises words could never hold.

When they parted, Lyra let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. “That was deep.”

“I have no problem going deep with you,” Hassian murmured, his voice thick with feeling. Then, with a playful smile, he added, “Now finish your tea so I can take your clothes off and give you a massage.”

The night wrapped around them like a cocoon—intimate, calm, and filled with the kind of love that felt as vast as the stars above.

Hassian’s hands were warm and sure as they worked the knots from her shoulders, thumbs pressing slow, steady circles down her spine. Lyra let her head tip forward, her eyes slipping closed, a soft sigh leaving her. The night air wrapped around them, carrying the scent of summer grass and the faint salt of the distant sea.

“You’re wound up,” he murmured against her ear, his breath making her shiver. “Not how I want you before bed.”

He eased her down onto the blanket she’d spread in the yard, stars scattered overhead like a thousand burning lamps. His palm slid along her hip, the other braced beside her as he bent over her. “Let me take care of you.”

His kisses wandered — her ribs, the hollow of her waist — slow enough to make her toes curl. Then lower. The first brush of his mouth against her made her breath catch. When his tongue parted her, hot and unhurried, her back arched involuntarily, fingers sliding into his hair. He hummed low in his throat, the vibration drawing a gasp from her, and settled in as if nothing else existed.

Every stroke was deliberate, coaxing her higher. He alternated between slow sweeps and quick, precise circles, reading every twitch of her hips, every ragged sound that escaped her. His hands held her there — not restraining, but grounding — until she was trembling, her thighs tightening around his shoulders. When she came, her voice broke on his name, and he didn’t stop until the aftershocks faded into shivers.

He kissed the inside of her thigh, lingering just enough to make her breath hitch again, before moving up to catch her mouth in a deep kiss that tasted faintly of her. Then he was over her, sliding into her in one smooth, sure motion that pulled a choked moan from her chest.

The yard became their world — no walls, no neighbors, nothing but them and the rhythm they fell into. They moved unhurried, yet with a fierce undercurrent, each thrust and sigh a wordless promise.

When she reached for him again, pulling him under with her, her voice was low and certain, the words trembling against his skin.

“I’m yours,” she breathed. “I’ll always be yours.”

Her words hit him like a blade between the ribs — not pain, but a sharp, soul-deep jolt that tore away every shred of restraint he’d been holding.

A sound broke from his throat, raw and guttural — closer to a growl than a groan — as if her vow had lit something older and wilder inside him. His hips drove harder, claiming her with every thrust until his release crashed through him. His muscles locked tight, his body shuddering against hers, every instinct demanding the world understand: she was his.

When it eased, he stayed there, chest heaving, face buried in her neck. His teeth grazed her skin in a possessive scrape, not enough to hurt but enough to leave her trembling.

“Mine,” he breathed against her pulse, voice rough and final. “And the stars help anyone who tries to change that.”

Cool night air brushed her skin, and without a word, he rose — not to leave, but to gather her up, blanket and all.

She made a soft sound of surprise, but his grip was steady, his gaze still dark with that unspent edge of possession. “Inside,” he murmured. “Can’t have you cold, beautiful.”

The walk to the conservatory was slow, deliberate — his stride unhurried, like carrying her was something he’d do every night if she let him. The door clicked open under his shoulder, and warmth welcomed them in.

He carried her straight to the bed, setting her down only long enough to slip in beside her. He tugged the blankets around her shoulders, pulled her into his chest, and hooked a leg over hers, locking her in a cocoon of his body.

He brushed her hair back from her damp forehead, thumb lingering at her temple. “You wreck me,” he said softly, a hint of awe in the words. He kissed her there, lingering. “And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Her lips curved faintly, eyes half-lidded. “I hoped one day you’d love me, but I never imagined just how much.”

Something in him loosened. He kissed her temple again, lower this time, close to her ear. “You’re safe. You can sleep, baby. I’ll protect you… even in your dreams.”

She gave a sleepy hum, fingers curling against him.

His arms tightened around her. “You’re here,” he murmured.

“I’m not going anywhere,” she breathed.

Please, he thought, let her sleep through the night. And if she dreams, let it be of this.

Only when her breathing evened out did he let his eyes close — a hunter finally at rest, because the only thing he’d ever needed to guard was already in his arms.