23. Ryker #2
A shaky laugh slips out of me as I hold her close. “That’s not how this is supposed to go,” I tease softly, pressing a kiss to her temple. “I love you too, Soraea.”
She sobs quietly against my skin, the sound breaking something in me.
“I’m not done yet,” I murmur.
“Oh,” she whispers, pulling back enough to look at me, swiping at her tear-streaked cheeks.
I brush a strand of hair from her face, my thumb grazing the softness of her lower lip before I take her hand again, grounding us both in the weight of this moment. “Marry me,” I whisper. “Bond with me. Choose me, Raea.”
A small, breathless sound escapes her—a whimper caught between joy and disbelief —before she nods, and then her lips crash into mine.
“I will always choose you,” she cries against my mouth. “Yes. Forever it will be, yes.”
Her knees buckle, and I follow her to the ground, where she climbs into my lap, molding herself against me as if trying to merge our souls right here, right now.
The kiss is desperate and reverent all at once—the kind that tastes like every dream we’ve ever shared, every heartbreak that led us here.
I thank the gods between breaths, losing myself in her soft gasps and the way her fingers thread through my hair.
When our lips are raw, and our lungs finally beg for air, she rests her head on my shoulder, tracing slow lines through my hair that make my pulse stumble.
“Do you want to see the ring?” I murmur against her ear, my tone light and teasing again.
I feel her smile bloom against my chest before she lifts her head. She’s still straddling my lap when I shift, bringing it between us. She moves slightly to look, and a groan escapes me before I can stop it. Her answering laugh is soft and wicked.
I bring the ring into the candlelight, the metal catching the amber flicker of the lanterns. It isn’t a standard royal band. The center stone is a pear-cut moss agate—a deep, verdant green trapped in translucent crystal that looks like a single, perfect raindrop fallen from a Kyrr forest canopy.
Supporting the weight of the forest stone is a delicate web of rose gold, mimicking the iridescent waves of the Bond that has redefined my life. Around the green teardrop, a double halo of diamonds rises in sharp, brilliant points, shimmering like sunlight hitting the crest of a Malayan tide.
“It’s a piece of your home,” I whisper, my voice rough with the weight of everything I’m promising her. “Supported by mine.”
She gingerly plucks the ring from my hand, the mossy inclusions inside the stone catching the light. She slides it onto her finger—the seat of a wedding band—and for the first time since the Veil fell, the world feels balanced.
Of course it fits perfectly—I made sure of that, slipping her measurements from Julianna last week.
A Bond alone would never be enough. She deserved the rest of it—the proposal, the ring, the decision made freely. The chance to say yes while the choice was still hers to make.
Our mouths move in sync, like we’ve always been this way.
She straddles me tighter, her arms running over my shoulders as her hands grip my shirt.
She smiles between her tears and sniffles, and it guts me in the best way.
She’s so damn expressive with her emotions.
It catches me off guard half the time, but I love it—learning what makes her happy, what upsets her, what turns her on.
I want to spend forever figuring her out.
Her kisses turn reckless. Her hands find the space between us, tugging at my belt with a desperation that matches the fire in my own blood.
“I want you,” she begs, her voice a ragged whisper against my lips.
“I want to give you me, without a Bond telling me I have to.” Her palm brushes over me, a lightning strike that has me gritting my teeth as I groan, hauling her flush against my chest.
I drop my head back, fighting for air. “In the cottage, love,” I rasp. “Not on the sand where the guards might interrupt us.”
Her hands stall, her eyes wide and dark with want.
“I have one more thing planned. One more memory to reclaim. Then, I promise, I am all yours. No more waiting. No more delays”.
She nods, her excitement a tangible buzz through our Bond as she tucks her hands into her lap, waiting. I help her from my lap and guide her to a nest of pillows and blankets away from the dying fire. With the flick of a switch, the island plunges into shadows—until the shore ignites.
Little by little, the sand comes to life. A brilliant blue bioluminescence spills along the water’s edge like fallen stars. It coats the conch shells and rocks in a living, glowing frost.
Raea gasps, shooting to her feet as the blue light reflects in her eyes. “What is it?” she asks, her face transformed by unadulterated joy. It’s a look I’ll carry into every battle to come.
I explain the tiny creatures that call these fjords home, and for the rest of the night, I hold her tucked against my side. We play planet trivia beneath a canopy of stars, our voices low and intimate, surrounded by the glowing blue magic of a world that finally feels like it belongs to us.