Chapter 18 Octavius
SIX MONTHS HAD PASSED, and somehow everything had changed... and yet nothing had at all.
The council had been surprisingly easy to persuade. I had gone in fully prepared for resistance, for arguments, for drawn-out debates about law, tradition, and the very obvious fact that Kara was human and had entered Crescent Cove under circumstances that were, at best, questionable.
I had expected to fight for her relentlessly, but instead, they listened.
And when I told them I loved her and intended to marry her, something shifted.
It wasn’t exactly immediate approval. The council still had their conditions, their endless need to maintain order and uphold whatever fragile balance they believed Crescent Cove depended on.
But in the end, they allowed it. A long engagement, they said.
Time to observe us, to make certain this wasn’t some impulsive decision.
As if anything about Kara had ever been simple enough to be called impulsive.
At the time, the engagement had been a practical solution, just a way to keep her here. But somewhere between then and now, it had stopped feeling like an arrangement and started to feel real. I didn’t want to rush it, but I also didn’t want to pretend it wasn’t inevitable.
I leaned back slightly in my chair, my gaze drifting around the cottage.
Our cottage.
I had officially moved in two months ago, though, in truth, I had been spending most of my nights here long before that.
Slowly, it had become less her space and more ours.
Before Kara, I had preferred quiet and structure.
Now, I found myself craving the sound of her moving through the cottage, the way she filled it without even trying.
The way she talked while she worked, half of it directed at me, the other half just her thinking out loud.
I shifted slightly in my seat, my eyes moving toward the kitchen where she had been stationed for far too long. When I finally glanced at the clock on the wall, I realized just how much time had passed, and that alone was enough to concern me.
“Do not come in here!” she called suddenly, as if she already knew I was about to get up and investigate whatever chaos she had created.
“I wasn’t planning on it,” I lied, settling back into my seat.
“Good, because it’s a surprise.”
“I am deeply concerned about what that means.”
“You’ll live,” she said confidently.
Well, that was debatable.
I leaned my head back, staring at the ceiling for a moment as a small smile tugged at my mouth. I focused on the sounds drifting in from the kitchen—the erratic movements, the clink of dishes, the occasional muttered comment or swear I couldn’t quite make out—and fuck, I adored this human.
“Okay!” she called out. “You can come in now.”
I pushed to my feet and turned toward the kitchen, only to pause the moment I stepped inside, because it actually looked... good.
I narrowed my eyes slightly, suspicion lingering. “What did you do?”
She placed her hands on her hips, clearly offended. “I cooked,” she said. “All by myself.”
“That’s not exactly reassuring.”
A laugh slipped from me, earning a dramatic eye roll in return.
“Just sit down and try it.”
It smelled good, which was already new enough to make me suspicious. Still, as I sat at the table, staring at the food in front of me, I finally worked up the courage to take a cautious bite, chewing slowly and fully expecting to regret it.
The flavor settled in almost immediately—warm and savory.
The beef was tender and perfectly cooked, coated in a rich, slightly sweet soy-based glaze that reminded me of home.
It tasted like gyudon—thin slices of beef simmered with onions in soy sauce, mirin, and broth, soaking into the rice beneath it. Simple, but surprisingly well done.
“You made this?” I asked, looking up at her, still a little shocked she had managed to pull this off.
Her expression lit up instantly, like she had been holding her breath waiting for my reaction. “I told you I’ve been practicing!”
I took another bite, this time without hesitation. “It’s actually really good.”
Her eyes widened. “Wait, really?”
“Yeah,” I said, already reaching for more.
Kara beamed, and I found myself smiling with her because her happiness was just as satisfying as the meal itself.
Dinner turned into laughter, and that laughter softened into something quieter—the kind of ease that had settled between us so naturally over the past six months that I no longer questioned it.
We cleaned up together—or rather, I cleaned while Kara attempted to help and mostly got distracted halfway through, launching into a story about something she had seen in town earlier that day.
By the time we stepped outside, night had already settled over Crescent Cove, the air cool against my skin while the distant sound of the ocean pulled at me in that magical way it always did.
“I need to drain a bit,” I told her as we started down the familiar path, glancing over at her. “Nothing serious. I just want to be completely clear tonight.”
“Only if I get to watch,” she insisted, even though we both knew she always did. She had been fascinated by it from the start, watching with that same quiet awe, like it was something extraordinary instead of something that had once felt routine to me.
But tonight, I had a reason to let her watch a little more closely.
We made our way down to the cove, the tide rolling in slow, steady pulses against the shore. I stepped into the water, my tentacles slipping beneath the surface as the magic began to stir.
I started to drain slowly, letting the weight of the day slip from me in controlled waves.
Silver and blue light spread through the water, curling and shifting in fluid, luminous patterns.
This time, though, I didn’t let it dissipate.
Instead, I held it there, guiding and shaping it with more focus than I ever had before to make sure I got this right.
The light gathered, bending and weaving through the water as I carefully transformed it into something new. I could already feel her focus sharpen behind me, trying to piece together what I was doing as I let the glowing strands mold into shapes—no, not shapes.
Letters.
I took my time, letting each letter settle, letting the magic move with careful precision until there was no mistaking the message I was creating in the water, meant for her and her alone.
Kara, will you marry me?
I didn’t turn to face her right away, because I didn’t have to. The sharp inhale behind me told me everything as she stepped into the water, moving past me, drawn in like she needed to see it up close to understand the message I had created for her.
Slowly, I lowered myself to one knee behind her, the shallow tide lapping gently around me as I reached into my pocket and pulled out the small box I had been carrying for the past week.
I held it steady, even as something unfamiliar and anxious twisted in my chest, the nerves finally catching up to me.
“Kara,” I started, and she turned immediately, her eyes already shining in the moonlight from fresh tears streaking down her cheeks. “I know we’ve been engaged for six months already, but I want to do this properly. Not for the council. Not for the law.” My gaze held hers. “But for us.”
I took a slow breath, the cool water against my skin doing nothing to ease the heat of anticipation building inside me. “I want to know if you’ll truly marry me.”
For a moment, she didn’t move or speak. She just stood there as more tears slipped down her cheeks. Then I heard her voice, almost a whisper at first, growing stronger as excitement rushed through her. “Yes. Yes, of course I’ll marry you!”
My body reacted before my mind could catch up as my tentacles moved on instinct, wrapping around her as I lifted her off her feet and pulled her close. She laughed, the sound echoing softly against the cliffs as I spun her, unable to contain the overwhelming rush of it all.
When I finally set her down, our lips crashed together with a kind of intensity that said everything words couldn’t.
“Mina was right,” she said breathlessly.
“I’m beginning to think she might be more sea witch than sea serpent,” I muttered, earning a soft laugh from her in return.
I lifted my hand, brushing my thumb gently along her cheek, grounding myself in her, in the warmth of her skin and in the reality of everything we had built together. “I love you, Kara.”
“I love you too, Octavius.”
And standing there, wrapped in the glow of the ocean, with the past finally behind us and everything else stretching out ahead, I knew with absolute certainty that this was it.
This was where she belonged. This was where I belonged.
Entangled in a life I had never realized I wanted until she walked into it and changed everything.
This was home. This was everything. And this was only the beginning.