POV: Ravenna
The days before Seris's execution are TENSE.
Security is maximum. Guards everywhere. Patrols doubled. Dragons circling the palace every hour. Because the Shadow is still out there somewhere. Still loyal to Seris. Still dangerous.
And if he's going to attempt a rescue, it'll be before she's executed.
So we wait. And prepare. And try to pretend everything is FINE when it absolutely isn't.
I'm in the library trying to distract myself with books when Theron finds me.
"Come with me," he says.
I look up from the page I've read seventeen times without absorbing a single word. "Where?"
"You'll see." He extends his hand. "Trust me?"
Always. "Yes."
He leads me through the palace. Not toward our chambers or the war room or any of the usual places. He takes me to the GARDENS. The private ones behind the palace that overlook the volcanic valleys.
It's late afternoon. The sun is setting, painting everything in shades of red and gold and orange. Fire colors. Home colors.
"Theron, what—"
"I should have done this months ago," he interrupts. Turns to face me. Takes both my hands in his. "I should have done this the moment the Dragon's Choosing ended. Or after the first battle. Or—or a thousand times between then and now."
Oh gods. Is he—
"Ravenna." His amber eyes are intense. Certain. "We've been through war. Through assassination attempts. Through trials and grief and HELL. We've almost died more times than I can count. And every single time, the only thing I could think was—was that I needed to survive. To get back to you. To protect you."
"Theron—"
"Let me finish." His voice is rough. "I love you. I have loved you since you took my hand after the Fear Walk. Since you crossed the arena to accept the bond. Since you chose me despite everything." He swallows. "I want to marry you. Not in a few months when things are 'stable.' Not next year when the kingdoms are 'at peace.' NOW. Because we've wasted enough time. Because life is SHORT and we almost DIED and I don't want to wait another day to call you my wife."
He pulls a small box from his pocket. Opens it.
Inside is a simple silver ring. No gemstones. No elaborate design. Just silver etched with two patterns—flames on one side, waves on the other. Fire and water. Us.
"It's not fancy," he says. "It's not—it's not what a Crown Princess deserves—"
"It's perfect." I'm crying. When did I start crying? "It's absolutely perfect."
"Is that a yes?" His voice is tentative. Hopeful. Like I could possibly say anything else.
"Yes." I throw my arms around his neck. "Yes, yes, YES. I'll marry you. Today, tomorrow, next week, I don't CARE when as long as—as long as it's US."
He kisses me. Deep and desperate and relieved. When we finally pull apart, we're both breathing hard.
"When?" I ask.
"Three days." He slides the ring onto my finger. It fits perfectly. "I already asked your father's permission. He agreed. Said we've 'waited long enough to find happiness.'" A pause. "Apparently there are rapid-ceremony protocols for wartime marriages."
"Three days is BEFORE Seris's execution."
"I know." His jaw tightens. "I want to marry you in life. In hope. In JOY. Not in the shadow of an execution. Not surrounded by death." He cups my face. "We deserve better than that. We deserve to celebrate US."
He's right. Gods, he's right.
"Three days," I agree. "Small ceremony?"
"Tiny. Family and close friends only. No grand spectacle. Just—just US making promises to each other."
I kiss him again. Can't help it. This man who survived five rejections and still found the courage to CHOOSE. To love. To build something beautiful from the ashes of what broke him.
"I love you," I tell him. "I love you so much it SCARES me sometimes."
"Good." He grins. "Because I plan to spend the rest of my life earning that terror."
***
When we tell Morgana, she screams.
Literally. Screams so loud the guards come running thinking someone is being murdered.
"THREE DAYS?" She grabs my hands, staring at the ring. "You're getting married in THREE DAYS and you're just NOW telling me?"
"He just proposed twenty minutes ago!"
"I need to plan—we need dresses—flowers—food—seating—OH GODS there's so much to DO—"
"Morgana." I squeeze her fingers. "Small ceremony. Simple. Just family and close friends. We don't need elaborate planning."
"You're a PRINCESS. You absolutely need elaborate planning—"
"She's MY princess," Theron interrupts. "And she wants simple. So we're doing simple."
Morgana glares at him. Then sighs. "Fine. Simple. But I'm still organizing it because if I leave it to you two, you'll end up married in the stables by a confused horse trainer."
Saren appears behind her. "What's happening? Why was there screaming?"
"They're getting married in three days," Morgana says. Then pauses. Looks at him. "You know what? We should too."
Saren blinks. "We—what?"
"Get married. In three days. Joint ceremony." She plants her hands on her hips. "We've been dancing around this for months. Bickering and tension and—and whatever this is between us. And I'm tired of dancing. So. Marry me."
"Did you just propose to me?" Saren looks stunned.
"Someone had to. You were taking too long." She steps closer. "So? What's your answer?"
He stares at her for a long moment. Then starts LAUGHING. "You're insane."
"Is that a yes?"
"That's absolutely a yes." He pulls her against him and kisses her hard. When they break apart, he's grinning. "Joint ceremony. Three days. My father is going to have a STROKE when he hears I'm marrying Fire kingdom nobility."
"Good," Morgana says. "Keeps him on his toes."
So it's decided. Double wedding. Three days.
Life after so much death. Joy after so much grief. HOPE after everything tried to destroy it.
***
Father gives his blessing formally that evening. Thalassa cries and says she's honored to attend. The palace shifts from execution preparations to wedding preparations—flowers ordered, food planned, the garden cleared for the ceremony.
I send word to Edmund in Earth Kingdom. A simple message: We're getting married. You and Brynn are invited if travel is safe.
His response arrives the next day: Travel is safe. We'll be honored to attend. Congratulations, Princess. You deserve every happiness.
Two days before the execution. Two days before we watch Seris die for her crimes.
But THREE days before that—before death and justice and ending—we get to celebrate life.
We get to stand in a garden at sunset and promise forever to the people we love.
We get to choose hope over fear.
Joy over grief.
EACH OTHER over everything that tried to tear us apart.
"Are you afraid?" Theron asks that night as we lie in bed. "Of getting married so fast?"
"No." I trace the ring on my finger. Simple silver. Flames and waves. "I'm afraid of a thousand things. The Shadow. The Eclipse ideology surviving. Future battles. Future losses." I turn to face him. "But marrying you? That's the ONLY thing I'm certain about. The only choice that feels absolutely right."
"Good." He pulls me closer. "Because backing out now would be really inconvenient. Morgana's already terrifying three seamstresses about dresses."
I laugh. Actually LAUGH. For the first time in days.
"Three days," I whisper against his chest. "Three days and we're married."
"Three days," he agrees. "And then everything changes."
"Everything already changed." I close my eyes. "When you walked into that competition late. When our dragons chose. When I decided to stop fighting the bond and just—just FEEL."
"Best decision you ever made."
"Second best." I smile. "The BEST decision is agreeing to marry you in three days instead of making you wait until we're eighty."
He laughs. Kisses the top of my head. Holds me close while the world outside continues preparing for both execution and celebration.
Death and life. Ending and beginning. Grief and joy. All of it tangled together. All of it OURS.
In three days, we marry. And whatever comes after—whatever battles, whatever darkness, whatever fear tries to destroy what we're building—
We'll face it together. As husband and wife. As PARTNERS. As HOME.