Chapter Sixty-Nine
The morning sun spilled across the kitchen as Lyra and Hassian finished their breakfast, the quiet clink of cutlery mixing with the soft chirping of birds outside. Hassian had just set his mug down when a gentle knock sounded at the front door.
“I wonder who that could be so early,” Lyra murmured, rising to answer it.
“As if you have to ask,” Hassian huffed. “Subira, no doubt.”
Hassian rose immediately, taking the bundle from her hands. “Mother, you didn’t have to—”
“I wanted to,” Sifuu interrupted gently. “It’s… important to me that it’s here with you, in your home.”
Together, they carried the bundle to the couch. Hassian unwrapped it with careful hands, revealing a painting of a quaint cottage surrounded by lush flowers and greenery. The colors were vibrant, the brushstrokes soft but purposeful.
“It belonged to Taylin,” Sifuu explained for Lyra’s benefit.
Lyra’s gaze softened immediately. “I remember seeing this at your house once,” she said quietly, stepping closer. “I thought it was beautiful. I didn’t know it had belonged to Taylin.”
Hassian’s fingers lingered on the frame, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Momma liked things soft… pretty. It will fit in here.”
Lyra reached for his hand. “It’s perfect. I love that it’s something of hers. And I love that we get to have it in our home now.”
Sifuu’s eyes misted as she smiled. “I knew it would mean something to you both. It belongs with you now.”
They debated where it would go, until Lyra decided to move a mirror she had hung. The painting found its new place where the sunlight from the front windows would catch the cottage and its blossoms, making the colors glow.
“This feels right,” Hassian said, adjusting it carefully. “Where we can see it every day.”
His fingers traced the frame, his voice quiet. “It was hers. I wanted something of hers here with us. Something that reminds me of her… and now of us.”
Lyra pressed her hand over his. “It’s perfect. She’s part of this too.”
Hassian looked down at her, a small, almost shy smile curving his lips. “I’m glad you feel that way, baby.” He leaned down and brushed a kiss to her temple, letting his hand linger over hers on the frame.
For a long moment, the three of them stood in the soft morning light, the cottage glowing behind them, the warmth of family filling the room.
When they finally returned to the kitchen, Sifuu asked, “And what are your plans for today?”
Hassian leaned back in his chair, his tone dry. “Going out for a bit. I’ve got a honeymoon to plan.”
Lyra arched a brow at him, lips twitching. “Honeymoons. Plural. We do have two moons, you know.”
Hassian snorted. “Trust you to complicate it.”
Their laughter mingled with Sifuu’s, easing the moment into something lighter.
“We have our last wedding prep session with Chayne tonight,” Lyra added. “So don’t stay out too long with your… honeymoon plotting.”
Hassian just smirked, already halfway out the door.
Ready for Marriage
The evening air was soft and fragrant, the kind of calm that settled only in their backyard — their space, their sanctuary. Tonight, instead of walking to the apothecary for their usual meeting, Chayne had asked to come to them, saying it was fitting for their final session to take place in the home they had built together. So now the three of them sat around the outdoor dining table, lanterns swaying gently above as if they, too, were listening.
The soft lanternlight flickered across the table, warm but gentle, like it knew tonight wasn’t about revelations anymore — just confirmation.
Chayne sat with his hands folded, his expression calm but deeply attentive, the way only he could manage. “This is your final preparation session before the wedding,” he said, voice low and steady. “So I want to ask you both something simple, but important.”
His gaze moved to Hassian first. “Hassian… how do you feel ready to be a husband?”
Hassian didn’t rush. He rarely did. His fingers brushed lightly over Lyra’s hand under the table before he answered.
“I know what devotion looks like,” he said quietly. “My mother taught me that… and my momma wrote it in every letter she left behind. I’ve spent my life trying to honor both of them. But Lyra—” He glanced at her, eyes softening in that way only she could coax out of him. “She’s the first person I’ve ever chosen to give all of myself to. I’m ready to protect her, to build a life with her… to be someone she can rely on every day. That’s what makes me ready.”
Lyra’s heart fluttered so hard she had to look away for a breath.
Chayne turned to her. “Lyra,” he asked gently, “how do you feel ready to be a wife?”
Lyra inhaled, steadied herself, and spoke honestly.
“I didn’t come into this world with any memories,” she said. “I didn’t know who I’d been before. But I know who I am now… because of him.” Her voice softened. “I’m ready because I’ve already been choosing Hassian every day. I want to be his partner, his peace, his home. Being his wife doesn’t feel like a step into something new — it feels like finally calling what we already have by its name.”
Chayne’s smile held both pride and affection. “Good,” he murmured. “Very good.”
He folded his hands again. “I’ve watched you grow not just closer, but wiser together. You’ve learned each other, supported each other, and chosen one another through every hard moment.” He stood slowly. “In my eyes — and in the eyes of the Divine — you are ready.”
Lyra felt Hassian’s hand tighten around hers, warm and firm.
Chayne gave them both a final nod. “Enjoy these last days before your vows. Let them be peaceful.”
With that, he took his leave, disappearing toward the garden path with the quiet dignity he always carried.
Writing on the Page
Lyra walked back into the house feeling pleasantly warm from the evening air and from the comfortable sense of finality that always came after one of Chayne’s sessions. She still felt the echo of Hassian’s answer lingering in her chest—how steady his voice had sounded when he said he was ready to be her husband. She knew he meant it. Every word. Every syllable.
A quick shower seemed like a good way to shake off the day’s heat, so she slipped into the bathroom, letting the warm water roll down her shoulders until her skin tingled. By the time she stepped out, dressed in soft sleep clothes and towel-drying her hair, she felt calmer.
She pushed open the door to the conservatory—and paused.
His eyes flicked up when he heard her footsteps.
“Hey,” he murmured, voice low and thoughtful.
Lyra crossed the room slowly. “You okay?”
He let out a breath that wasn’t quite a sigh. “I’ve been thinking about my momma a lot today. Ever since Mother brought us that painting this morning… it’s like she’s been on my mind, start to finish.” His thumbs smoothed the creased paper. “I thought reading these might help.”
Lyra sat beside him, close enough that their knees brushed. “Did it?”
“A little.” His voice softened. “But… I was thinking maybe… maybe you should read them too.” He lifted the letters and offered them to her with both hands, almost reverently. “She’d have liked you. I want you to know her the way I do.”
Lyra’s heart squeezed. “Are you sure?”
He nodded. “I want to share this with you.”
She slid the top letter free. Taylin’s handwriting flowed in a careful, looping script—warm, earnest, almost musical. As Lyra read through the familiar lines Hassian had told her about before, she reached the portion that always struck deepest.
My sweet baby boy,
I don’t know the man you’ll grow into yet, but I already love him. I already see him. I see your kindness, your heart…
Lyra’s eyes blurred at the edges. Sweet baby boy.
Oh, Taylin had known him—she’d seen the softness that Hassian tried so hard to hide from the world, and she loved him for it.
Lyra swiped lightly at the corner of her eye, careful not to drip on the paper.
“She was right,” she whispered. “Maybe not everyone does, but… I see him too.”
Hassian’s breath caught.
Before he could speak, Lyra reached over to her bedside drawer and pulled out her journal. She held it out to him, fingers squeezed slightly on the leather cover.
“I want to share something with you too.”
His brows rose. “Lyra… your journal?” He shook his head. “That’s too personal. I can’t—”
“There’s nothing in here I want to hide from you,” she said gently. “I started it a few days after I emerged. Every fear, every hope, every little dream… it’s all here. You should know all of me too.”
He hesitated only a moment longer before accepting it, cradling it the same careful way she’d held Taylin’s letter.
They settled together, shoulder to shoulder, each reading quietly.
Lyra watched Hassian’s expression shift as he found the section she’d always wondered if she would ever be brave enough to show him. The part about him. About how she felt drawn to him from the start—how she felt safe near him, how even before she understood herself she somehow understood him.
His breath deepened as he read.
Lyra returned to the letter in her hand, Taylin’s words washing over her like warm sunlight. She blinked more tears away, this time not bothering to hide them. Hassian noticed, of course—he always noticed.
When the pages were lowered, he moved first.
Hassian set her journal aside, gently, like something precious, and pulled her fully into his arms. His strength enveloped her, steady and warm, and Lyra sank into him with a soft, shaky exhale.
“You never have to feel alone again,” he murmured against her hair. “Not ever. I’ll always be here. And I’ll always protect you.”
Lyra nodded into his chest. “I know.”
Hassian’s breath warmed her temple as he held her close, the letters still resting between them like a bridge to a woman they both wished they’d known together. Lyra lifted a hand to his cheek, guiding his gaze to hers.
“I can’t replace her,” she whispered, voice steady despite the ache in her chest. “I never could. But I see what she saw in you. Her ‘sweet baby boy’—the heart she loved so fiercely. I see him too. And I love him just as deeply.”
For a moment he didn’t speak.He simply looked at her as though the world had gone still, his throat working around words he felt more than formed.
“I know,” he whispered.
Then he curled his arms around her, pulling her into the warm solidness of his chest until she could feel every slow, grounding breath.
“You feel so good in my arms,” he murmured, voice roughened by everything he didn’t quite know how to say. “Every time I hold you…it feels like coming home.”
Lyra nestled closer, her own arms sliding around his waist, easing him into the comfort she knew he so rarely allowed himself. “You’re my home too.”
He pressed a kiss into her hair, then another, slower one at the top of her forehead. “I love you,” he said softly, like a vow meant for her alone.
“I love you,” she breathed back, brushing her lips against his jaw.
They shifted just enough to sit back against the pillows, still wrapped around each other, the letters and her journal resting side by side at the foot of the bed—open pieces of their hearts offered freely. Hassian draped an arm beneath her shoulders, letting her sink against him as though she belonged nowhere else.
Outside, the Conservatory lights dimmed to their warm evening glow, and above them the stars shimmered through the glass panes of the roof—quiet witnesses to the two of them holding tight to one another, steady and certain, as their wedding day drew near.
Hassian was sitting on the edge of their bed, back slightly bowed, elbows on his knees. The small box of old letters rested beside him, and one of the folded pages sat carefully between his hands, worn at the edges from years of being read, handled, tucked away, and read again.