Chapter 85
Three weeks later, Valerius took Dara back to Everbloom Garden.
Not for the first time. The garden had been open for months now, and Dara knew its paths well enough to have opinions about them.
She knew which lanterns caught best on the pond, which flowerbeds drew the most visitors, and which bench gave the finest view without forcing one to endure too much direct sun.
She had eaten here before, walked here before, complained here before, and approved expenses here before. Once, she had informed Bernard that one section of the path needed widening because “romance is less effective when people trip over each other,” and Bernard had simply written it down.
Tonight, however, the garden felt different.
Not new.
Just waiting.
By the time dinner ended, late afternoon had softened into evening. The restaurant still glowed behind them with candlelight and the low murmur of departing guests. Beyond it, the paths curved toward the pond, lanterns already lit in careful golden intervals.
Dara walked beside Valerius with Pipette trotting proudly ahead and Salem slipping through the shadows as if she had personally invented elegance. Grace, Bernard, and Elowra followed at a discreet distance.
Too discreet.
Suspiciously discreet.
Of course Dara noticed.
She glanced sideways at Valerius. “You are very quiet tonight.”
“I am.”
“That was not a denial.”
“No.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Should I be concerned?”
His mouth curved faintly. “I hope not.”
“That is not reassuring.”
“I know.”
The answer was so calm it became more suspicious.
Cai floated near a lantern post, invisible and delighted. He is planning something.
Obviously.
You are not panicking.
I am observing.
That is new.
Dara ignored him and continued walking.
The path to the pond was one of her favorite parts of Everbloom, though she did not say such things often. Favorites invited teasing, and Dara had far too many people in her life who had become comfortable teasing her.
Still, it was beautiful. Flowering branches curved overhead, heavy with pale blossoms. Lanternlight glowed through the leaves. The pond reflected the first evening stars, its surface broken only by the occasional ripple of fish below.
Then the music began, soft strings and a low flute weaving through the lantern grove, quiet enough not to startle and elegant enough to be deliberate.
Dara stopped and turned slowly toward Valerius. “Music.”
“Yes.”
“In the lantern grove.”
“Yes.”
“At this hour.”
“Yes.”
Behind them, Grace made a soft sound and quickly composed herself. Bernard cleared his throat. Elowra’s pen scratched faintly against paper.
Dara’s eyes narrowed further. “This is a conspiracy.”
Valerius looked entirely too serene. “A carefully arranged evening.”
“That is what conspirators call things.”
His smile deepened.
Then the petals began to fall.
Not naturally.
Dara knew her garden. She knew exactly how those trees shed blossoms, and this was far too graceful to be a coincidence. Pale petals drifted through the air, carried by a breeze that disturbed nothing important—not hair, not gowns, not lantern flames, not dignity.
Wind mages.
Of course.
Dara stared. “You hired wind mages.”
“Yes.”
“For petals.”
“Yes.”
She looked at him, then at the blossoms falling around them. “That is excessive.”
“I thought you might like it.”
She opened her mouth, closed it, and looked at the petals again.
They were beautiful.
Annoyingly beautiful.
Infuriatingly, perfectly beautiful.
“…I do,” she admitted.
Valerius’s expression softened, and Dara’s chest filled with something unfamiliar—not unpleasant, only warm and difficult to name.
They reached the pond, and Dara stopped again.
The lanterns reflected in the water like strings of gold.
The musicians remained hidden beyond the flowering trees, playing softly enough that the whole garden seemed to breathe with the melody.
Pipette sat primly near the path. Salem settled beneath a lantern, tail curled around her paws, watching with imperial detachment.
But it was not the pond that caught Dara’s attention.
Beyond the curve of the path, in the open stretch of grass beside the water, a broad bed of flowers had been coaxed into a perfect heart. Pale pink, white, and blush-colored blossoms spread across the lawn in one enormous shape, lush and deliberate beneath the lanternlight.
Dara stared.
“That,” she said slowly, “is not usually there.”
“No.”
She turned to him. “You made my garden produce a giant heart.”
“I asked a plant mage for assistance.”
“For a flower heart.”
“Yes.”
She looked back at it.
The heart was ridiculous.
Lavish. Romantic. Entirely unreasonable.
Also extremely effective.
“…That is excessive in a different direction,” she said.
“I considered it appropriate.”
She was still staring at the flowers. “It is.”
Pipette wagged her tail. Salem blinked once.
Traitors.
Valerius stopped beside the pond and turned to face her.
Dara’s breath caught before he said a word.
There it was—the waiting feeling, the reason the evening had felt different all along. Not frightening, not unwanted, only large.
Important.
He took her hand. “Lynara.”
Her fingers curled lightly around his. “Yes?”
“I have thought about this carefully.”
“That sounds like you.”
A faint smile touched his mouth. “I wanted to ask you somewhere that belonged to you.”
Dara’s throat tightened. Her gaze flicked over the garden—Everbloom, her project, her ridiculous flower-filled destination, her expensive and beautiful proof that comfort could become civic infrastructure if one insisted hard enough.
Then back to him.
“You chose well,” she said softly.
“I hoped I had.”
Petals continued to fall. His thumb brushed once over her hand.
“I will not ask you first as Crown Prince.”
Dara stilled.
“I will not speak first of duty, title, politics, or expectation. I know those things exist. I know they matter. But they are not why I am asking.”
Her heart beat once, hard. “Then why are you asking?”
“Because I love you.”
The words were quiet, without performance or audience in them. Only truth.
“I love your mind,” he said. “Your stubbornness. Your compassion, even when you pretend it is only efficiency. Your impossible standards. Your appetite for beauty. Your refusal to leave things broken once you have noticed them.”
Dara’s eyes burned.
Rude.
Very rude.
He continued, voice low and steady. “I love how you make a place better and then act offended when people notice.”
A laugh escaped her before she could stop it—small and shaky.
His expression warmed. “I love the life that exists around you. And I would be honored beyond words to share mine with yours.”
For once, Dara could not speak.
Valerius lowered himself to one knee.
The world stopped.
Even Cai went silent.
From his coat, Valerius drew a small velvet ring box and opened it.
Inside rested a ring of gold and emerald.
The stone was deep green and luminous beneath the lanternlight, set in delicate royal goldwork that looked old without feeling heavy.
Elegant. Striking. Beautiful enough that even Dara, who had strong opinions about jewelry, forgot how to breathe for a second.
“This belonged to my grandmother,” Valerius said. “She wore it before she became queen.”
Dara stared at the ring, then at him.
He looked up at her, calm but not untouched. There was vulnerability in his eyes.
Not fear.
Hope.
“Lynara Voss,” he said, “will you marry me?”
For a moment, Dara heard everything at once: the music, the water, the petals, Grace’s quiet breath somewhere behind her, the soft shift of lantern flame, her own heartbeat.
Once, she would have called this dangerous. A trap, a route lock, an irreversible complication wrapped in lanternlight and petals.
But now—
Now she saw his hand. His face. The garden. The heart-shaped flowers in the grass. The life around her. The world she had stopped treating as temporary.
And she did not want to run.
That was the answer before she spoke.
Dara drew in a breath. “I had a thousand reasons why this was impossible.”
Valerius did not move.
“Most of them were very practical.”
“I believe you.”
“One or two were even financially sound.”
His mouth curved faintly. “I also believe that.”
Her lips trembled into a small smile. “But lately…” She looked around the garden, then back at him. “Lately, every future I imagine has you standing somewhere in it.”
His expression softened.
Dara swallowed. “I love you, Valerius.”
The words came easier than she expected, not because they were small, but because they were true.
“I love you,” she said again. “Not because you are safe. Not because you are convenient. You are not convenient at all.”
A quiet laugh moved through the air somewhere behind them.
Dara ignored it.
“I love you because when you stand beside me, I feel like I can stop fighting the whole world alone.” Her voice softened. “And because, somewhere along the way, you became part of what home means to me.”
The music faded into the background.
Dara held out her hand. “So yes,” she whispered. “I’ll marry you.”
Valerius slipped the ring onto her finger.
It fit perfectly.
Of course it did.
He rose slowly, still holding her hand. For one breath, they only looked at each other.
Then Dara said, very softly, “You planned this well.”
“I tried.”
“The petals are excessive.”
“Yes.”
“The flower heart is absurd.”
“Yes.”
“I like it.”
“I know.”
“And the ring is beautiful.”
His thumb brushed over her fingers. “So are you.”
Dara’s face warmed. “Dangerous answer.”
“An honest one.”
She looked at him, then stepped closer and kissed him first.
Valerius went still for half a breath, then his arms came around her, careful and warm. The kiss was soft at first, then deeper, full of everything they had spent months approaching through glances, arguments, hand-holding, rescue, irritation, laughter, and impossible trust.
Petals drifted around them. The pond reflected gold. The heart of flowers glowed softly beyond them in the lanternlight.
For once, Dara did not think about routes, payouts, or endings.
Only this.
Only him.
Only the choice she had finally made.
When they pulled apart, applause broke out.
Dara froze, then slowly turned.
Grace was crying openly. Bernard stood with dignified emotion, though his eyes looked suspiciously bright.
Elowra was absolutely writing something down.
Regulus stepped out from beyond the flowering trees, smiling in a way that made Dara’s chest tighten.
Garrick and Marek stood behind him with several guards, clapping with various degrees of subtlety.
Dara stared at them.
Then at Valerius.
“I knew it.”
Valerius’s brows lifted. “This was a conspiracy.”
“A carefully organized one.”
“And everyone knew?”
“Yes.”
She turned toward Grace. “You too?”
Grace sniffed and smiled. “Yes, my lady.”
“Bernard?”
Bernard inclined his head. “His Highness requested assistance with arrangements.”
“Elowra?”
Elowra looked up from her notes. “The petals and floral heart required timing coordination.”
Dara stared. “Of course they did.”
Her father approached then, and for once Dara did not brace. He took both her hands carefully, looking first at the emerald ring, then at her face.
“You look happy,” he said softly.
Dara swallowed. “I am.”
His expression shifted—relief, pride, and a little grief, perhaps, for all the years they had not known how to reach each other properly. Then he pulled her gently into his arms.
Dara closed her eyes and hugged him back.
When he released her, his own eyes were bright. “Your mother would have loved this,” he said.
Dara’s throat tightened. “The ring?”
“The garden,” he said, then smiled. “The prince too, eventually. After interrogating him.”
Valerius bowed his head with admirable seriousness. “I would have accepted the questioning.”
Dara laughed, actually laughed, the sound warm and full and startled out of her.
Cai floated beside her shoulder, grinning far too smugly. Look at you.
What?
Choosing things.
She looked around the garden once more—the lanterns, her father, Grace, Bernard, Elowra, her pets, the guards—and finally back to Valerius.
Dara exhaled softly. Yes.
Then she slipped her hand into Valerius’s again.
“Alright,” she said, her voice soft but steady.
Everyone looked at her.
She lifted her chin, the emerald ring gleaming on her finger. “I suppose this future is acceptable.”
Valerius smiled. “Only acceptable?”
Dara looked at him, then smiled back.
“For now,” she said. “It is mine.”
And this time, she meant all of it.