Chapter 31 Obsidian #2
I turned to Viktor. Didn't care about protocol. Didn't care about cameras or crowds or what anyone thought. Just crossed the space between us and pulled him into an embrace.
He held me tight. Careful of my injuries but desperate all the same. Apollo pressed against our legs, tail wagging so hard his whole body shook.
“So much for keeping us a secret,” I murmured against Viktor's shoulder.
His low chuckle vibrated through my chest. “Wasn't much of one to begin with.”
When we pulled apart, my father was watching us with tears in his eyes. Happy tears. The kind he hadn't shed since my mother died.
He pulled us both into an embrace. The three of us standing on the balcony while the kingdom watched and approved and celebrated.
“Thank you,” I whispered to my father. “For understanding. For loving me anyway.”
“Always.” He pulled back. Looked at Viktor. “Take care of him.”
“With my life.” Viktor's voice was steady. Sure. “Always.”
The celebration lasted into the evening. Music and dancing and laughter that filled the palace halls. Staff and nobles mingling. Guards relaxing for the first time in weeks. Apollo making the rounds, accepting treats and pets from anyone who offered.
But Viktor and I slipped away when no one was watching. Found our way to the workshop where sawdust still hung in the air and tools waited on benches.
My sanctuary. The place where I could strip away the prince and just be the craftsman underneath.
I stood at the workbench, fingers stained with wood dust, a small carved box resting beside me. Simple. Elegant. Lined with black velvet. And inside, a ring.
Silver and platinum twisted together. Carved laurels intertwined with a wolf's head, details so fine they'd taken me weeks to perfect.
I'd worked on it in stolen moments. Early mornings before the palace woke.
Late nights when sleep wouldn't come. Pouring everything I couldn't say out loud into metal and design.
Viktor's footsteps crossed the workshop. Quiet but unmistakable. I'd learned the sound of him by now. The rhythm. The weight.
“You're supposed to be celebrating,” he said. “Not working.”
“I am celebrating.” I turned, held up the box. “I made this for you.”
He froze. Just stopped mid-step, eyes locked on the small wooden box in my hands.
I opened it. Let him see the ring glinting against black velvet.
“My father gave you a chain today,” I said. Voice steadier than I felt. “The crown's recognition. But I wanted to give you something too. Something that's just from me.”
Viktor stared at the ring. Then at me. Then back at the ring.
“Stay with me,” I continued. “Marry me. Not because it's political or strategic or what anyone expects. Just because I love you and I'm tired of pretending I don't.”
Silence stretched between us. Viktor's expression shifted through a dozen emotions I couldn't name. Shock. Disbelief. Something that might've been fear, or hope, or both twisted together.
Then he laughed. Low. Rough. The sound of a man who'd forgotten how.
“You don't take orders well, do you?” he asked.
“Never have.”
“Good.” Viktor stepped forward, took the ring from the box. Studied it in the lamplight. Traced the wolf's head with one finger. “It's beautiful.”
“It's yours. If you want it.”
He slid it onto his finger. Held up his hand to see how it caught the light. “Yes.”
“Yes?”
“Yes, I'll marry you. Yes, I'll stay. Yes, I love you too.” He pulled me close. Careful of my ribs. “Always yes.”
I kissed him. Hard and desperate and tasting like sawdust and relief. His hands found my face, holding me like I was something precious. Something worth keeping.
When we broke apart, his forehead pressed against mine. Both of us breathing hard. Both of us smiling.
“Adrian's keeping me on active duty,” Viktor said quietly. “International operations. He wants me leading again once things settle.”
I'd expected this. Known it was coming. Viktor wasn't the type to sit idle, and Adrian wasn't the type to waste talent.
“Good,” I said. “The world needs you.”
“You're sure?”
“When you're gone, I'll handle things here. When you're back, we'll find balance.” I pulled back enough to look at him properly. “You protect the world. I protect what's left of it. And we protect each other.”
His smile was small but real. “Then we protect each other.”
That night, we stood on the palace rooftop garden. Stars scattered across the sky above London. The city sprawled below us, alive with light. Music from the celebration drifted up through open windows. Distant. Muffled. A reminder that the world kept spinning even when we stepped away from it.
Viktor leaned against the balustrade beside me. No uniform. No armor. Just soft shirt and dark trousers, the ring glinting on his hand. Looking more relaxed than I'd ever seen him.
Apollo dozed at our feet, content and safe.
“Do you think she's watching?” I asked. Looking up at the stars. “My mother?”
“I think if she is, she's proud.” Viktor's hand found mine. Laced our fingers together. “You survived. You chose love. You're becoming the king she raised you to be.”
“Not yet. Not for a long time, I hope.”
“No. But someday.” He squeezed my hand. “And when that day comes, I'll be there. Standing beside you. Protecting you.”
“Loving me?”
“Always loving you.”
I turned to him. Found his eyes in the starlight. Saw everything I needed reflected there. Safety. Home. Future.
“I spent eighteen years hunting in the dark,” I said. “Trying to fill the hole she left. Trying to be worth the sacrifice she made.” I paused. “I think I finally understand what she wanted for me.”
“What's that?”
“This.” I gestured between us. At the ring on his finger. At the city breathing below. At the life we'd fought so hard to keep. “She wanted me to live. Not just survive. Not just exist. Actually live.”
Viktor pulled me close. Wrapped his arms around me and held on like he'd never let go.
“Then let's live,” he whispered against my hair. “For her. For us. For every person we've lost and every moment we've stolen.”
We stood there on the rooftop while the city hummed below and stars wheeled overhead. Apollo's soft snores. Viktor's heartbeat steady against my ear. The ring cool and solid on his finger where my hand rested against his chest.
No more secrets. No more hiding. No more running from what we were.
Just two broken people who'd somehow managed to heal each other by refusing to let go.
I closed my eyes. Breathed in the scent of him. Cedar and smoke and home.
Eighteen years I'd been hunting. Eighteen years of darkness and grief and trying to fill a void that would never be filled.
But maybe that was okay. Maybe the void wasn't supposed to be filled. Maybe it was supposed to be honored. Remembered. Carried alongside everything else.
The grief and the joy. The loss and the love. The darkness and the light.
All of it together. All of it mine.
All of it ours.
Viktor's lips pressed to my temple. Soft. Certain.
“I love you,” he murmured.
“I love you too.”
Below us, the kingdom breathed. Healing. Moving forward. Building itself back from ashes and grief.
And up here, in the quiet between heartbeats, I felt no ghosts. No shadows. Just warmth spreading through my chest where love had survived the dark.
We'd earned this. Fought for it. Bled for it.
And I'd be damned if I let anyone take it away.
Apollo stirred at our feet. Looked up at us with golden eyes that held nothing but trust and contentment.
“Come on, boy.” I knelt carefully. Scratched behind his ears. “Let's go home.”
Viktor helped me up. His hand steady at my back. The ring catching starlight.
We walked back inside together. Through corridors I'd run as a child. Past portraits of ancestors who'd made their own impossible choices. Toward chambers that felt like home instead of a cage.
Staff nodded as we passed. Smiled. Whispered. But not with judgment. With approval. With relief that we'd survived.
At my door, Viktor stopped. Turned to me with something soft in his eyes.
“Thank you,” he said. “For choosing me. For fighting for us.”
“Thank you for staying.” I pulled him close. Kissed him slow and deep. “For refusing to leave even when it would've been easier.”
“Never easier.” He smiled against my lips. “You're worth every scar. Every fight. Every moment of fear.”
We stepped inside. Apollo bounded ahead, claiming his spot on the bed like he owned it.
Viktor locked the door behind us. Not to keep the world out. Just to keep us in. Safe. Together. Whole.
I looked at him in the lamplight. The ring on his finger. The medals on his chest. The scars on his skin. Every piece of him earned. Survived. Loved.
“What happens next?” I asked.
“We rebuild. We heal. We figure out how to live in a world where Marcel and élodie don't exist anymore.” He crossed to me. Took my face in his hands. “And we stop running from what we are.”
“What are we?”
“Yours and mine.” Simple. Final. “Together. Whatever that looks like.”
I kissed him. Poured eighteen years of grief and two weeks of survival and every moment of love in between into it.
When we broke apart, breathless and smiling, the future didn't look so heavy anymore.
It looked like possibility. Like mornings in bed and nights on rooftops. Like balancing duty and desire. Like choosing each other every day despite everything that would try to pull us apart.
It looked like living.
Not just surviving. Not just existing.
Actually, honestly, beautifully living.
And that, I realized, was exactly what my mother had wanted for me all along.
To find someone who made the darkness bearable. Who stood beside me in the storm. Who loved me not despite my broken pieces, but because of them.
Viktor was that person. Had always been that person.
And I was done pretending otherwise.