Steven’s POV
This was the day.
I stood in the kitchen with the picnic basket open on the counter and told myself that for the fifth time.
This was the day.
Not tomorrow.
Not when my hands stopped shaking.
Not when I magically became the kind of guy who could ask a princess to marry him without feeling like his ribs were trying to crush his heart.
Today.
The ring was in my pocket.
The hilltop was almost ready.
Aqua had said yes to the picnic.
There was nothing left except the part where I had to actually ask her.
That was the problem.
I could fight Atlantean soldiers beside a lake. I could train until my muscles felt like someone had replaced them with bruises. I could stand in front of Dylan while he explained, in detail, every way my stance was disappointing.
But asking Aqua to marry me?
My hand went to my pocket before I could stop it.
The little velvet box was still there.
Small.
Solid.
Terrifying.
I pulled it out, opened it, and looked at the ring again.
The aquamarine caught the kitchen light in a pale blue flash. Not too dark. Not too royal. Not throne-room blue. Aqua blue. The silver band curved around the teardrop stone like water holding light without trapping it.
My chest tightened.
I snapped the box shut before I could spiral into staring at it for another ten minutes.
My phone buzzed on the counter.
Dylan: Do you still have it?
I shoved the box back into my pocket and grabbed my phone.
Me: Yes.
Dylan: Did you check?
I stared at the message.
Me: No.
Three dots appeared.
Dylan: You checked.
I looked toward the living room.
Fang was not there. Aqua was not there. No one was watching me from the hallway. The back door was shut. The curtains over the kitchen window were still.
Dylan was not even in the house, and somehow he was still annoying.
Me: I’m allowed to know where the ring is.
Dylan: Knowing and repeatedly confirming are different activities.
I breathed out through my nose.
The picnic basket sat open in front of me with the things I had packed: napkins, cups, a folded blanket, a small tea thermos, pastries from the café, and three spoons.
Three.
Because Aqua had mentioned spoons, and I was not letting cutlery become the reason she questioned my ability to plan a romantic evening.
My phone buzzed again.
Dylan: Basket?
Me: Packed.
Dylan: With food?
I looked into the basket.
Me: Obviously.
Dylan: That is not a safe assumption with you.
I glared at the screen.
Me: I packed pastries.
Dylan: Real pastries or the emotional idea of pastries?
Me: Real pastries.
Dylan: Cups?
Me: Yes.
Dylan: Napkins?
Me: Yes.
Dylan: Spoon?
I looked at the three spoons.
Me: More than one.
There was a pause.
Dylan: Ambitious.
Despite everything, I smiled.
It came too fast and surprised me.
A few weeks ago, Dylan’s messages would have made me tense. I would have read every dry comment like a challenge. Every correction like an insult. Every bit of help like proof that he thought I could not do anything on my own.
Now I could almost hear his voice behind the words.
Still sharp.
Still too calm.
But not cruel.
Never really cruel.
Just Dylan.
My thumb hovered over the screen.
Me: Is everything ready there?
This time, he did not answer instantly.
The delay was probably three seconds.
It felt like three years.
Then the reply came.
Dylan: Almost.
My stomach dropped.
Me: Almost?
Dylan: The lanterns are being placed now.
I stared at that.
Me: Lanterns?
Dylan: Yes.
Me: You mean candles.
Stolen novel; please report.
The reply came immediately.
Dylan: I mean lanterns.
I scowled.
Me: Candles are more romantic.
Dylan: Open flames and a nervous Salvatore are not a romantic pairing.
I looked down at my hand.
No sparks.
No heat leaking through my fingers.
Just a slight tremble I could not make stop.
I closed my hand into a fist.
Me: I control fire better now.
Dylan: Today is not the day to test that theory.
My jaw tightened.
Me: Lanterns don’t feel as romantic.
Dylan: They are tideglass lanterns. They glow blue-white, answer beautifully to Currena magic, and will not become a local emergency if your feelings overpower your judgment.
My face warmed.
Me: My feelings are not going to overpower my judgment.
Dylan: You added three spoons.
I froze.
Looked into the basket.
Then at the window.
Then back at the phone.
Me: Are you watching me?
Dylan: I do not need surveillance to understand panic.
I stared at that.
Then laughed once under my breath.
Not much.
Just enough for the pressure in my chest to loosen.
Me: Fine. Lanterns.
Dylan: Wise.
I picked up the basket handle and set it down again. Then I checked the tea thermos lid. Then the pastries. Then the napkins. Then the spoons, because apparently I had lost control of the spoon situation.
My phone buzzed once more.
Dylan: Everything is handled. Worry about Aqua, not the pillows.
I swallowed.
My fingers hovered over the screen.
Then I typed the question before I could talk myself out of it.
Me: What if I mess it up?
The kitchen seemed to go quieter while I waited.
The house was one story, but somehow it still felt too big around me. Kitchen and living room in the middle. Master bedroom to the left. Other rooms to the right. Back door behind me. No stairs. No hidden corners. No reason for my heart to act like I had nowhere to stand.
The typing dots appeared.
Disappeared.
Appeared again.
Then Dylan answered.
Dylan: You will not ruin it by being nervous.
I stared at the words.
Another message followed.
Dylan: She knows you. That is your advantage, not your problem.
My throat tightened so suddenly I had to look away from the phone.
She knows you.
Aqua knew me when I stumbled.
When I burned too hot.
When I got scared and tried to hide it badly.
When I wanted to be brave and had no idea how.
She knew me.
And somehow, after all of that, she still smiled when I walked into a room.
My phone buzzed again.
Dylan: Good luck, Steven.
I went still.
Dylan did not throw soft words around. He handled them like sharp tools—sparingly, carefully, usually with visible irritation. Seeing my name after those words did something strange to my chest.
I typed back slowly.
Me: Thanks.
Then, because I could not help myself:
Me: For everything.
Several seconds passed.
Dylan: Thank me if she says yes.
I smiled again.
This one stayed longer.
The sound of a door shifting down the hall made me shove the phone into my pocket so fast it almost slipped through my fingers.
Aqua stepped into the kitchen.
The whole world changed shape.
She wore a pale blue dress, simple enough for a picnic but soft enough that it made the afternoon light seem like it had chosen her first. Her hair fell over one shoulder, pale blond with those light blue streaks catching near her cheek like pieces of sky tangled in sunlight.
She was not dressed like a princess.
She looked better.
She looked like Aqua.
The girl who had walked out of the ocean and somehow made my entire life split into before and after.
Her gaze dropped to the basket.
Then lifted to my face.
“You are smiling at your phone.”
My brain stopped.
“No.”
Aqua’s brow lifted.
I looked down at the phone still half-visible in my pocket.
Then back at her.
“I mean, yes.”
“That was a fast journey.”
“Dylan texted me.”
Her expression shifted, brightening with interest.
“Dylan?”
“Yeah.” My mind scrambled for an explanation that was not Dylan is currently helping me propose to you and also preventing me from committing candle-related crimes. “He was just, uh… wishing me a happy one-month anniversary.”
Aqua blinked.
“He did?”
“Sort of.”
“Sort of?”
“He said good luck.”
“That does not sound like happy anniversary.”
“It’s Dylan. That might be as close as he gets.”
Aqua’s mouth curved.
“That is unexpectedly sweet.”
“Don’t tell him that. He’ll deny it and then probably make training worse to recover.”
She laughed softly and came closer to the counter.
“Have you and Dylan gotten closer?”
The question should not have made me nervous.
It did.
Not the same nervous as the ring.
A different kind.
A quieter kind.
I looked down at the basket handle and rubbed my thumb along the woven edge.
“Yeah,” I said. “I guess you could say we’ve become friends.”
The word felt strange out loud.
Not bad.
Just new.
Like putting on a jacket that fit before I believed it belonged to me.
Aqua’s expression softened.
“I thought you would.”
I looked at her. “You did?”
“Yes.”
“You also pushed us together half the time.”
“I encouraged connection.”
“That is a royal way to say meddling.”
“I was very graceful about it.”
“You told me to train with him even when I was annoyed.”
“You needed training.”
“And he needed someone to annoy.”
Her smile widened.
“Then it worked out for both of you.”
I wanted to argue.
I could not.
Because she was right.
Dylan had become something I had not expected. Not just a trainer. Not just Fredrick and Lina’s son. Not just another Worth with too much control and not enough facial expressions.
He was the person I texted when my hands shook around a ring box.
The person who helped me choose a ring for Aqua.
The person who told me I would not ruin this by being nervous.
Friend.
The word settled somewhere warm and uncomfortable.
Aqua watched me like she saw some of it happen.
She always saw too much.
“Are you glad?” she asked.
I cleared my throat.
“About Dylan?”
“Yes.”
I looked toward the back door, then back at her.
“Yeah,” I admitted. “I think I am.”
Her eyes softened more.
“I am glad too.”
Something about that made me want to kiss her right there in the kitchen and forget the entire plan.
Then the ring box pressed against my pocket, reminding me that the entire plan was the reason I wanted to kiss her in the first place.
Aqua looked at the basket again.
“Is everything ready?”
“Yes.”
“The spoon?”
“Yes.”
“The cups?”
“Yes.”
“The napkins?”
“Yes.”
“The pastries?”
“Yes.”
She studied me with far too much amusement.
“And your breathing?”
“That was not on the list.”
“It should have been.”
“Dylan already covered that.”
“He reminded you to breathe?”
I froze.
Aqua’s eyes gleamed.
“You are nervous.”
“I’m focused.”
“You are nervous about our one-month picnic.”
“People can be focused and nervous.”
“So yes.”
I picked up the basket.
“It’s going to be nice.”
“I believe you.”
That was worse.
She believed me so easily.
Like trusting me was not a frightening thing.
Like I had earned it, somehow, step by step.
Aqua glanced toward the kitchen window. The late afternoon sun had already begun to lower, turning the glass warm at the edges.
“Why are we going on a picnic so late?” she asked. “Is that part of the human tradition?”
“Yes,” I said.
Then winced.
“No. I mean, not always.”
Her brows lifted.
“I heard the view is better when the sun sets,” I said. “From the hilltop.”
That was true.
Dylan had said it.
Dylan had said it, and I had no reason to doubt him.
Aqua looked toward the window again, and her expression softened.
“A sunset picnic,” she said.
“Yeah.”
“That sounds romantic.”
My pulse jumped.
“That was the goal.”
Her gaze returned to me.
The way she looked at me then almost made me check the ring again just to remind myself this was real.
Instead, I held out my free hand.
“Ready?”
She slipped her fingers into mine.
“Yes.”
---
We cut through town on the way to the hilltop.
Worthington moved around us in its usual strange way—quiet enough to feel hidden, alive enough that it never felt empty. The tea shop windows glowed warm as we passed. A few people moved along the cobblestone paths with baskets tucked against their arms. Somewhere nearby, a bell chimed over a shop door, followed by laughter I did not recognize but somehow did not mind hearing.
A few weeks ago, all of this had felt like someone else’s world.
Worthington had been Fredrick’s town.
Dylan’s town.
A place full of old magic, old names, and people who knew more about my bloodline than I did.
Now I knew which bakery had the pastries Aqua liked. I knew which path curved fastest toward the training field. I knew the bookstore window where Aqua had stopped three times before finally buying a cookbook. I knew the hilltop waited beyond the last stretch of shops, and I knew Aqua’s hand fit in mine as naturally as if this town had been leading us there the whole time.
I looked over at her.
“This place really became home, didn’t it?”
Aqua’s fingers tightened around mine.
Her gaze moved over the glowing windows, the quiet street, the flowers tucked beneath a shop sign.
“Yes,” she said softly. “I think it has.”
“For you too?”
She looked at me then.
“For me too, Steven.”
Something in my chest settled.
Not all the way.
The ring box still made breathing hard.
But enough.
The path rose beyond town, curving past the last warm shop window and into the open grass above Worthington. Evening air brushed against my face, still warm from the day but cooling at the edges. The basket pulled against my hand. The ring box pressed against my pocket. Aqua walked beside me, her fingers laced through mine, the hem of her dress moving softly with each step.
She was happy.
I could tell.
Not just because she smiled when she looked toward the lowering sun, or because her thumb brushed mine now and then, or because she kept glancing at the basket like she was trying not to tease me again.
She felt lighter.
Like the picnic had given her something simple to look forward to after too many days of lake water, soldiers, old routes, and names from Atlantis that still knew how to hurt her.
That almost broke me.
Because I wanted to give her simple things.
Not only battles survived.
Not only promises made through fear.
Tea.
Flowers.
A house with mismatched cups.
A sofa Fang claimed while pretending he did not like comfort.
Dylan’s dry texts.
A hilltop at sunset.
A future that did not close around her like a cage.
An invitation.
Not a plea.
Not a claim.
A choice.
Aqua looked over at me.
“You are very quiet.”
“I’m enjoying the view.”
“We are not there yet.”
“I’m practicing.”
She smiled.
“Practicing enjoying a view?”
“I like to be prepared.”
“That is new.”
“I’m growing as a person.”
“Dylan really has been useful.”
I laughed before I could stop myself.
The sound came out nervous, but real.
Aqua squeezed my hand once.
She did not know how much that helped.
The path curved upward ahead, past the last stretch of flowers and into the open grass above town.
At the top of that hill, Dylan’s tideglass lanterns were waiting.
The blanket.
The pillows.
The blue moon flowers in their little glass vase.
The strawberries.
The ring’s reason for existing.
Aqua’s hand stayed in mine as we started up the slope.
She smiled at the sunset, unaware of the question waiting just beyond the rise.
I tightened my grip around the basket.
This was the day.
And there was no turning back now.